But after Daniel had fought his battle o’er again to every auditor within his reach, he found the seclusion of his chamber rather oppressive, without even the usual week-days’ noises below; so after dinner, though far from well, he came down and wandered about the stable and the fields nearest to the house, consulting with Kester as to crops and manure for the most part; but every now and then breaking out into an episodical chuckle over some part of last night’s proceedings.  Kester enjoyed the day even more than his master, for he had no bruises to remind him that, although a hero, he was also flesh and blood.

When they returned to the house they found Philip there, for it was already dusk.  It was Kester’s usual Sunday plan to withdraw to bed at as early an hour as he could manage to sleep, often in winter before six; but now he was too full of interest in what Philip might have to tell of Monkshaven news to forego his Sabbath privilege of spending the evening sitting on the chair at the end of the dresser behind the door.

Philip was as close to Sylvia as he could possibly get without giving her offence, when they came in.  Her manner was listless and civil; she had lost all that active feeling towards him which made him positively distasteful, and had called out her girlish irritation and impertinence.  She now was rather glad to see him than otherwise.  He brought some change into the heavy monotony of her life—­monotony so peaceful until she had been stirred by passion out of that content with the small daily events which had now become burdensome recurrences.  Insensibly to herself she was becoming dependent on his timid devotion, his constant attention; and he, lover-like, once so attracted, in spite of his judgment, by her liveliness and piquancy, now doted on her languor, and thought her silence more sweet than words.

He had only just arrived when master and man came in.  He had been to afternoon chapel; none of them had thought of going to the distant church; worship with them was only an occasional duty, and this day their minds had been too full of the events of the night before.  Daniel sate himself heavily down in his accustomed chair, the three-cornered arm-chair in the fireside corner, which no one thought of anybody else ever occupying on any occasion whatever.  In a minute or two he interrupted Philip’s words of greeting and inquiry by breaking out into the story of the rescue of last night.  But to the mute surprise of Sylvia, the only one who noticed it, Philip’s face, instead of expressing admiration and pleasant wonder, lengthened into dismay; once or twice he began to interrupt, but stopped himself as if he would consider his words again.  Kester was never tired of hearing his master talk; by long living together they understood every fold of each other’s minds, and small expressions had much significance to them.  Bell, too, sate thankful that her husband should have done such deeds.  Only Sylvia was made uneasy by Philip’s face and manner.  When Daniel had ended there was a great silence, instead of the questions and compliments he looked to receive.  He became testy, and turning to Bell, said,—­