‘Thou’s a real good one, God bless thee!’ said he.  ’Thou must take care of thyself, too,’ continued he; ‘there’s wraps and plenty i’ th’ house, and if there are not, there’s those i’ the shop as ’ll be none the worse for once wearing at such a time as this; and wrap thee well up, and take shawls and cloaks for them, and mind as they put ’em on.  Thou’ll have to get out at a stile, I’ll tell t’ driver where; and thou must get over t’ stile and follow t’ path down two fields, and th’ house is right before ye, and bid ’em make haste and lock up th’ house, for they mun stay all night here.  Kester ’ll look after things.’

All this time Hester was hastily putting on her hat and cloak, which she had fetched from the closet where they usually hung through the day; now she stood listening, as it were, for final directions.

‘But suppose they will not come,’ said she; ’they dunnot know me, and mayn’t believe my words.’

‘They must,’ said he, impatiently.  ’They don’t know what awaits ‘em,’ he continued.  ’I’ll tell thee, because thou ’ll not let out, and it seems as if I mun tell some one—­it were such a shock—­he’s to be tried for ’s life.  They know not it’s so serious; and, Hester,’ said he, going on in his search after sympathy, ’she’s like as if she was bound up in her father.’

His lips quivered as he looked wistfully into Hester’s face at these words.  No need to tell her who was she.  No need to put into words the fact, told plainer than words could have spoken it, that his heart was bound up in Sylvia.

Hester’s face, instead of responding to his look, contracted a little, and, for the life of her, she could not have helped saying,—­

‘Why don’t yo’ go yourself, Philip?’

‘I can’t, I can’t,’ said he, impatiently.  ’I’d give the world to go, for I might be able to comfort her; but there’s lawyers to see, and iver so much to do, and they’ve niver a man friend but me to do it all.  You’ll tell her,’ said Philip, insinuatingly, as if a fresh thought had struck him, ‘as how I would ha’ come.  I would fain ha’ come for ’em, myself, but I couldn’t, because of th’ lawyer,—­mind yo’ say because of th’ lawyer.  I’d be loath for her to think I was minding any business of my own at this time; and, whatever yo’ do, speak hopeful, and, for t’ life of yo’, don’t speak of th’ hanging, it’s likely it’s a mistake o’ Donkin’s; and anyhow—­there’s t’ cart —­anyhow I should perhaps not ha’ telled thee, but it’s a comfort to make a clean breast to a friend at times.  God bless thee, Hester.  I don’t know what I should ha’ done without thee,’ said he, as he wrapped her well up in the cart, and placed the bundles of cloaks and things by her side.

Along the street, in the jolting cart, as long as Hester could see the misty light streaming out of the shop door, so long was Philip standing bareheaded in the rain looking after her.  But she knew that it was not her own poor self that attracted his lingering gaze.  It was the thought of the person she was bound to.