’He!—­Philip!—­saved Bella?  Bella, our little Bella, as got her dinner by my side, and went out wi’ Jeremiah, as well as could be.  I cannot take it in; tell me, Kester.’  She kept trembling so much in voice and in body, that he saw she could not stir without danger of falling until she was calmed; as it was, her eyes became filmy from time to time, and she drew her breath in great heavy pants, leaning all the while against the wall of the bridge.

‘It were no illness,’ Kester began.  ‘T’ little un had gone for a walk wi’ Jeremiah Foster, an’ he were drawn for to go round t’ edge o’ t’ cliff, wheere they’s makin’ t’ new walk reet o’er t’ sea.  But it’s but a bit on a pathway now; an’ t’ one was too oud, an’ t’ other too young for t’ see t’ water comin’ along wi’ great leaps; it’s allays for comin’ high up again’ t’ cliff, an’ this spring-tide it’s comin’ in i’ terrible big waves.  Some one said as they passed t’ man a-sittin’ on a bit on a rock up above—­a dunnot know, a only know as a heared a great fearful screech i’ t’ air.  A were just a-restin’ me at after a’d comed in, not half an hour i’ t’ place.  A’ve walked better nor a dozen mile to-day; an’ a ran out, an’ a looked, an’ just on t’ walk, at t’ turn, was t’ swish of a wave runnin’ back as quick as t’ mischief int’ t’ sea, an’ oud Jeremiah standin’ like one crazy, lookin’ o’er int’ t’ watter; an’ like a stroke o’ leeghtnin’ comes a man, an’ int’ t’ very midst o’ t’ great waves like a shot; an’ then a knowed summut were in t’ watter as were nearer death than life; an’ a seemed to misdoubt me that it were our Bella; an’ a shouts an’ a cries for help, an’ a goes mysel’ to t’ very edge o’ t’ cliff, an’ a bids oud Jeremiah, as was like one beside hissel’, houd tight on me, for he were good for nought else; an’ a bides my time, an’ when a sees two arms houdin’ out a little drippin’ streamin’ child, a clutches her by her waist-band, an’ hauls her to land.  She’s noane t’ worse for her bath, a’ll be bound.’

‘I mun go—­let me,’ said Sylvia, struggling with his detaining hand, which he had laid upon her in the fear that she would slip down to the ground in a faint, so ashen-gray was her face.  ’Let me,—­Bella, I mun go see her.’

He let go, and she stood still, suddenly feeling herself too weak to stir.

‘Now, if you’ll try a bit to be quiet, a’ll lead yo’ along; but yo’ mun be a steady and brave lass.’

‘I’ll be aught if yo’ only let me see Bella,’ said Sylvia, humbly.

‘An’ yo’ niver ax at after him as saved her,’ said Kester, reproachfully.

‘I know it’s Philip,’ she whispered, ‘and yo’ said he wanted me; so I know he’s safe; and, Kester, I think I’m ’feared on him, and I’d like to gather courage afore seeing him, and a look at Bella would give me courage.  It were a terrible time when I saw him last, and I did say—­’

’Niver think on what thou did say; think on what thou will say to him now, for he lies a-dyin’!  He were dashed again t’ cliff an’ bruised sore in his innards afore t’ men as come wi’ a boat could pick him up.’