’Take him his tea, like a good lassie.  I’ll answer for it he’ll be all right.  A man takes it hardly when he comes in tired, a-thinking his wife ’11 be there to cheer him up a bit, to find her off, and niver know nought of t’ reason why.’

‘I’m glad enough I’ve getten a baby,’ said Sylvia, ’but for aught else I wish I’d niver been married, I do!’

‘Hush thee, lass!’ said Hester, rising up indignant; ’now that is a sin.  Eh! if thou only knew the lot o’ some folk.  But let’s talk no more on that, that cannot be helped; go, take him his tea, for it’s a sad thing to think on him fasting all this time.’

Hester’s voice was raised by the simple fact of her change of position; and the word fasting caught Mrs. Robson’s ear, as she sate at her knitting by the chimney-corner.

’Fasting? he said thou didn’t care if he were full or fasting.  Lassie! it’s not right in thee, I say; go, take him his tea at once.’

Sylvia rose, and gave up the baby, which she had been suckling, to Nancy, who having done her washing, had come for her charge, to put it to bed.  Sylvia kissed it fondly, making a little moan of sad, passionate tenderness as she did so.  Then she took the cup of tea; but she said, rather defiantly, to Hester,—­

’I’ll go to him with it, because mother bids me, and it’ll ease her mind.’

Then louder to her mother, she added,—­

’Mother, I’ll take him his tea, though I couldn’t help the being out.’

If the act itself was conciliatory, the spirit in which she was going to do it was the reverse.  Hester followed her slowly into the ware-room, with intentional delay, thinking that her presence might be an obstacle to their mutually understanding one another.  Sylvia held the cup and plate of bread and butter out to Philip, but avoided meeting his eye, and said not a word of explanation, or regret, or self-justification.  If she had spoken, though ever so crossly, Philip would have been relieved, and would have preferred it to her silence.  He wanted to provoke her to speech, but did not know how to begin.

‘Thou’s been out again wandering on that sea-shore!’ said he.  She did not answer him.  ’I cannot think what’s always taking thee there, when one would ha’ thought a walk up to Esdale would be far more sheltered, both for thee and baby in such weather as this.  Thou’ll be having that baby ill some of these days.’

At this, she looked up at him, and her lips moved as though she were going to say something.  Oh, how he wished she would, that they might come to a wholesome quarrel, and a making friends again, and a tender kissing, in which he might whisper penitence for all his hasty words, or unreasonable vexation.  But she had come resolved not to speak, for fear of showing too much passion, too much emotion.  Only as she was going away she turned and said,—­

’Philip, mother hasn’t many more years to live; dunnot grieve her, and set her again’ me by finding fault wi’ me afore her.  Our being wed were a great mistake; but before t’ poor old widow woman let us make as if we were happy.’