‘Sylvie!  Sylvie!’ he called after her.  She must have heard, but she did not turn.  He went after her, and seized her by the arm rather roughly; she had stung him to the heart with her calm words, which seemed to reveal a long-formed conviction.

‘Sylvie!’ said he, almost fiercely, ‘what do yo’ mean by what you’ve said?  Speak!  I will have an answer.’

He almost shook her:  she was half frightened by his vehemence of behaviour, which she took for pure anger, while it was the outburst of agonized and unrequited love.

‘Let me go!  Oh, Philip, yo’ hurt me!’

Just at this moment Hester came up; Philip was ashamed of his passionate ways in her serene presence, and loosened his grasp of his wife, and she ran away; ran into her mother’s empty room, as to a solitary place, and there burst into that sobbing, miserable crying which we instinctively know is too surely lessening the length of our days on earth to be indulged in often.

When she had exhausted that first burst and lay weak and quiet for a time, she listened in dreading expectation of the sound of his footstep coming in search of her to make friends.  But he was detained below on business, and never came.  Instead, her mother came clambering up the stairs; she was now in the habit of going to bed between seven and eight, and to-night she was retiring at even an earlier hour.

Sylvia sprang up and drew down the window-blind, and made her face and manner as composed as possible, in order to soothe and comfort her mother’s last waking hours.  She helped her to bed with gentle patience; the restraint imposed upon her by her tender filial love was good for her, though all the time she was longing to be alone to have another wild outburst.  When her mother was going off to sleep, Sylvia went to look at her baby, also in a soft sleep.  Then she gazed out at the evening sky, high above the tiled roofs of the opposite houses, and the longing to be out under the peaceful heavens took possession of her once more.

‘It’s my only comfort,’ said she to herself; ’and there’s no earthly harm in it.  I would ha’ been at home to his tea, if I could; but when he doesn’t want me, and mother doesn’t want me, and baby is either in my arms or asleep; why, I’ll go any cry my fill out under yon great quiet sky.  I cannot stay in t’ house to be choked up wi’ my tears, nor yet to have him coming about me either for scolding or peace-making.’

So she put on her things and went out again; this time along the High Street, and up the long flights of steps towards the parish church, and there she stood and thought that here she had first met Kinraid, at Darley’s burying, and she tried to recall the very look of all the sad, earnest faces round the open grave—­the whole scene, in fact; and let herself give way to the miserable regrets she had so often tried to control.  Then she walked on, crying bitterly, almost unawares to herself; on through the high, bleak fields at the summit of the cliffs; fields bounded by loose stone fences, and far from all sight of the habitation of man.  But, below, the sea rose and raged; it was high water at the highest tide, and the wind blew gustily from the land, vainly combating the great waves that came invincibly up with a roar and an impotent furious dash against the base of the cliffs below.