Kester stood up suddenly.

‘By goom, that chap has a deal t’ answer for.’

A bright red spot was on each of Sylvia’s white cheeks; and for a minute or so neither of them spoke.

Then she went on, still whispering out her words.

‘Kester, I’m more afeared than I dare tell any one:  can they ha’ met, think yo’?  T’ very thought turns me sick.  I told Philip my mind, and took a vow again’ him—­but it would be awful to think on harm happening to him through Kinraid.  Yet he went out that morning, and has niver been seen or heard on sin’; and Kinraid were just fell again’ him, and as for that matter, so was I; but——­’

The red spot vanished as she faced her own imagination.

Kester spoke.

‘It’s a thing as can be easy looked into.  What day an’ time were it when Philip left this house?’

’Tuesday—­the day she died.  I saw him in her room that morning between breakfast and dinner; I could a’most swear to it’s being close after eleven.  I mind counting t’ clock.  It was that very morn as Kinraid were here.’

‘A’ll go an’ have a pint o’ beer at t’ King’s Arms, down on t’ quay-side; it were theere he put up at.  An’ a’m pretty sure as he only stopped one night, and left i’ t’ morning betimes.  But a’ll go see.’

‘Do,’ said Sylvia, ‘and go out through t’ shop; they’re all watching and watching me to see how I take things; and daren’t let on about t’ fire as is burning up my heart.  Coulson is i’ t’ shop, but he’ll not notice thee like Phoebe.’

By-and-by Kester came back.  It seemed as though Sylvia had never stirred; she looked eagerly at him, but did not speak.

‘He went away i’ Rob Mason’s mail-cart, him as tak’s t’ letters to Hartlepool.  T’ lieutenant (as they ca’ him down at t’ King’s Arms; they’re as proud on his uniform as if it had been a new-painted sign to swing o’er their doors), t’ lieutenant had reckoned upo’ stayin’ longer wi’ ’em; but he went out betimes o’ Tuesday morn’, an’ came back a’ ruffled up, an paid his bill—­paid for his breakfast, though he touched noane on it—­an’ went off i’ Rob postman’s mail-cart, as starts reg’lar at ten o’clock.  Corneys has been theere askin’ for him, an’ makin’ a piece o’ work, as he niver went near em; and they bees cousins.  Niver a one among ’em knows as he were here as far as a could mak’ out.’

‘Thank yo’, Kester,’ said Sylvia, falling back in her chair, as if all the energy that had kept her stiff and upright was gone now that her anxiety was relieved.

She was silent for a long time; her eyes shut, her cheek laid on her child’s head.  Kester spoke next.

‘A think it’s pretty clear as they’n niver met.  But it’s a’ t’ more wonder where thy husband’s gone to.  Thee and him had words about it, and thou telled him thy mind, thou said?’