‘Hush thee, darling, hush thee!’ murmured her mother; ’there’s no one left to love me but thee, and I cannot stand thy weeping, my pretty one.  Hush thee, my babe, hush thee!’

She whispered soft in the little one’s ear as she took her upstairs to bed.

About three weeks after the miserable date of Bell Robson’s death and Philip’s disappearance, Hester Rose received a letter from him.  She knew the writing on the address well; and it made her tremble so much that it was many minutes before she dared to open it, and make herself acquainted with the facts it might disclose.

But she need not have feared; there were no facts told, unless the vague date of ‘London’ might be something to learn.  Even that much might have been found out by the post-mark, only she had been too much taken by surprise to examine it.

It ran as follows:—­

’Dear Hester,—­

’Tell those whom it may concern, that I have left Monkshaven for ever.  No one need trouble themselves about me; I am provided for.  Please to make my humble apologies to my kind friends, the Messrs Foster, and to my partner, William Coulson.  Please to accept of my love, and to join the same to your mother.  Please to give my particular and respectful duty and kind love to my aunt Isabella Robson.  Her daughter Sylvia knows what I have always felt, and shall always feel, for her better than I can ever put into language, so I send her no message; God bless and keep my child.  You must all look on me as one dead; as I am to you, and maybe shall soon be in reality.

’Your affectionate and obedient friend to command, ’Philip Hepburn.  ’P.S.—­Oh, Hester! for God’s sake and mine, look after (’my wife,’ scratched out) Sylvia and my child.  I think Jeremiah Foster will help you to be a friend to them.  This is the last solemn request of P. H. She is but very young.’

Hester read this letter again and again, till her heart caught the echo of its hopelessness, and sank within her.  She put it in her pocket, and reflected upon it all the day long as she served in the shop.

The customers found her as gentle, but far more inattentive than usual.  She thought that in the evening she would go across the bridge, and consult with the two good old brothers Foster.  But something occurred to put off the fulfilment of this plan.

That same morning Sylvia had preceded her, with no one to consult, because consultation would have required previous confidence, and confidence would have necessitated such a confession about Kinraid as it was most difficult for Sylvia to make.  The poor young wife yet felt that some step must be taken by her; and what it was to be she could not imagine.

She had no home to go to; for as Philip was gone away, she remained where she was only on sufferance; she did not know what means of livelihood she had; she was willing to work, nay, would be thankful to take up her old life of country labour; but with her baby, what could she do?