As the party turned to leave the shop they saw Philip, the guest of the night before; and they came over to shake hands with him across the counter; Kinraid’s hand was proffered among the number.  Last night Philip could not have believed it possible that such a demonstration of fellowship should have passed between them; and perhaps there was a slight hesitation of manner on his part, for some idea or remembrance crossed Kinraid’s mind which brought a keen searching glance into the eyes which for a moment were fastened on Philip’s face.  In spite of himself, and during the very action of hand-shaking, Philip felt a cloud come over his face, not altering or moving his features, but taking light and peace out of his countenance.

Molly Brunton began to say something, and he gladly turned to look at her.  She was asking him why he went away so early, for they had kept it up for four hours after he left, and last of all, she added (turning to Kinraid), her cousin Charley had danced a hornpipe among the platters on the ground.

Philip hardly knew what he said in reply, the mention of that pas seul lifted such a weight off his heart.  He could smile now, after his grave fashion, and would have shaken hands again with Kinraid had it been required; for it seemed to him that no one, caring ever so little in the way that he did for Sylvia, could have borne four mortal hours of a company where she had been, and was not; least of all could have danced a hornpipe, either from gaiety of heart, or even out of complaisance.  He felt as if the yearning after the absent one would have been a weight to his legs, as well as to his spirit; and he imagined that all men were like himself.

CHAPTER XIV

PARTNERSHIP

As darkness closed in, and the New Year’s throng became scarce, Philip’s hesitation about accompanying Coulson faded away.  He was more comfortable respecting Sylvia, and his going to see her might be deferred; and, after all, he felt that the wishes of his masters ought to be attended to, and the honour of an invitation to the private house of Jeremiah not to be slighted for anything short of a positive engagement.  Besides, the ambitious man of business existed strongly in Philip.  It would never do to slight advances towards the second great earthly object in his life; one also on which the first depended.

So when the shop was closed, the two set out down Bridge Street to cross the river to the house of Jeremiah Foster.  They stood a moment on the bridge to breathe the keen fresh sea air after their busy day.  The waters came down, swollen full and dark, with rapid rushing speed from the snow-fed springs high up on the moorland above.  The close-packed houses in the old town seemed a cluster of white roofs irregularly piled against the more unbroken white of the hill-side.  Lights twinkled here and there in the town, and were slung from stern and bow of the ships in the harbour.