He came in, not seeing that any one was there at first; for they had never thought of lighting a candle.  Kinraid stepped forward into the firelight; his purpose of concealing what he had said to Sylvia quite melted away by the cordial welcome her father gave him the instant that he recognized him.

‘Bless thee, lad! who’d ha’ thought o’ seein’ thee?  Why, if iver a thought on thee at all, it were half way to Davis’ Straits.  To be sure, t’ winter’s been a dree season, and thou’rt, may-be, i’ t’ reet on ‘t to mak’ a late start.  Latest start as iver I made was ninth o’ March, an’ we struck thirteen whales that year.’

‘I have something to say to you,’ said Charley, in a hesitating voice, so different to his usual hearty way, that Daniel gave him a keen look of attention before he began to speak.  And, perhaps, the elder man was not unprepared for the communication that followed.  At any rate, it was not unwelcome.  He liked Kinraid, and had strong sympathy not merely with what he knew of the young sailor’s character, but with the life he led, and the business he followed.  Robson listened to all he said with approving nods and winks, till Charley had told him everything he had to say; and then he turned and struck his broad horny palm into Kinraid’s as if concluding a bargain, while he expressed in words his hearty consent to their engagement.  He wound up with a chuckle, as the thought struck him that this great piece of business, of disposing of their only child, had been concluded while his wife was away.

‘A’m noan so sure as t’ missus ‘ll like it,’ said he; ‘tho’ whativer she’ll ha’ to say again it, mischief only knows.  But she’s noan keen on matterimony; though a have made her as good a man as there is in a’ t’ Ridings.  Anyhow, a’m master, and that she knows.  But may-be, for t’ sake o’ peace an’ quietness—­tho’ she’s niver a scolding tongue, that a will say for her—­we’n best keep this matter to ourselves till thou comes int’ port again.  T’ lass upstairs ’ll like nought better than t’ curl hersel’ round a secret, and purr o’er it, just as t’ oud cat does o’er her blind kitten.  But thou’ll be wanting to see t’ lass, a’ll be bound.  An oud man like me isn’t as good company as a pretty lass.’  Laughing a low rich laugh over his own wit, Daniel went to the bottom of the stairs, and called, ‘Sylvie, Sylvie! come down, lass! a’s reet; come down!’

For a time there was no answer.  Then a door was unbolted, and Sylvia said,

‘I can’t come down again.  I’m noan comin’ down again to-night.’

Daniel laughed the more at this, especially when he caught Charley’s look of disappointment.

’Hearken how she’s bolted her door.  She’ll noane come near us this night.  Eh! but she’s a stiff little ’un; she’s been our only one, and we’n mostly let her have her own way.  But we’ll have a pipe and a glass; and that, to my thinking, is as good company as iver a woman in Yorkshire.’