Suddenly a light shone down into Philip’s mind.  His voice was changed as he spoke next.

‘I met that good-for-nothing chap, Kinraid, wi’ yo’r father just now.  He’ll ha’ been here, Sylvie?’

She stooped for something she had dropped, and came up red as a rose.

‘To be sure; what then?’ And she eyed him defiantly, though in her heart she trembled, she knew not why.

’What then? and yo’r mother away.  He’s no company for such as thee, at no time, Sylvie.’

’Feyther and me chooses our own company, without iver asking leave o’ yo’,’ said Sylvia, hastily arranging the things in the little wooden work-box that was on the table, preparatory to putting it away.  At the time, in his agitation, he saw, but did not affix any meaning to it, that the half of some silver coin was among the contents thus turned over before the box was locked.

‘But thy mother wouldn’t like it, Sylvie; he’s played false wi’ other lasses, he’ll be playing thee false some o’ these days, if thou lets him come about thee.  He went on wi’ Annie Coulson, William’s sister, till he broke her heart; and sin then he’s been on wi’ others.’

’I dunnot believe a word on ‘t,’ said Sylvia, standing up, all aflame.

‘I niver telled a lie i’ my life,’ said Philip, almost choking with grief at her manner to him, and the regard for his rival which she betrayed.  ’It were Willie Coulson as telled me, as solemn and serious as one man can speak to another; and he said it weren’t the first nor the last time as he had made his own game with young women.’

‘And how dare yo’ come here to me wi’ yo’r backbiting tales?’ said Sylvia, shivering all over with passion.

Philip tried to keep calm, and to explain.

‘It were yo’r own mother, Sylvia, as knowed yo’ had no brother, or any one to see after yo’; and yo’ so pretty, so pretty, Sylvia,’ he continued, shaking his head, sadly, ‘that men run after yo’ against their will, as one may say; and yo’r mother bade me watch o’er ye and see what company yo’ kept, and who was following after yo’, and to warn yo’, if need were.’

‘My mother niver bade yo’ to come spying after me, and blaming me for seeing a lad as my feyther thinks well on.  An’ I don’t believe a word about Annie Coulson; an’ I’m not going to suffer yo’ to come wi’ yo’r tales to me; say ’em out to his face, and hear what he’ll say to yo’.’

‘Sylvie, Sylvie,’ cried poor Philip, as his offended cousin rushed past him, and upstairs to her little bedroom, where he heard the sound of the wooden bolt flying into its place.  He could hear her feet pacing quickly about through the unceiled rafters.  He sate still in despair, his head buried in his two hands.  He sate till it grew dusk, dark; the wood fire, not gathered together by careful hands, died out into gray ashes.  Dolly Reid had done her work and gone home.  There were but Philip and Sylvia in the house.  He knew he ought to be going home, for he had much to do, and many arrangements to make.  Yet it seemed as though he could not stir.  At length he raised his stiffened body, and stood up, dizzy.  Up the little wooden stairs he went, where he had never been before, to the small square landing, almost filled up with the great chest for oat-cake.  He breathed hard for a minute, and then knocked at the door of Sylvia’s room.