Sylvia found her mother still sitting on the chair next the door,
where she had first placed herself on entering the room.
'I'll gi'e you some tea, mother,' said she, struck with the shrunken
look of Bell's face.
'No, no' said her mother. 'It's not manners for t' help oursel's.' 'I'm sure Philip would ha' wished yo' for to take it,' said Sylvia,
pouring out a cup.
Just then he returned, and something in his look, some dumb
expression of delight at her occupation, made her blush and hesitate
for an instant; but then she went on, and made a cup of tea ready,
saying something a little incoherent all the time about her mother's
need of it. After tea Bell Robson's weariness became so extreme,
that Philip and Sylvia urged her to go to bed. She resisted a
little, partly out of 'manners,' and partly because she kept
fancying, poor woman, that somehow or other her husband might send
for her. But about seven o'clock Sylvia persuaded her to come
upstairs. Sylvia, too, bade Philip good-night, and his look followed
the last wave of her dress as she disappeared up the stairs; then
leaning his chin on his hand, he gazed at vacancy and thought
deeply--for how long he knew not, so intent was his mind on the
chances of futurity.
He was aroused by Sylvia's coming down-stairs into the sitting-room
again. He started up.
'Mother is so shivery,' said she. 'May I go in there,' indicating
the kitchen, 'and make her a drop of gruel?' 'Phoebe shall make it, not you,' said Philip, eagerly preventing
her, by going to the kitchen door and giving his orders. When he
turned round again, Sylvia was standing over the fire, leaning her
head against the stone mantel-piece for the comparative coolness.
She did not speak at first, or take any notice of him. He watched
her furtively, and saw that she was crying, the tears running down
her cheeks, and she too much absorbed in her thoughts to wipe them
away with her apron.
While he was turning over in his mind what he could best say to
comfort her (his heart, like hers, being almost too full for words),
she suddenly looked him full in the face, saying,-'Philip! won't they soon let him go? what can they do to him?' Her
open lips trembled while awaiting his answer, the tears came up and
filled her eyes. It was just the question he had most dreaded; it
led to the terror that possessed his own mind, but which he had
hoped to keep out of hers. He hesitated. 'Speak, lad!' said she,
impatiently, with a little passionate gesture. 'I can see thou
knows!' He had only made it worse by consideration; he rushed blindfold at a
reply.