When they got home Sylvia put the potatoes on to boil; but when
dinner was ready and the three were seated at the dresser, Bell
pushed her plate away from her, saying it was so long after dinner
time that she was past eating. Kester would have said something
about its being only half-past twelve, but Sylvia gave him a look
beseeching silence, and he went on with his dinner without a word,
only brushing away the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand
from time to time.
'A'll noane go far fra' home t' rest o' t' day,' said he, in a
whisper to Sylvia, as he went out.
'Will this day niver come to an end?' cried Bell, plaintively.
'Oh, mother! it'll come to an end some time, never fear. I've heerd
say-"Be the day weary or be the day long,
At length it ringeth to even-song."' 'To even-song--to even-song,' repeated Bell. 'D'ye think now that
even-song means death, Sylvie?' 'I cannot tell--I cannot bear it. Mother,' said Sylvia, in despair,
'I'll make some clap-bread: that's a heavy job, and will while away
t' afternoon.' 'Ay, do!' replied the mother. 'He'll like it fresh--he'll like it
fresh.' Murmuring and talking to herself, she fell into a doze, from which
Sylvia was careful not to disturb her.
The days were now getting long, although as cold as ever; and at
Haytersbank Farm the light lingered, as there was no near horizon to
bring on early darkness. Sylvia had all ready for her mother's tea
against she wakened; but she slept on and on, the peaceful sleep of
a child, and Sylvia did not care to waken her. Just after the sun
had set, she saw Kester outside the window making signs to her to
come out. She stole out on tip-toe by the back-kitchen, the door of
which was standing open. She almost ran against Philip, who did not
perceive her, as he was awaiting her coming the other way round the
corner of the house, and who turned upon her a face whose import she
read in an instant. 'Philip!' was all she said, and then she fainted
at his feet, coming down with a heavy bang on the round paving
stones of the yard.
'Kester! Kester!' he cried, for she looked like one dead, and with
all his strength the wearied man could not lift her and carry her
into the house.
With Kester's help she was borne into the back-kitchen, and Kester
rushed to the pump for some cold water to throw over her.
While Philip, kneeling at her head, was partly supporting her in his
arms, and heedless of any sight or sound, the shadow of some one
fell upon him. He looked up and saw his aunt; the old dignified,
sensible expression on her face, exactly like her former self,
composed, strong, and calm.