Sylvia's Lovers - Page 220/290

Bell rose as they came in, holding by the arms of the chair. At

first she received Kester as though he had been a stranger.

'I'm glad to see yo', sir; t' master's out, but he'll be in afore

long. It'll be about t' lambs yo're come, mebbe?' 'Mother!' said Sylvia, 'dunnot yo' see? it's Kester,--Kester, wi'

his Sunday clothes on.' 'Kester! ay, sure it is; my eyes have getten so sore and dim of

late; just as if I'd been greeting. I'm sure, lad, I'm glad

to see thee! It's a long time I've been away, but it were not

pleasure-seeking as took me, it were business o' some mak'--tell

him, Sylvie, what it were, for my head's clean gone. I only know I

wouldn't ha' left home if I could ha' helped it; for I think I

should ha' kept my health better if I'd bided at home wi' my master.

I wonder as he's not comed in for t' bid me welcome? Is he far

afield, think ye, Kester?' Kester looked at Sylvia, mutely imploring her to help him out in the

dilemma of answering, but she was doing all she could to help

crying. Philip came to the rescue.

'Aunt,' said he, 'the clock has stopped; can you tell me where t'

find t' key, and I'll wind it up.' 'T' key,' said she, hurriedly, 't' key, it's behind th' big Bible on

yon shelf. But I'd rayther thou wouldn't touch it, lad; it's t'

master's work, and he distrusts folk meddling wi' it.' Day after day there was this constant reference to her dead husband.

In one sense it was a blessing; all the circumstances attendant on

his sad and untimely end were swept out of her mind along with the

recollection of the fact itself. She referred to him as absent, and

had always some plausible way of accounting for it, which satisfied

her own mind; and, accordingly they fell into the habit of humouring

her, and speaking of him as gone to Monkshaven, or afield, or

wearied out, and taking a nap upstairs, as her fancy led her to

believe for the moment. But this forgetfulness, though happy for

herself, was terrible for her child. It was a constant renewing of

Sylvia's grief, while her mother could give her no sympathy, no

help, or strength in any circumstances that arose out of this grief.

She was driven more and more upon Philip; his advice and his

affection became daily more necessary to her.

Kester saw what would be the end of all this more clearly than

Sylvia did herself; and, impotent to hinder what he feared and

disliked, he grew more and more surly every day. Yet he tried to

labour hard and well for the interests of the family, as if they

were bound up in his good management of the cattle and land. He was

out and about by the earliest dawn, working all day long with might

and main. He bought himself a pair of new spectacles, which might,

he fancied, enable him to read the Farmer's Complete Guide, his

dead master's vade-mecum. But he had never learnt more than his

capital letters, and had forgotten many of them; so the spectacles

did him but little good. Then he would take the book to Sylvia, and

ask her to read to him the instructions he needed; instructions, be

it noted, that he would formerly have despised as mere book-learning:

but his present sense of responsibility had made him humble.