Sylvia's Lovers - Page 227/290

Philip sate on by the well-side, his face buried in his two hands.

Presently he lifted himself up, drank some water eagerly out of his

hollowed palm, sighed, and shook himself, and followed his cousin

into the house. Sometimes he came unexpectedly to the limits of his

influence over her. In general she obeyed his expressed wishes with

gentle indifference, as if she had no preferences of her own; once

or twice he found that she was doing what he desired out of the

spirit of obedience, which, as her mother's daughter, she believed

to be her duty towards her affianced husband. And this last motive

for action depressed her lover more than anything. He wanted the old

Sylvia back again; captious, capricious, wilful, haughty, merry,

charming. Alas! that Sylvia was gone for ever.

But once especially his power, arising from whatever cause, was

stopped entirely short--was utterly of no avail.

It was on the occasion of Dick Simpson's mortal illness. Sylvia and

her mother kept aloof from every one. They had never been intimate

with any family but the Corneys, and even this friendship had

considerably cooled since Molly's marriage, and most especially

since Kinraid's supposed death, when Bessy Corney and Sylvia had

been, as it were, rival mourners. But many people, both in

Monkshaven and the country round about, held the Robson family in

great respect, although Mrs. Robson herself was accounted 'high' and

'distant;' and poor little Sylvia, in her heyday of beautiful youth

and high spirits, had been spoken of as 'a bit flighty,' and 'a

set-up lassie.' Still, when their great sorrow fell upon them, there

were plenty of friends to sympathize deeply with them; and, as

Daniel had suffered in a popular cause, there were even more who,

scarcely knowing them personally, were ready to give them all the

marks of respect and friendly feeling in their power. But neither

Bell nor Sylvia were aware of this. The former had lost all

perception of what was not immediately before her; the latter shrank

from all encounters of any kind with a sore heart, and sensitive

avoidance of everything that could make her a subject of remark. So

the poor afflicted people at Haytersbank knew little of Monkshaven

news. What little did come to their ears came through Dolly Reid,

when she returned from selling the farm produce of the week; and

often, indeed, even then she found Sylvia too much absorbed in other

cares or thoughts to listen to her gossip. So no one had ever named

that Simpson was supposed to be dying till Philip began on the

subject one evening. Sylvia's face suddenly flashed into glow and

life.

'He's dying, is he? t' earth is well rid on such a fellow!' 'Eh, Sylvie, that's a hard speech o' thine!' said Philip; 'it gives

me but poor heart to ask a favour of thee!' 'If it's aught about Simpson,' replied she, and then she interrupted

herself. 'But say on; it were ill-mannered in me for t' interrupt

yo'.' 'Thou would be sorry to see him, I think, Sylvie. He cannot get over

the way, t' folk met him, and pelted him when he came back fra'

York,--and he's weak and faint, and beside himself at times; and

he'll lie a dreaming, and a-fancying they're all at him again,

hooting, and yelling, and pelting him.' 'I'm glad on 't,' said Sylvia; 'it's t' best news I've heered for

many a day,--he, to turn again' feyther, who gave him money fo t'

get a lodging that night, when he'd no place to go to. It were his

evidence as hung feyther; and he's rightly punished for it now.' 'For a' that,--and he's done a vast o' wrong beside, he's dying now,

Sylvie!' 'Well! let him die--it's t' best thing he could do!' 'But he's lying i' such dree poverty,--and niver a friend to go near

him,--niver a person to speak a kind word t' him.' 'It seems as yo've been speaking wi' him, at any rate,' said Sylvia,

turning round on Philip.