d as if the sound was flung
with strength and power right into Philip's face. He walked down the
hill to its merry sound--its merry sound, his heavy heart. As he
entered the long High Street of Monkshaven he could see the watching
lights put out in parlour, chamber, or kitchen. The new year had
come, and expectation was ended. Reality had begun.

He turned to the right, into the court where he lodged with Alice
Rose. There was a light still burning there, and cheerful voices
were heard. He opened the door; Alice, her daughter, and Coulson
stood as if awaiting him. Hester's wet cloak hung on a chair before
the fire; she had her hood on, for she and Coulson had been to the
watch-night.

The solemn excitement of the services had left its traces upon her
countenance and in her mind. There was a spiritual light in her
usually shadowed eyes, and a slight flush on her pale cheek. Merely
personal and self-conscious feelings were merged in a loving
good-will to all her fellow-creatures. Under the influence of this
large charity, she forgot her habitual reserve, and came forward as
Philip entered to meet him with her new year's wishes--wishes that
she had previously interchanged with the other two.

'A happy new year to you, Philip, and may God have you in his
keeping all the days thereof!'

He took her hand, and shook it warmly in reply. The flush on her
cheek deepened as she withdrew it. Alice Rose said something curtly
about the lateness of the hour and her being much tired; and then
she and her daughter went upstairs to the front chamber, and Philip
and Coulson to that which they shared at the back of the house.

CHAPTER XIII

PERPLEXITIES

Coulson and Philip were friendly, but not intimate. They never had
had a dispute, they never were confidential with each other; in
truth, they were both reserved and silent men, and, probably,
respected each other the more for being so self-contained. There was
a private feeling in Coulson's heart which would have made a less
amiable fellow dislike Philip. But of this the latter was
unconscious: they were not apt to exchange many words in the room
which they occupied jointly.

Coulson asked Philip if he had enjoyed himself at the Corneys', and
Philip replied,--

'Not much; such parties are noane to my liking.'

'And yet thou broke off from t' watch-night to go there.'

No answer; so Coulson went on, with a sense of the duty laid upon
him, to improve the occasion--th