ing. He turned away from the sweet, pleading face without a
word, to wrap up his books in a piece of paper. He knew that she was
standing quite still by his side, though he made as if he did not
perceive her. When he had done he abruptly wished them all
'good-night,' and took his leave.

There were tears in Sylvia's eyes, although the feeling in her heart
was rather one of relief. She had made a fair offer, and it had been
treated with silent contempt. A few days afterwards, her father came
in from Monkshaven market, and dropped out, among other pieces of
news, that he had met Kinraid, who was bound for his own home at
Cullercoats. He had desired his respects to Mrs. Robson and her
daughter; and had bid Robson say that he would have come up to
Haytersbank to wish them good-by, but that as he was pressed for
time, he hoped they would excuse him. But Robson did not think it
worth while to give this long message of mere politeness. Indeed, as
it did not relate to business, and was only sent to women, Robson
forgot all about it, pretty nearly as soon as it was uttered. So
Sylvia went about fretting herself for one or two days, at her
hero's apparent carelessness of those who had at any rate treated
him more like a friend than an acquaintance of only a few weeks'
standing; and then, her anger quenching her incipient regard, she
went about her daily business pretty much as though he had never
been. He had gone away out of her sight into the thick mist of
unseen life from which he had emerged--gone away without a word, and
she might never see him again. But still there was a chance of her
seeing him when he came to marry Molly Corney. Perhaps she should be
bridesmaid, and then what a pleasant merry time the wedding-day
would be! The Corneys were all such kind people, and in their family
there never seemed to be the checks and restraints by which her own
mother hedged her round. Then there came an overwhelming
self-reproaching burst of love for that 'own mother'; a humiliation
before her slightest wish, as penance for the moment's unspoken
treason; and thus Sylvia was led to request her cousin Philip to
resume his lessons in so meek a manner, that he slowly and
graciously acceded to a request which he was yearning to fulfil all
the time.

During the ensuing winter, all went on in monotonous regularity at
Haytersbank Farm for many weeks. Hepburn came and went, and thought
Sylvia wonderfully improved in docility and sobriety;