ile, looking
with fond penitence at her altered countenance.

'Thou mustn't blame thysel',' said Sylvia, seeing his regret. 'I
brought it on me mysel'; I thought I would ha' t' truth, whativer
came on it, and now I'm not strong enough to stand it, God help me!'
she continued, piteously.

'Oh, Sylvie, let me help yo'! I cannot do what God can,--I'm not
meaning that, but I can do next to Him of any man. I have loved yo'
for years an' years, in a way it's terrible to think on, if my love
can do nought now to comfort yo' in your sore distress.'

'Cousin Philip,' she replied, in the same measured tone in which she
had always spoken since she had learnt the extent of her father's
danger, and the slow stillness of her words was in harmony with the
stony look of her face, 'thou's a comfort to me, I couldn't bide my
life without thee; but I cannot take in the thought o' love, it
seems beside me quite; I can think on nought but them that is quick
and them that is dead.'

CHAPTER XXVII

GLOOMY DAYS

Philip had money in the Fosters' bank, not so much as it might have
been if he had not had to pay for the furniture in his house. Much
of this furniture was old, and had belonged to the brothers Foster,
and they had let Philip have it at a very reasonable rate; but still
the purchase of it had diminished the amount of his savings. But on
the sum which he possessed he drew largely--he drew all--nay, he
overdrew his account somewhat, to his former masters' dismay,
although the kindness of their hearts overruled the harder arguments
of their heads.

All was wanted to defend Daniel Robson at the approaching York
assizes. His wife had handed over to Philip all the money or money's
worth she could lay her hands upon. Daniel himself was not one to be
much beforehand with the world; but to Bell's thrifty imagination
the round golden guineas, tied up in the old stocking-foot against
rent-day, seemed a mint of money on which Philip might draw
infinitely. As yet she did not comprehend the extent of her
husband's danger. Sylvia went about like one in a dream, keeping
back the hot tears that might interfere with the course of life she
had prescribed for herself in that terrible hour when she first
learnt all. Every penny of money either she or her mother could save
went to Philip. Kester's hoard, too, was placed in Hepburn's hands
at Sylvia's earnest entreaty; for Kester had no great opinion of
Philip's judgment, and would rather