'I'll be aught if yo' only let me see Bella,' said Sylvia, humbly.

'An' yo' niver ax at after him as saved her,' said Kester,
reproachfully.

'I know it's Philip,' she whispered, 'and yo' said he wanted me; so
I know he's safe; and, Kester, I think I'm 'feared on him, and I'd
like to gather courage afore seeing him, and a look at Bella would
give me courage. It were a terrible time when I saw him last, and I
did say--'

'Niver think on what thou did say; think on what thou will say to
him now, for he lies a-dyin'! He were dashed again t' cliff an'
bruised sore in his innards afore t' men as come wi' a boat could
pick him up.'

She did not speak; she did not even tremble now; she set her teeth
together, and, holding tight by Kester, she urged him on; but when
they came to the end of the bridge, she seemed uncertain which way
to turn.

'This way,' said Kester. 'He's been lodgin' wi' Sally this nine
week, an' niver a one about t' place as knowed him; he's been i' t'
wars an' getten his face brunt.'

'And he was short o' food,' moaned Sylvia, 'and we had plenty, and I
tried to make yo'r sister turn him out, and send him away. Oh! will
God iver forgive me?'

Muttering to herself, breaking her mutterings with sharp cries of
pain, Sylvia, with Kester's help, reached widow Dobson's house. It
was no longer a quiet, lonely dwelling. Several sailors stood about
the door, awaiting, in silent anxiety, for the verdict of the
doctor, who was even now examining Philip's injuries. Two or three
women stood talking eagerly, in low voices, in the doorway.

But when Sylvia drew near the men fell back; and the women moved
aside as though to allow her to pass, all looking upon her with a
certain amount of sympathy, but perhaps with rather more of
antagonistic wonder as to how she was taking it--she who had been
living in ease and comfort while her husband's shelter was little
better than a hovel, her husband's daily life a struggle with
starvation; for so much of the lodger at widow Dobson's was
popularly known; and any distrust of him as a stranger and a tramp
was quite forgotten now.

Sylvia felt the hardness of their looks, the hardness of their
silence; but it was as nothing to her. If such things could have
touched her at this moment, she would not have stood still right in
the midst of their averted hearts, and murmured something to Kester.
He could not hear the words uttered by that hoarse choked voice,
until he had stoo