sooner or later Sylvia must
come; for, as perhaps has been already said, the stairs went up
straight out of the kitchen. And at length his yearning watch was
rewarded; first, the little pointed toe came daintily in sight, then
the trim ankle in the tight blue stocking, the wool of which was
spun and the web of which was knitted by her mother's careful hands;
then the full brown stuff petticoat, the arm holding the petticoat
back in decent folds, so as not to encumber the descending feet; the
slender neck and shoulders hidden under the folded square of fresh
white muslin; the crowning beauty of the soft innocent face radiant
in colour, and with the light brown curls clustering around. She
made her way quickly to Philip's side; how his heart beat at her
approach! and even more when she entered into a low-voiced
_tete-a-tete_.

'Isn't he gone yet?' said she. 'I cannot abide him; I could ha'
pinched father when he asked him for t' come in.'

'Maybe, he'll not stay long,' said Philip, hardly understanding the
meaning of what he said, so sweet was it to have her making her
whispered confidences to him.

But Simpson was not going to let her alone in the dark corner
between the door and the window. He began paying her some coarse
country compliments--too strong in their direct flattery for even
her father's taste, more especially as he saw by his wife's set lips
and frowning brow how much she disapproved of their visitor's style
of conversation.

'Come, measter, leave t' lass alone; she's set up enough a'ready,
her mother makes such a deal on her. Yo' an' me's men for sensible
talk at our time o' life. An', as I was saying, t' horse was a
weaver if iver one was, as any one could ha' told as had come within
a mile on him.'

And in this way the old farmer and the bluff butcher chatted on
about horses, while Philip and Sylvia sate together, he turning over
all manner of hopes and projects for the future, in spite of his
aunt's opinion that he was too 'old-fashioned' for her dainty,
blooming daughter. Perhaps, too, Mrs. Robson saw some reason for
changing her mind on this head as she watched Sylvia this night, for
she accompanied Philip to the door, when the time came for him to
start homewards, and bade him 'good-night' with unusual fervour,
adding--

'Thou'st been a deal o' comfort to me, lad--a'most as one as if thou
wert a child o' my own, as at times I could welly think thou art to
be. Anyways, I trust to thee to lo