ike for t' be
dead, but who, mebbe, is alive, havin' a pull on thy heart.'

Sylvia began to cry as if her heart was broken. She had promised
herself more fully to Philip the night before than she had told
Kester; and, with some pains and much patience, her cousin, her
lover, alas! her future husband, had made the fact clear to the
bewildered mind of her poor mother, who had all day long shown that
her mind and heart were full of the subject, and that the
contemplation of it was giving her as much peace as she could ever
know. And now Kester's words came to call up echoes in the poor
girl's heart. Just as she was in this miserable state, wishing that
the grave lay open before her, and that she could lie down, and be
covered up by the soft green turf from all the bitter sorrows and
carking cares and weary bewilderments of this life; wishing that her
father was alive, that Charley was once more here; that she had not
repeated the solemn words by which she had promised herself to
Philip only the very evening before, she heard a soft, low whistle,
and, looking round unconsciously, there was her lover and affianced
husband, leaning on the gate, and gazing into the field with
passionate eyes, devouring the fair face and figure of her, his
future wife.

'Oh, Kester,' said she once more, 'what mun I do? I'm pledged to him
as strong as words can make it, and mother blessed us both wi' more
sense than she's had for weeks. Kester, man, speak! Shall I go and
break it all off?--say.'

'Nay, it's noane for me t' say; m'appen thou's gone too far. Them
above only knows what is best.'

Again that long, cooing whistle. 'Sylvie!'

'He's been very kind to us all,' said Sylvia, laying her rake down
with slow care, 'and I'll try t' make him happy.'

CHAPTER XXIX

WEDDING RAIMENT

Philip and Sylvia were engaged. It was not so happy a state of
things as Philip had imagined. He had already found that out,
although it was not twenty-four hours since Sylvia had promised to
be his. He could not have defined why he was dissatisfied; if he had
been compelled to account for his feeling, he would probably have
alleged as a reason that Sylvia's manner was so unchanged by her new
position towards him. She was quiet and gentle; but no shyer, no
brighter, no coyer, no happier, than she had been for months before.
When she joined him at the field-gate, his heart was beating fast,
his eyes were beaming out love at her approach. She neithe