ng off her wet shawl, 'we've had to shelter from
such a storm of rain, baby and me--but see! she's none the worse for
it, as bonny as iver, bless her.'

Hester began some speech of admiration for the child in order to
prevent Bell from delivering the lecture she felt sure was coming
down on the unsuspecting Sylvia; but all in vain.

'Philip's been complaining on thee, Sylvie,' said Bell, in the way
in which she had spoken to her daughter when she was a little child;
grave and severe in tone and look, more than in words. 'I forget
justly what about, but he spoke on thy neglecting him continual.
It's not right, my lass, it's not right; a woman should--but my
head's very tired, and all I can think on to say is, it's not
right.'

'Philip been complaining of me, and to mother!' said Sylvia, ready
to burst into tears, so grieved and angry was she.

'No!' said Hester, 'thy mother has taken it a little too strong; he
were vexed like at his tea not being ready.'

Sylvia said no more, but the bright colour faded from her cheek, and
the contraction of care returned to her brow. She occupied herself
with taking off her baby's walking things. Hester lingered, anxious
to soothe and make peace; she was looking sorrowfully at Sylvia,
when she saw tears dropping on the baby's cloak, and then it seemed
as if she must speak a word of comfort before going to the
shop-work, where she knew she was expected by both Philip and
Coulson. She poured out a cup of tea, and coming close up to Sylvia,
and kneeling down by her, she whispered,--

'Just take him this into t' ware-room; it'll put all to rights if
thou'll take it to him wi' thy own hands.'

Sylvia looked up, and Hester then more fully saw how she had been
crying. She whispered in reply, for fear of disturbing her mother,--

'I don't mind anything but his speaking ill on me to mother. I know
I'm for iver trying and trying to be a good wife to him, an' it's
very dull work; harder than yo' think on, Hester,--an' I would ha'
been home for tea to-night only I was afeared of baby getting wet
wi' t' storm o' hail as we had down on t' shore; and we sheltered
under a rock. It's a weary coming home to this dark place, and to
find my own mother set against me.'

'Take him his tea, like a good lassie. I'll answer for it he'll be
all right. A man takes it hardly when he comes in tired, a-thinking
his wife '11 be there to cheer him up a bit, to find her off, and
niver know nought of t' reas