distant and unlikely. Yet a dim terror of this latter evil hung over
her, and once upstairs she threw herself on her bed and sobbed.
Philip heard her where he sate near the bottom of the short steep
staircase, and at every sob the cords of love round his heart seemed
tightened, and he felt as if he must there and then do something to
console her.

But, instead, he sat on talking of nothings, a conversation in which
Daniel joined with somewhat of surliness, while Bell, grave and
anxious, kept wistfully looking from one to the other, desirous of
gleaning some further information on the subject, which had begun to
trouble her mind. She hoped some chance would give her the
opportunity of privately questioning Philip, but it seemed to be
equally her husband's wish to thwart any such intention of hers. He
remained in the house-place, till after Philip had left, although he
was evidently so much fatigued as to give some very distinct, though
unintentional, hints to his visitor to be gone.

At length the house-door was locked on Philip, and then Daniel
prepared to go to bed. Kester had left for his loft above the
shippen more than an hour before. Bell had still to rake the fire,
and then she would follow her husband upstairs.

As she was scraping up the ashes, she heard, intermixed with the
noise she was making, the sound of some one rapping gently at the
window. In her then frame of mind she started a little; but on
looking round, she saw Kester's face pressed against the glass, and,
reassured, she softly opened the door. There he stood in the dusk
outer air, distinct against the gray darkness beyond, and in his
hand something which she presently perceived was a pitchfork.