'Mother is staying at home with feyther.' 'How's his rheumatics ?' asked Philip.
But at the same moment Molly took hold of Sylvia's hand, and said-- 'A want t' get round and speak to Charley.

Mother 'll be main and glad to hear as he's getten out; though, for sure, he looks as though he'd ha' been better in 's bed.

Come, Sylvia.' And Philip, fain to keep with Sylvia, had to follow the two girls close up to the specksioneer, who was preparing for his slow laborious walk back to his lodgings.

He stopped on seeing his cousin.
'Well, Molly,' said he, faintly, putting out his hand, but his eye passing her face to look at Sylvia in the background, her tear-stained face full of shy admiration of the nearest approach to a hero she had ever seen.
'Well, Charley, a niver was so taken aback as when a saw yo' theere, like a ghost, a-standin' agin a gravestone.

How white and wan yo' do look!' 'Ay!' said he, wearily, 'wan and weak enough.' 'But I hope you're getting better, sir,' said Sylvia, in a low voice, longing to speak to him, and yet wondering at her own temerity.
'Thank you, my lass.