Sylvia looking sadly down into the bubbling, merry, flowing water: Philip glaring at her, wishing that the next word were spoken, though it might stab him to the heart.

But she did not speak.
At length, unable to bear it any longer, he said, 'Thou sets a deal o' store on that man, Sylvie.' If 'that man' had been there at the moment, Philip would have grappled with him, and not let go his hold till one or the other were dead.

Sylvia caught some of the passionate meaning of the gloomy, miserable tone of Philip's voice as he said these words.

She looked up at him.
'I thought yo' knowed that I cared a deal for him.' There was something so pleading and innocent in her pale, troubled face, so pathetic in her tone, that Philip's anger, which had been excited against her, as well as against all the rest of the world, melted away into love; and once more he felt that have her for his own he must, at any cost.

He sate down by her, and spoke to her in quite a different manner to that which he had used before, with a ready tact and art which some strange instinct or tempter 'close at his ear' supplied.
'Yes, darling, I knew yo' cared for him.