Kinraid had turned his steps towards Haytersbank Farm as soon as ever he had completed his purchases.

He had only come that afternoon to Monkshaven, and for the sole purpose of seeing Sylvia once more before he went to fulfil his engagement as specksioneer in the _Urania_, a whaling-vessel that was to sail from North Shields on Thursday morning, and this was Monday.
Sylvia sat in the house-place, her back to the long low window, in order to have all the light the afternoon hour afforded for her work.

A basket of her father's unmended stockings was on the little round table beside her, and one was on her left hand, which she supposed herself to be mending; but from time to time she made long pauses, and looked in the fire; and yet there was but little motion of flame or light in it out of which to conjure visions.

It was 'redd up' for the afternoon; covered with a black mass of coal, over which the equally black kettle hung on the crook.

In the back-kitchen Dolly Reid, Sylvia's assistant during her mother's absence, chanted a lugubrious ditty, befitting her condition as a widow, while she cleaned tins, and cans, and milking-pails.