A'll buy thee a bonny ribbon for thy hair out o' t' cousin's own shop.' Some thought of another ribbon which had once tied up her hair, and afterwards been cut in twain, must have crossed Sylvia's mind, for she answered, as if she shrank from her father's words,-- 'I cannot go, I'm noane wantin' a ribbon; I'm much obliged, father, a' t' same.' Her mother read her heart clearly, and suffered with her, but never spoke a word of sympathy.

But she went on rather more quickly than she would otherwise have done to question her husband as to all he knew about this great rise of Philip's.

Once or twice Sylvia joined in with languid curiosity; but presently she became tired and went to bed.

For a few moments after she left, her parents sate silent.
Then Daniel, in a tone as if he were justifying his daughter, and comforting himself as well as his wife, observed that it was almost on for nine; the evenings were light so long now.

Bell said nothing in reply, but gathered up her wool, and began to arrange the things for night.
By-and-by Daniel broke the silence by saying,-- 'A thowt at one time as Philip had a fancy for our Sylvie.' For a minute or two Bell did not speak.