He starts up i' his sleep, swearing and cursing at 'em, till I'm sometimes afeard he'll mak' an end o' me by mistake.
And what mun he do last night but open out on Charley Kinraid, and tell Sylvie he thought m'appen t' gang had got hold on him.

It might make her cry a' her saut tears o'er again.' Philip spoke, by no wish of his own, but as if compelled to speak.
'An' who knows but what it's true ?' The instant these words had come out of his lips he could have bitten his tongue off.

And yet afterwards it was a sort of balm to his conscience that he had so spoken.
'What nonsense, Philip!' said his aunt; 'why, these fearsome ships were far out o' sight when he went away, good go wi' him, and Sylvie just getting o'er her trouble so nicely, and even my master went on for to say if they'd getten hold on him, he were not a chap to stay wi' 'em; he'd gi'en proofs on his hatred to 'em, time on.

He either ha' made off--an' then sure enough we should ha' heerd on him somehow--them Corneys is full on him still and they've a deal to wi' his folk beyond Newcassel--or, as my master says, he were just t' chap to hang or drown hissel, sooner nor do aught against his will.' 'What did Sylvie say ?' asked Philip, in a hoarse low voice.
'Say?
why, a' she could say was to burst out crying, and after a bit, she just repeated her feyther's words, and said anyhow he was dead, for he'd niver live to go to sea wi' a press-gang.

She knowed him too well for that.