Again, it might be that Philip himself was near at hand--was here in this very place--starving, as too many were, for insufficiency of means to buy the high-priced food.

And then her heart burnt within her as she thought of the succulent, comfortable meals which Sylvia provided every day--nay, three times a day--for the household in the market-place, at the head of which Philip ought to have been; but his place knew him not.

For Sylvia had inherited her mother's talent for housekeeping, and on her, in Alice's decrepitude and Hester's other occupations in the shop, devolved the cares of due provision for the somewhat heterogeneous family.
And Sylvia! Hester groaned in heart over the remembrance of Sylvia's words, 'I can niver forgive him the wrong he did to me,' that night when Hester had come, and clung to her, making the sad, shameful confession of her unreturned love.
What could ever bring these two together again?
Could Hester herself--ignorant of the strange mystery of Sylvia's heart, as those who are guided solely by obedience to principle must ever be of the clue to the actions of those who are led by the passionate ebb and flow of impulse?
Could Hester herself?
Oh! how should she speak, how should she act, if Philip were near--if Philip were sad and in miserable estate?
Her own misery at this contemplation of the case was too great to bear; and she sought her usual refuge in the thought of some text, some promise of Scripture, which should strengthen her faith.
'With God all things are possible,' said she, repeating the words as though to lull her anxiety to rest.
Yes; with God all things are possible.

But ofttimes He does his work with awful instruments.

There is a peacemaker whose name is Death..