But she had come resolved not to speak, for fear of showing too much passion, too much emotion.
Only as she was going away she turned and said,-- 'Philip, mother hasn't many more years to live; dunnot grieve her, and set her again' me by finding fault wi' me afore her.

Our being wed were a great mistake; but before t' poor old widow woman let us make as if we were happy.' 'Sylvie! Sylvie!' he called after her.

She must have heard, but she did not turn.

He went after her, and seized her by the arm rather roughly; she had stung him to the heart with her calm words, which seemed to reveal a long-formed conviction.
'Sylvie!' said he, almost fiercely, 'what do yo' mean by what you've said?
Speak! I will have an answer.' He almost shook her: she was half frightened by his vehemence of behaviour, which she took for pure anger, while it was the outburst of agonized and unrequited love.
'Let me go! Oh, Philip, yo' hurt me!' Just at this moment Hester came up; Philip was ashamed of his passionate ways in her serene presence, and loosened his grasp of his wife, and she ran away; ran into her mother's empty room, as to a solitary place, and there burst into that sobbing, miserable crying which we instinctively know is too surely lessening the length of our days on earth to be indulged in often.
When she had exhausted that first burst and lay weak and quiet for a time, she listened in dreading expectation of the sound of his footstep coming in search of her to make friends.

But he was detained below on business, and never came.