He saw her there, rather pale with her night's watch and anxiety, but looking meek, and a little beseeching.
'Mother has had such a bad night! she fancied once as some balm-tea would do her good--it allays used to: but my dried balm is all gone, and I thought there'd be sure to be some in t' old garden at Haytersbank.

Feyther planted a bush just for mother, wheere it allays came up early, nigh t' old elder-tree; and if yo'd not mind, I could run theere while she sleeps, and be back again in an hour, and it's not seven now.' 'Thou's not wear thyself out with running, Sylvie,' said Philip, eagerly; 'I'll get up and go myself, or, perhaps,' continued he, catching the shadow that was coming over her face, 'thou'd rather go thyself: it's only that I'm so afraid of thy tiring thyself.' 'It'll not tire me,' said Sylvia.

'Afore I was married, I was out often far farther than that, afield to fetch up t' kine, before my breakfast.' 'Well, go if thou will,' said Philip.

'But get somewhat to eat first, and don't hurry; there's no need for that.' She had got her hat and shawl, and was off before he had finished his last words.
The long High Street was almost empty of people at that early hour; one side was entirely covered by the cool morning shadow which lay on the pavement, and crept up the opposite houses till only the topmost story caught the rosy sunlight.

Up the hill-road, through the gap in the stone wall, across the dewy fields, Sylvia went by the very shortest path she knew.
She had only once been at Haytersbank since her wedding-day.