’Yes, I think he likes her a good deal; but he’s so quiet, I never feel sure.  John and Jeremiah would like the match, I’ve a notion.’

And now they came to the stile which had filled Philip’s eye for some minutes past, though neither of the others had perceived they were so near it; the stile which led to Moss Brow from the road into the fields that sloped down to Haystersbank.  Here they would leave Molly, and now would begin the delicious tete-a-tete walk, which Philip always tried to make as lingering as possible.  To-day he was anxious to show his sympathy with Sylvia, as far as he could read what was passing in her mind; but how was he to guess the multitude of tangled thoughts in that unseen receptacle?  A resolution to be good, if she could, and always to be thinking on death, so that what seemed to her now as simply impossible, might come true—­that she might ‘dread the grave as little as her bed’; a wish that Philip were not coming home with her; a wonder if the specksioneer really had killed a man, an idea which made her shudder; yet from the awful fascination about it, her imagination was compelled to dwell on the tall, gaunt figure, and try to recall the wan countenance; a hatred and desire of revenge on the press-gang, so vehement that it sadly militated against her intention of trying to be good; all these notions, and wonders, and fancies, were whirling about in Sylvia’s brain, and at one of their promptings she spoke,—­

‘How many miles away is t’ Greenland seas?—­I mean, how long do they take to reach?’

‘I don’t know; ten days or a fortnight, or more, maybe.  I’ll ask.’

’Oh! feyther ‘ll tell me all about it.  He’s been there many a time.’

’I say, Sylvie!  My aunt said I were to give you lessons this winter i’ writing and ciphering.  I can begin to come up now, two evenings, maybe, a week.  T’ shop closes early after November comes in.’

Sylvia did not like learning, and did not want him for her teacher; so she answered in a dry little tone,—­

‘It’ll use a deal o’ candle-light; mother ’ll not like that.  I can’t see to spell wi’out a candle close at my elbow.’

‘Niver mind about candles.  I can bring up a candle wi’ me, for I should be burning one at Alice Rose’s.’

So that excuse would not do.  Sylvia beat her brains for another.

’Writing cramps my hand so, I can’t do any sewing for a day after; and feyther wants his shirts very bad.’

‘But, Sylvia, I’ll teach you geography, and ever such a vast o’ fine things about t’ countries, on t’ map.’

‘Is t’ Arctic seas down on t’ map?’ she asked, in a tone of greater interest.

’Yes!  Arctics, and tropics, and equator, and equinoctial line; we’ll take ’em turn and turn about; we’ll do writing and ciphering one night, and geography t’ other.’

Philip spoke with pleasure at the prospect, but Sylvia relaxed into indifference.