‘I don’t know what to say,’ said she, in a low, almost inaudible tone.  Then hardening herself, and resolving to speak as if she did not understand his only half-expressed meaning, she lifted up her head, and all but looking at him—­while she wrenched her hand out of his—­she said:  ’Mother’s gone to Middleham for a visit, and feyther’s out i’ t’ plough-field wi’ Kester; but he’ll be in afore long.’

Charley did not speak for a minute or so.  Then he said—­

‘Yo’re not so dull as to think I’m come all this way for t’ see either your father or your mother.  I’ve a great respect for ’em both; but I’d hardly ha’ come all this way for to see ’em, and me bound to be back i’ Shields, if I walk every step of the way, by Wednesday night.  It’s that yo’ won’t understand my meaning, Sylvia; it’s not that yo’ don’t, or that yo’ can’t.’  He made no effort to repossess himself of her hand.  She was quite silent, but in spite of herself she drew long hard breaths.  ’I may go back to where I came from,’ he went on.  ‘I thought to go to sea wi’ a blessed hope to cheer me up, and a knowledge o’ some one as loved me as I’d left behind; some one as loved me half as much as I did her; for th’ measure o’ my love toward her is so great and mighty, I’d be content wi’ half as much from her, till I’d taught her to love me more.  But if she’s a cold heart and cannot care for a honest sailor, why, then, I’d best go back at once.’

He made for the door.  He must have been pretty sure from some sign or other, or he would never have left it to her womanly pride to give way, and for her to make the next advance.  He had not taken two steps when she turned quickly towards him, and said something—­the echo of which, rather than the words themselves, reached him.

‘I didn’t know yo’ cared for me; yo’ niver said so.’  In an instant he was back at her side, his arm round her in spite of her short struggle, and his eager passionate voice saying, ‘Yo’ never knowed I loved you, Sylvia? say it again, and look i’ my face while yo’ say it, if yo’ can.  Why, last winter I thought yo’d be such a woman when yo’d come to be one as my een had never looked upon, and this year, ever sin’ I saw yo’ i’ the kitchen corner sitting crouching behind my uncle, I as good as swore I’d have yo’ for wife, or never wed at all.  And it was not long ere yo’ knowed it, for all yo’ were so coy, and now yo’ have the face—­no, yo’ have not the face—­come, my darling, what is it?’ for she was crying; and on his turning her wet blushing face towards him the better to look at it, she suddenly hid it in his breast.  He lulled and soothed her in his arms, as if she had been a weeping child and he her mother; and then they sat down on the settle together, and when she was more composed they began to talk.  He asked her about her mother; not sorry in his heart at Bell Robson’s absence.  He had intended if necessary to acknowledge his wishes and desires with regard to Sylvia to her