should come to pass that the fact of the undelivered message sent by her lover through Philip should reach Sylvia’s ears:  what would be the position of the latter, not merely in her love—­that, of course, would be hopeless—­but in her esteem?  All sophistry vanished; the fear of detection awakened Philip to a sense of guilt; and, besides, he found out, that, in spite of all idle talk and careless slander, he could not help believing that Kinraid was in terrible earnest when he uttered those passionate words, and entreated that they might be borne to Sylvia.  Some instinct told Philip that if the specksioneer had only flirted with too many, yet that for Sylvia Robson his love was true and vehement.  Then Philip tried to convince himself that, from all that was said of his previous character, Kinraid was not capable of an enduring constant attachment; and with such poor opiate to his conscience as he could obtain from this notion Philip was obliged to remain content, until, a day or two after the first intelligence of the presence of those three ships, he learned, with some trouble and pains, that their names were the Megoera, the Bellerophon, and the Hanover.

Then he began to perceive how unlikely it was that the Alcestis should have been lingering on this shore all these many months.  She was, doubtless, gone far away by this time; she had, probably, joined the fleet on the war station.  Who could tell what had become of her and her crew? she might have been in battle before now, and if so—–­

So his previous fancies shrank to nothing, rebuked for their improbability, and with them vanished his self-reproach.  Yet there were times when the popular attention seemed totally absorbed by the dread of the press-gang; when no other subject was talked about—­ hardly, in fact, thought about.  At such flows of panic, Philip had his own private fears lest a flash of light should come upon Sylvia, and she should suddenly see that Kinraid’s absence might be accounted for in another way besides death.  But when he reasoned, this seemed unlikely.  No man-of-war had been seen off the coast, or, if seen, had never been spoken about, at the time of Kinraid’s disappearance.  If he had vanished this winter time, every one would have been convinced that the press-gang had seized upon him.  Philip had never heard any one breathe the dreaded name of the Alcestis.  Besides, he went on to think, at the farm they are out of hearing of this one great weary subject of talk.  But it was not so, as he became convinced one evening.  His aunt caught him a little aside while Sylvia was in the dairy, and her husband talking in the shippen with Kester.