Coulson had no word for him, but he looked reproachfully at his partner for his long, unexplained absence. Hester was putting away the ribbons and handkerchiefs, and bright-coloured things which had been used to deck the window; for no more customers were likely to come this night through the blustering weather to a shop dimly lighted by two tallow candles and an inefficient oil-lamp. Philip came up to her, and stood looking at her with unseeing eyes; but the strange consciousness of his fixed stare made her uncomfortable, and called the faint flush to her pale cheeks, and at length compelled her, as it were, to speak, and break the spell of the silence. So, curiously enough, all three spoke at once. Hester asked (without looking at Philip)—
'Yo're sadly wet, I'm feared?'
Coulson said—
'Thou might have a bit o' news to tell one after being on the gad all afternoon.'
Philip whispered to Hester—
'Wilt come into t' parlour? I want a word wi' thee by oursel's.'
Hester quietly finished rolling up the ribbon she had in her hands when he spoke, and then followed him into the room behind the shop before spoken of.
Philip set down on the table the candle which he had brought out of the shop, and turning round to Hester, took her trembling hand into both of his, and gripping it nervously, said—
'Oh! Hester, thou must help me—thou will, will not thou?'
Hester gulped down something that seemed to rise in her throat and choke her, before she answered.