'Will this day niver come to an end?' cried Bell, plaintively.
'Oh, mother! it'll come to an end some time, never fear. I've heerd say— "Be the day weary or be the day long, At length it ringeth to even-song."'
'To even-song—to even-song,' repeated Bell. 'D'ye think now that even-song means death, Sylvie?'
'I cannot tell—I cannot bear it. Mother,' said Sylvia, in despair, 'I'll make some clap-bread: that's a heavy job, and will while away t' afternoon.'
'Ay, do!' replied the mother. 'He'll like it fresh—he'll like it fresh.'
Murmuring and talking to herself, she fell into a doze, from which Sylvia was careful not to disturb her.
The days were now getting long, although as cold as ever; and at Haytersbank Farm the light lingered, as there was no near horizon to bring on early darkness. Sylvia had all ready for her mother's tea against she wakened; but she slept on and on, the peaceful sleep of a child, and Sylvia did not care to waken her. Just after the sun had set, she saw Kester outside the window making signs to her to come out. She stole out on tip-toe by the back-kitchen, the door of which was standing open. She almost ran against Philip, who did not perceive her, as he was awaiting her coming the other way round the corner of the house, and who turned upon her a face whose import she read in an instant. 'Philip!' was all she said, and then she fainted at his feet, coming down with a heavy bang on the round paving stones of the yard.
'Kester! Kester!' he cried, for she looked like one dead, and with all his strength the wearied man could not lift her and carry her into the house.
With Kester's help she was borne into the back-kitchen, and Kester rushed to the pump for some cold water to throw over her.
While Philip, kneeling at her head, was partly supporting her in his arms, and heedless of any sight or sound, the shadow of some one fell upon him. He looked up and saw his aunt; the old dignified, sensible expression on her face, exactly like her former self, composed, strong, and calm.