Sylvia flew for her father's hat. He really seemed the most unmoved of the party.
'A'm noane afeared,' said he. 'A'd do it o'er again, a would; an' a'll tell 'em so. It's a fine time o' day when men's to be trapped and carried off, an' them as lays traps to set 'em free is to be put i' t' lock-ups for it.'
'But there was rioting, beside the rescue; t' house was burnt,' continued eager, breathless Philip.
'An' a'm noane goin' t' say a'm sorry for that, neyther; tho', mebbe, a wouldn't do it again.'
Sylvia had his hat on his head by this time; and Bell, wan and stiff, trembling all over, had his over-coat, and his leather purse with the few coins she could muster, ready for him to put on.
He looked at these preparations, at his wife and daughter, and his colour changed from its ruddy brown.
'A'd face lock-ups, an' a fair spell o' jail, but for these,' said he, hesitating.
'Oh!' said Philip, 'for God's sake, lose no time, but be off.'
'Where mun he go?' asked Bell, as if Philip must decide all.
'Anywhere, anywhere, out of this house—say Haverstone. This evening, I'll go and meet him there and plan further; only be off now.' Philip was so keenly eager, he hardly took note at the time of Sylvia's one vivid look of unspoken thanks, yet he remembered it afterwards.