Sylvia went on without minding the interruption.
'And Measter Hall makes a good offer, for t' man as is going to come in will take t' stock and a' t' implements; and if mother—if we—if I—like, th' furniture and a'——'
'Furniture!' said Kester, in grim surprise. 'What's to come o' t' missus and thee, that yo'll not need a bed to lie on, or a pot to boil yo'r vittel in?'
Sylvia reddened, but kept silence.
'Cannot yo' speak?'
'Oh, Kester, I didn't think thou'd turn again' me, and me so friendless. It's as if I'd been doin' something wrong, and I have so striven to act as is best; there's mother as well as me to be thought on.'
'Cannot yo' answer a question?' said Kester, once more. 'Whatten's up that t' missus and yo'll not need bed and table, pots and pans?'
'I think I'm going to marry Philip,' said Sylvia, in so low a tone, that if Kester had not suspected what her answer was to be, he could not have understood it.
After a moment's pause he recommenced his walk towards the field-gate. But she went after him and held him tight by the arm, speaking rapidly.
'Kester, what could I do? What can I do? He's my cousin, and mother knows him, and likes him; and he's been so good to us in a' this time o' trouble and heavy grief, and he'll keep mother in comfort all t' rest of her days.'