Before Mrs. Robson, however, had put away her knitting, voices were
heard at a good distance down the lane, but coming nearer every
moment, and once more Daniel climbed the little brow to look and to
listen.

'It's a' reet!' said he, hobbling quickly down. 'Niver fidget
theesel' wi' gettin' ready to go search for her. I'll tak' thee a
bet it's Philip Hepburn's voice, convoying her home, just as I said
he would, an hour sin'.'

Bell did not answer, as she might have done, that this probability
of Philip's bringing Sylvia home had been her own suggestion, set
aside by her husband as utterly unlikely. Another minute and the
countenances of both parents imperceptibly and unconsciously relaxed
into pleasure as Sylvia came in.

She looked very rosy from the walk, and the October air, which began
to be frosty in the evenings; there was a little cloud over her face
at first, but it was quickly dispersed as she met the loving eyes of
home. Philip, who followed her, had an excited, but not altogether
pleased look about him. He received a hearty greeting from Daniel,
and a quiet one from his aunt.

'Tak' off thy pan o' milk, missus, and set on t' kettle. Milk may do
for wenches, but Philip and me is for a drop o' good Hollands and
watter this cold night. I'm a'most chilled to t' marrow wi' looking
out for thee, lass, for t' mother was in a peck o' troubles about
thy none coining home i' t' dayleet, and I'd to keep hearkening out
on t' browhead.'