'Come away to Philip,' said she again, urging Sylvia, by her looks and manner, to prepare for the little journey.

Sylvia moved away for this purpose, saying to herself,-- 'It's going to see feyther: he will tell me all.' Poor Mrs.Robson was collecting a few clothes for her husband with an eager, trembling hand, so trembling that article after article fell to the floor, and it was Hester who picked them up; and at last, after many vain attempts by the grief-shaken woman, it was Hester who tied the bundle, and arranged the cloak, and fastened down the hood; Sylvia standing by, not unobservant, though apparently absorbed in her own thoughts.
At length, all was arranged, and the key given over to Kester.

As they passed out into the storm, Sylvia said to Hester,-- 'Thou's a real good wench.

Thou's fitter to be about mother than me.
I'm but a cross-patch at best, an' now it's like as if I was no good to nobody.' Sylvia began to cry, but Hester had no time to attend to her, even had she the inclination: all her care was needed to help the hasty, tottering steps of the wife who was feebly speeding up the wet and slippery brow to her husband.

All Bell thought of was that 'he' was at the end of her toil.