When he saw her black dress, her deep mourning, he had hard work to keep from breaking out, but by dint of a good brush of his eyes with the back of his hand, and a moment's pause, he could look at her again with tolerable calmness.
'Why, Kester: why didst niver come to speak to us ?' said Sylvia, finding it necessary to be cheerful if she could.
'A dun know; niver ax me.

A say, they'n gi'en Dick Simpson' (whose evidence had been all material against poor Daniel Robson at the trial) 'a' t' rotten eggs and fou' things they could o' Saturday, they did,' continued he, in a tone of satisfaction; 'ay, and they niver stopped t' see whether t' eggs were rotten or fresh when their blood was up--nor whether stones was hard or soft,' he added, in a lower tone, and chuckling a little.
Sylvia was silent.

He looked at her now, chuckling still.

Her face was white, her lips tightened, her eyes a-flame.

She drew a long breath.
'I wish I'd been theere! I wish I could do him an ill turn,' sighed she, with some kind of expression on her face that made Kester quail a little.
'Nay, lass! he'll get it fra' others.