Sylvia spoke.
'Philip, Kester has been saying as how it might ha' been----' 'Well!' said Philip.
Sylvia sate down on the edge of the trough, and dipped her hot little hand in the water.

Then she went on quickly, and lifting her beautiful eyes to Philip's face, with a look of inquiry--'He thinks as Charley Kinraid may ha' been took by t' press-gang.' It was the first time she had named the name of her former lover to her present one since the day, long ago now, when they had quarrelled about him; and the rosy colour flushed her all over; but her sweet, trustful eyes never flinched from their steady, unconscious gaze.
Philip's heart stopped beating; literally, as if he had come to a sudden precipice, while he had thought himself securely walking on sunny greensward.

He went purple all over from dismay; he dared not take his eyes away from that sad, earnest look of hers, but he was thankful that a mist came before them and drew a veil before his brain.

He heard his own voice saying words he did not seem to have framed in his own mind.
'Kester's a d--d fool,' he growled.
'He says there's mebbe but one chance i' a hundred,' said Sylvia, pleading, as it were, for Kester; 'but oh! Philip, think yo' there's just that one chance ?' 'Ay, there's a chance, sure enough,' said Philip, in a kind of fierce despair that made him reckless what he said or did.

'There's a chance, I suppose, for iverything i' life as we have not seen with our own eyes as it may not ha' happened.