Sylvia's Lovers

she moaned, and said, 'Oh, wicked me! forgive me--me--Philip!' Then he spoke, and said, 'Lord, forgive us our trespasses as we forgive each other!' And after that the power of speech was conquered by the coming death. He lay very still, his consciousness fast fading away, yet coming back in throbs, so that he knew it was Sylvia who touched his lips with cordial, and that it was Sylvia who murmured words of love.

Press-gang capture, Philip's lie, Kinraid's return, and deathbed forgiveness form a complete historical tragedy of betrayal and absolution — so plot scores 87.

She lay across a chair, her arms helplessly stretched out, her face unseen. Every now and then a thrill ran through her body: she was talking to herself all the time with incessant low incontinence of words. Philip stood near her, motionless: he did not know whether she was conscious of his presence; in fact, he knew nothing but that he and she were sundered for ever.

Sylvia's broken body-speech and Philip's stunned stillness individuate lover and liar at the rupture — typed coastal roles given tragic specificity — so cast scores 86.

All this enlargement of interest in the shop occupied Philip fully for some months after the period referred to in the preceding chapter. Remembering his last conversation with his aunt, he might have been uneasy at his inability to perform his promise and look after his pretty cousin, but that about the middle of November Bell Robson had fallen ill of a rheumatic fever.

Shop months and fever delay romance before press-gang and revelation accelerate — serial historical pacing rather than constant crisis — so pace scores 85.

On the north-eastern shores of England there is a town called Monkshaven, containing at the present day about fifteen thousand inhabitants. There were, however, but half the number at the end of the last century, and it was at that period that the events narrated in the following pages occurred.

Coastal census and later dialect legend fuse historical survey with Yorkshire speech — Gaskell's regional prose at strength — so prose scores 87.

The public-house that had been chosen by the leaders of the press-gang in Monkshaven at this time, for their rendezvous (or 'Randyvowse', as it was generally pronounced), was an inn of poor repute, with a yard at the back which opened on to the staithe or quay nearest to the open sea.

Randyvowse, staithe, and open sea make impressment a mapped local institution — Napoleonic violence as Monkshaven weather — so world scores 89.

On the north-eastern shores of England there is a town called Monkshaven, containing at the present day about fifteen thousand inhabitants. There were, however, but half the number at the end of the last century.

Place-census hook promises historical recovery before any lover appears — inviting by geography — so hook scores 86.

The public-house that had been chosen by the leaders of the press-gang in Monkshaven at this time, for their rendezvous (or 'Randyvowse', as it was generally pronounced), was an inn of poor repute, with a yard at the back which opened on to the staithe or quay nearest to the open sea. A strong high stone wall bounded this grass-grown mouldy yard on two sides.

Domestic romance rewritten as press-gang history — public kidnapping as the cause of private betrayal — so innov scores 88.

'She was a pale, sad woman, allays dressed in black. I can just remember her when I was a little child, but she died before her daughter was well grown up; and Miss Rose took t' lassie, as had always been like her own.' 'Miss Rose?' 'Hester Rose! have yo' niver heared of Hester Rose, she as founded t' alms-houses for poor disabled sailors and soldiers on t' Horncastle road? There's a piece o' stone in front to say that "This building is erected in memory of P. H."'

Deathbed forgiveness opens into town legend of Hester's alms-houses — private tragedy absorbed into public memory — so ending scores 87.