Part 50 (1/2)

”The caverns of my mind are open,” said Morley, ”and they will not close.”

”Stephen,” said Sybil, ”dear Stephen, I am grateful for your kind feelings: but indeed this is not the time for such pa.s.sages: cease, my friend!”

”I came to know my fate,” said Morley, doggedly.

”It is a sacrilege of sentiment,” said Sybil, unable any longer to restrain her emotion, ”to obtrude its expression on a daughter at such a moment.”

”You would not deem it so if you loved, or if you could love me, Sybil,”

said Morley, mournfully. ”Why it's a moment of deep feeling, and suited for the expression of deep feeling. You would not have answered thus, if he who had been kneeling here had been named Egremont.”

”He would not have adopted a course,” said Sybil, unable any longer to restrain her displeasure, ”so selfish, so indecent.”

”Ah! she loves him!” exclaimed Morley, springing on his legs, and with a demoniac laugh.

There was a pause. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances Sybil would have left the room and terminated a distressing interview, but in the present instance that was impossible; for on the continuance of that interview any hope of a.s.sisting her father depended. Morley had thrown himself into a chair opposite her, leaning back in silence with his face covered; Sybil was disinclined to revive the conversation about her father, because she had already perceived that Morley was only too much aware of the command which the subject gave him over her feelings and even conduct. Yet time, time now full of terror, time was stealing on. It was evident that Morley would not break the silence. At length, unable any longer to repress her tortured heart, Sybil said, ”Stephen, be generous; speak to me of your friend.”

”I have no friend,” said Morley, without taking his hands from his face.

”The Saints in heaven have mercy on me,” said Sybil, ”for I am very wretched.”

”No, no, no,” said Morley, rising rapidly from his seat, and again kneeling at her side, ”not wretched; not that tone of anguis.h.!.+ What can I do? what say? Sybil, dearest Sybil, I love you so much, so fervently, so devotedly; none can love you as I do: say not you are wretched!”

”Alas! alas!” said Sybil.

”What shall I do? what say?” said Morley.

”You know what I would have you say,” said Sybil. ”Speak of one who is my father, if no longer your friend: you know what I would have you do--save him: save him from death and me from despair.”

”I am ready,” said Morley; ”I came for that. Listen. There is a meeting to-night at half-past eight o'clock; they meet to arrange a general rising in the country: their intention is known to the government; they will be arrested. Now it is in my power, which it was not when I saw your father this morning, to convince him of the truth of this, and were I to see him before eight o'clock, which I could easily do, I could prevent his attendance, certainly prevent his attendance, and he would be saved; for the government depend much upon the papers, some proclamations, and things of that kind, which will be signed this evening, for their proofs. Well, I am ready to save Gerard, my friend, for so I'll call him as you wish it; one I have served before and long; one whom I came up from Mowbray this day to serve and save; I am ready to do that which you require; you yourself admit it is no light deed; and coming from one you have known so long, and, as you confess, so much regarded, should be doubly cherished; I am ready to do this great service; to save the father from death and the daughter from despair.

--if she would but only say to me, 'I have but one reward, and it is yours.'”

”I have read of something of this sort,” said Sybil, speaking in a murmuring tone, and looking round her with a wild expression, ”this bargaining of blood, and shall I call it love? But that was ever between the oppressors and the oppressed. This is the first time that a child of the people has been so a.s.sailed by one of her own cla.s.s, and who exercises his power from the confidence which the sympathy of their sorrows alone caused. It is bitter; bitter for me and mine--but for you, pollution.”

”Am I answered?” said Morley.

”Yes,” said Sybil, ”in the name of the holy Virgin.”

”Good night, then,” said Morley, and he approached the door. His hand was on it. The voice of Sybil made him turn his head.

”Where do they meet to-night?” she inquired, in a smothered tone.

”I am bound to secrecy,” said Morley.

”There is no softness in your spirit,” said Sybil.

”I am met with none.”

”We have ever been your friends.”