"And his daughter--ay, his daughter! There is something almost sublime
about that young girl, yet strangely sweet withal; a tone so lofty
combined with such simplicity is very rare. For there is no affectation
of enthusiasm about her; nothing exaggerated, nothing rhapsodical. Her
dark eyes and lustrous face, and the solemn sweetness of her thrilling
voice--they haunt me; they have haunted me from the first moment I
encountered her like a spirit amid the ruins of our abbey. And I am
one of 'the family of sacrilege.' If she knew that! And I am one of the
conquering class she denounces. If also she knew that! Ah! there is much
to know! Above all--the future. Away! the tree of knowledge is the tree
of death. I will have no thought that is not as bright and lovely as
this morn."

He went forth from his little garden, and strolled along the road in the
direction of the cottage of Gerard, which was about three quarters of
a mile distant. You might see almost as far; the sunshiny road a little
winding and rising a very slight ascent. The cottage itself was hid by
its trees. While Egremont was still musing of one who lived under that
roof, he beheld in the distance Sybil.

She was springing along with a quick and airy step. Her black dress
displayed her undulating and elastic figure. Her little foot bounded
from the earth with a merry air. A long rosary hung at her side; and
her head was partly covered with a hood which descended just over her
shoulders. She seemed gay, for Harold kept running before her with a
frolicsome air, and then returning to his mistress, danced about her,
and almost overpowered her with his gambols.

"I salute thee, holy sister," said Egremont.

"Oh! is not this a merry morn!" she exclaimed with a bright and happy
face.

"I feel it as you. And whither do you go?"

"I go to the convent; I pay my first visit to our Superior since I left
them."

"Not very long ago," said Egremont, with a smile, and turning with her.

"It seems so," said Sybil.

They walked on together; Sybil glad as the hour; noticing a thousand
cheerful sights, speaking to her dog in her ringing voice, as he
gambolled before them, or seized her garments in his mouth, and ever and
anon bounded away and then returned, looking up in his mistress' face to
inquire whether he had been wanted in his absence.

"What a pity it is that your father's way each morning lies up the
valley," said Egremont; "he would be your companion to M