t his present life should go on for
ever; he wished for no change, and at length almost persuaded himself
that no change could arrive; as men who are basking in a summer sun,
surrounded by bright and beautiful objects, cannot comprehend how the
seasons can ever alter; that the sparkling foliage should shrivel and
fall away, the foaming waters become icebound, and the blue serene, a
dark and howling space.

In this train of mind, the early days of October having already stolen
on him, an incident occurred which startled him in his retirement, and
rendered it necessary that he should instantly quit it. Egremont
had entrusted the secret of his residence to a faithful servant who
communicated with him when necessary, under his assumed name. Through
these means he received a letter from his mother, written from London,
where she had unexpectedly arrived, entreating him, in urgent terms, to
repair to her without a moment's delay, on a matter of equal interest
and importance to herself and him. Such an appeal from such a quarter,
from the parent that had ever been kind, and the friend that had been
ever faithful, was not for a moment to be neglected. Already a period
had elapsed since its transmission, which Egremont regretted. He
resolved at once to quit Mowedale, nor could he console himself with
the prospect of an immediate return. Parliament was to assemble in the
ensuing month, and independent of the unknown cause which summoned him
immediately to town, he was well aware that much disagreeable business
awaited him which could no longer be postponed. He had determined not
to take his seat unless the expenses of his contest were previously
discharged, and despairing of his brother's aid, and shrinking from
trespassing any further on his mother's resources, the future looked
gloomy enough: indeed nothing but the frequent presence and the constant
influence of Sybil had driven from his mind the ignoble melancholy
which, relieved by no pensive fancy, is the invariable attendant of
pecuniary embarrassment.

And now he was to leave her. The event, rather the catastrophe,
which under any circumstances, could not be long postponed, was to be
precipitated. He strolled up to the cottage to bid her farewell and to
leave kind words for her father. Sybil was not there. The old dame who
kept their home informed him that Sybil was at the convent, but would
return in the evening. It was impossible to quit Mowedale without seeing
Sybil;