uring through the
western window, suffused the body of the church with a soft radiance,
just touching the head of the unknown with a kind of halo. Egremont
approached the transept door with a lingering pace, so that the
stranger, who he observed was preparing to leave the church, might
overtake him. As he reached the door, anxious to assure himself that he
was not mistaken, he turned round and his eye at once caught the face
of Sybil. He started, he trembled; she was not two yards distant, she
evidently recognised him; he held open the swinging postern of the Abbey
that she might pass, which she did and then stopped on the outside, and
said "Mr Franklin!"

It was therefore clear that her father had not thought fit, or had
not yet had an opportunity, to communicate to Sybil the interview of
yesterday. Egremont was still Mr Franklin. This was perplexing. Egremont
would like to have been saved the pain and awkwardness of the avowal,
yet it must be made, though not with unnecessary crudeness. And so
at present he only expressed his delight, the unexpected delight he
experienced at their meeting. And then he walked on by her side.

"Indeed," said Sybil, "I can easily imagine you must have been
surprised at seeing me in this great city. But many things, strange and
unforeseen, have happened to us since you were at Mowedale. You know, of
course you with your pursuits must know, that the People have at length
resolved to summon their own parliament in Westminster. The people of
Mowbray had to send up two delegates to the Convention, and they chose
my father for one of them. For so great is their confidence in him none
other would content them."

"He must have made a great sacrifice in coming?" said Egremont.

"Oh! what are sacrifices in such a cause!" said Sybil. "Yes; he made
great sacrifices," she continued earnestly; "great sacrifices, and I am
proud of them. Our home, which was a happy home, is gone; he has quitted
the Traffords to whom we were knit by many, many ties," and her voice
faltered--"and for whom, I know well he would have perilled his life.
And now we are parted," said Sybil, with a sigh, "perhaps for ever. They
offered to receive me under their roof," she continued, with emotion.
"Had I needed shelter there was another roof which has long awaited me:
but I could not leave my father at such a moment. He appealed to me: and
I am here. All I desire, all I live for, is to soothe and support him
in his great str