e they are
the feelings and the fortunes of the People."

"You astound, you overwhelm me," said Sybil, agitated. "You came for
another purpose, we were speaking of other feelings; it is the hour of
exigency you choose for these strange, these startling words."

"I also have my hour of exigency," said Morley, "and its minutes are now
numbering. Upon it all depends."

"Another time," said Sybil, in a low and deprecatory voice; "speak of
these things another time!"

"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 passages: 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 circumstances 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 assisting 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;