The departure of Morley was a great relief to Egremont, though
the task that was left was still a painful effort. He rose
and walked for a moment up and down the room, commenced an
unfinished sentence, approached the hearth and leant over the
mantel; and then at length extending his hand to Gerard he
exclaimed, in a trembling voice, "Best of friends, I must
leave Mowedale."
"I am very sorry," said Gerard; "and when?"
"Now," said Egremont.
"Now!" said Sybil.
"Yes; this instant. My summons is urgent. I ought to have
left this morning. I came here then to bid you farewell," he
said looking at Sybil, "to express to you how deeply I was
indebted to you for all your goodness--how dearly I shall
cherish the memory of these happy days--the happiest I have
ever known;" and his voice faltered. "I came also to leave a
kind message for you, my friend, a hope that we might meet
again and soon--but your daughter was absent, and I could not
leave Mowedale without seeing either of you. So I must
contrive to get on through the night."
"Well we lose a very pleasant neighbour," said Gerard; "we
shall miss you, I doubt not, eh, Sybil?"
But Sybil had turned away her head; she was leaning over and
seemed to be caressing Harold and was silent.
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