"
Gerard looked at her as she spoke with an earnestness unusual
with him. As she ceased, he cast his eyes down, and seemed
for a moment deep in thought; then looking up, he said, "The
season for words is past. I must be gone, dear Sybil." And he
moved towards the door.
"You shall not leave me," said Sybil, springing forward, and
seizing his arm.
"What would you, what would you?" said Gerard, distressed.
"That we should quit this city to-night."
"What, quit my post?"
"Why yours? Have not your colleagues dispersed? Is not your
assembly formally adjourned to another town? Is it not known
that the great majority of the delegates have returned to
their homes? And why not you to yours?"
"I have no home," said Gerard, almost in a voice of harshness.
"I came here to do the business that was wanting, and, by the
blessing of God, I will do it. I am no changeling, nor can I
refine and split straws, like your philosophers and Morleys:
but if the people will struggle, I will struggle with them;
and die, if need be, in the front. Nor will I be deterred
from my purpose by the tears of a girl," and he released
himself from the hand of his daughter with abruptness.
Sybil looked up to heaven with streaming eyes, and clasped her
hands in unutterable woe.
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