His hand was on it. The voice of Sybil made him turn his
head.
"Where do they meet to-night?" she inquired, in a smothered
tone.
"I am bound to secrecy," said Morley.
"There is no softness in your spirit," said Sybil.
"I am met with none."
"We have ever been your friends."
"A blossom that has brought no fruit."
"This hour will be remembered at the judgment-seat," said
Sybil.
"The holy Virgin will perhaps interpose for me," said Morley,
with a sneer.
"We have merited this," said Sybil, "who have taken an infidel
to our hearts,"
"If he had only been a heretic, like Egremont!" said Morley.
Sybil burst into tears. Morley sprang to her. "Swear by the
holy Virgin, swear by all the saints, swear by your hope of
heaven and by your own sweet name; without equivocation,
without reserve, with fulness and with truth, that you will
never give your heart or hand to Egremont;--and I will save
your father."
As in a low voice, but with a terrible earnestness, Morley
dictated this oath, Sybil, already pale, became white as the
marble saint of some sacred niche. Her large dark eyes seemed
fixed; a fleet expression of agony flitted over her beautiful
brow like a cloud; and she said, "I swear that I will never
give my hand to--"
"And your heart, your heart," said Morley eagerly.
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