embarrassed by his incognito and all its consequent deception,
he could do nothing but tenderly express his regret at
parting, and speak vaguely and almost mysteriously of their
soon again meeting. He held out again his hand to Gerard who
shook it heartily: then approaching Sybil, Egremont said, "you
have shewn me a thousand kindnesses, which I cherish," he
added in a lower tone, "above all human circumstances. Would
you deign to let this volume lie upon your table," and he
offered Sybil an English translation of Thomas a Kempis,
illustrated by some masterpieces. In its first page was
written "Sybil, from a faithful friend."

"I accept it," said Sybil with a trembling voice and rather
pale, "in remembrance of a friend." She held forth her hand
to Egremont, who retained it for an instant, and then bending
very low, pressed it to his lips. As with an agitated heart,
he hastily crossed the threshold of the cottage, something
seemed to hold him back. He turned round. The bloodhound had
seized him by the coat and looked up to him with an expression
of affectionate remonstrance against his departure. Egremont
bent down, caressed Harold and released himself from his
grasp.

When Egremont left the cottage, he found the country enveloped
in a thick white mist, so that had it not been for some huge
black shadows which he recognized as the crests of trees, it
would have been very difficult to discriminate the earth from
the sky, and the mist thickening as he advanced, even these
fallacious landmarks threatened to disappear. He had to walk
to Mowbray to catch a night train for London. Every moment