owbray."

"Ah! but I am so happy that he has not to work in a town," said Sybil.
"He is not made to be cooped up in a hot factory in a smoky street. At
least he labours among the woods and waters. And the Traffords are such
good people! So kind to him and to all."

"You love your father very much."

She looked at him a little surprised; and then her sweet serious face
broke into a smile and she said, "And is that strange?"

"I think not," said Egremont; "I am inclined to love him myself."

"Ah! you win my heart," said Sybil, "when you praise him. I think that
is the real reason why I like Stephen; for otherwise he is always saying
something with which I cannot agree, which I disapprove; and yet he is
so good to my father!"

"You speak of Mr Morley--"

"Oh! we don't call him 'Mr'," said Sybil slightly laughing.

"I mean Stephen Morley," said Egremont recalling his position, "whom I
met in Marney Abbey. He is very clever, is he not?"

"He is a great writer and a great student; and what he is he has made
himself. I hear too that you follow the same pursuit," said Sybil.

"But I am not a great writer or a great student," said Egremont.

"Whatever you be, I trust," said Sybil, in a more serious tone, "that
you will never employ the talents that God has given you against the
People."

"I have come here to learn something of their condition," said Egremont.
"That is not to be done in a great city like London. We all of us live
too much in a circle. You will assist me, I am sure," added Egremont;
"your spirit will animate me. You told me last night that there was no
other subject, except one, which ever occupied your thoughts."

"Yes," said Sybil, "I have lived under two roofs, only two roofs; and
each has given me a great idea; the Convent and the Cottage. One has
taught me the degradation of my faith, the other of my race. You should
not wonder, therefore, that my heart is concentrated on the Church and
the People."

"But there are other ideas," said Egremont, "that might equally be
entitled to your thought."

"I feel these are enough," said Sybil; "too great, as it is, for my
brain."

Book 3 Chapter 7

At the end of a court in Wodgate, of rather larger dimensions than usual
in that town, was a high and many-windowed house, of several stories
in height, which had been added to it at intervals. It was in a most
dilapidated state; the principal part occupied as a nail-workshop, where
a great numb