Sybil, Or, The Two Nations

  As Sybil approached her home, she recognized her father in the courtbefore their house, accompanied by several men, with whom he seemed onthe point of going forth. She was so anxious to speak to Gerard, thatshe did not hesitate at once to advance. There was a stir as she enteredthe gate; the men ceased talking, some stood aloof, all welcomedher with silent respect. With one or two Sybil was not entirelyunacquainted; at least by name or person. To them, as she passed, shebent her head; and then going up to her father, who was about to welcomeher, she said, in a tone of calmness and with a semblance of composure,"If you are going out, dear father, I should like to see you for onemoment first."

  "A moment, friends," said Gerard, "with your leave;" and he accompaniedhis daughter into the house. He would have stopped in the hall, butshe walked on to their room, and Gerard, though pressed for time, wascompelled to follow her. When they had entered their chamber. Sybilclosed the door with care, and then, Gerard sitting, or rather leaningcarelessly, on the edge of the table, she said, "We are once moretogether, dear father; we will never again he separated."

  Gerard sprang quickly on his legs, his eye kindled, his cheek flushed."Something has happened to you, Sybil!"

  "No," she said, shaking her head mournfully, "not that; but somethingmay happen to you."

  "How so, my child?" said her father, relapsing into his customarygood-tempered placidity, and speaking in an easy, measured, almostdrawling tone that was habitual to him.

  "You are in danger," said Sybil, "great and immediate. No matter at thismoment how I am persuaded of this I wish no mysteries, but there is notime for details. The government will strike at the Convention they areresolved. This outbreak at Birmingham has brought affairs to a crisis.They have already arrested the leaders there; they will seize those whoremain here in avowed correspondence with them."

  "If they arrest all who are in correspondence with the Convention," saidGerard, "they will have enough to do."

  "Yes; but you take a leading part," said Sybil; "you are the individualthey would select."

  "Would you have me hide myself?" said Gerard, "just because something isgoing on besides talk."

  "Besides talk!" exclaimed Sybil. "O! my father, what thoughts are these!It may be that words are vain to save us; but feeble deeds are vainerfar than words."

  "I do not see that the deeds, though I have nothing to do with them, areso feeble," said Gerard; "their boasted police are beaten, and by theisolated movement of an unorganized mass. What if the outbreak had notbeen a solitary one? What if the people had been disciplined?"

  "What if everything were changed, if everything were contrary to what itis?" said Sybil. "The people are not disciplined; their action will notbe, cannot be, coherent and uniform; these are riots in which youare involved, not revolutions; and you will be a victim, and not asacrifice."

  Gerard looked thoughtful, but not anxious: after a momentary pause,he said, "We must not be scared at a few arrests, Sybil. These arehap-hazard pranks of a government that wants to terrify, but is itselffrightened. I have not counselled, none of us have counselled, this stirat Birmingham. It is a casualty. We were none of us prepared for it. Butgreat things spring from casualties. I say the police were beaten andthe troops alarmed; and I say this was done without organization and ina single spot. I am as much against feeble deeds as you can be, Sybil;and to prove this to you, our conversation at the moment you arrived,was to take care for the future that there shall be none. Neither vainwords nor feeble deeds for the future," added Gerard, and he moved todepart.

  Sybil approached him with gentleness; she took his hand as if to bid himfarewell; she retained it for a moment, and looked at him steadfastly inthe face, with a glance at the same time serious and soft. Then throwingher arms round his neck and leaning her cheek upon his breast, shemurmured, "Oh! my father, your child is most unhappy."

  "Sybil," exclaimed Gerard in a tone of tender reproach, "this iswomanish weakness; I love, but must not share it."

  "It may be womanish," said Sybil, "but it is wise: for what should makeus unhappy if not the sense of impending, yet unknown, danger?"

  "And why danger?" said Gerard.

  "Why mystery?" said Sybil. "Why are you ever pre-occupied and involvedin dark thoughts, my father? It is not the pressure of business, as youwill perhaps tell me, that occasions this change in a disposition sofrank and even careless. The pressure of affairs is not nearly as great,cannot he nearly as great, as in the early period of your assembling,when the eyes of the whole country were on you, and you were incommunication with all parts of it. How often have you told me thatthere was no degree of business which you found irksome? Now you areall dispersed and scattered: no discussions, no committees, littlecorrespondence--and you yourself are ever brooding and ever in conclave,with persons too who I know, for Stephen has told me so, are thepreachers of violence: violence perhaps that some of them may preach,yet will not practise: both bad; traitors it may be, or, at the best,hare-brained men."

  "Stephen is prejudiced," said Gerard. "He is a visionary, indulging inimpossible dreams, and if possible, little desirable. He knows nothingof the feeling of the country or the character of his countrymen.Englishmen want none of his joint-stock felicity; they want theirrights,--rights consistent with the rights of other classes, but withoutwhich the rights of other classes cannot, and ought not, to be secure."

  "Stephen is at least your friend, my father; and once you honoured him."

  "And do so now; and love him very dearly. I honour him for his greatabilities and knowledge. Stephen is a scholar; I have no pretensionsthat way; but I can feel the pulse of a people, and can comprehend thesigns of the times, Sybil. Stephen was all very well talking in ourcottage and garden at Mowbray, when we had nothing to do; but now wemust act, or others will act for us. Stephen is not a practical man; heis crotchety, Sybil, and that's just it."

  "But violence and action," said Sybil, "are they identical, my father?"

  "I did not speak of violence."

  "No; but you looked it. I know the language of your countenance, even tothe quiver of your lip. Action, as you and Stephen once taught me, andI think wisely, was to prove to our rulers by an agitation, orderly andintellectual, that we were sensible of our degradation and that itwas neither Christianlike nor prudent, neither good nor wise, to let usremain so. That you did, and you did it well; the respect of the world,even of those who differed from you in interest or opinion, was notwithheld from you; and can be withheld from none who exercise the moralpower that springs from great talents and a good cause. You havelet this great moral power, this pearl of price," said Sybil withemotion,--"we cannot conceal it from ourselves, my father,--you have letit escape from your hands."

  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 inthought; then looking up, he said, "The season for words is past. I mustbe gone, dear Sybil." And he moved towards the door.

  "You shall not leave me," said Sybil, springing forward, and seizing hisarm.

  "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 assemblyformally adjourned to another town? Is it not known that the greatmajority of the delegates have returned to their homes? And why not youto yours?"

  "I have no home," said Gerard, almost in a voice of harshness. "I camehere to do the business that was wanting, and, by the blessing of God, Iwill do it. I am no changeling, nor can I refine and split straws, likeyour philosophers and Morleys: but if the people will struggle, I willstruggle with them; and die, if need be, in the front. Nor will Ibe deterred from my purpose by the tears of a girl," and he releasedhimself from the hand of his daughter with abruptness.

  Sybil looked up to heaven with streaming eyes, and clasped her handsin unutterable woe. Gerard moved again towards the door, but before hereached it, hi
s step faltered, and he turned again and looked at hisdaughter with tenderness and anxiety. She remained in the same position,save that her arms that had fallen were crossed before her, and herdownward glance seemed fixed in deep abstraction. Her father approachedher unnoticed; he took her hand; she started, and looking round with acold and distressed expression, said, in a smothered tone, "I thoughtyou had gone."

  "Not in anger, my sweet child," and Gerard pressed her to his heart.

  "But you go," murmured Sybil.

  "These men await me," said Gerard. "Our council is of importance. Wemust take some immediate steps for the aid of our brethren in distressat Birmingham, and to discountenance similar scenes of outbreak as thisaffair: but the moment this is over, I will come back to you; andfor the rest, it shall be as you desire; to-morrow we will return toMowbray."

  Sybil returned her father's embrace with a warmth which expressedher sense of his kindness and her own soothed feelings, but she saidnothing; and bidding her now to be of good cheer, Gerard quitted theapartment.

  Book 5 Chapter 4