"Sibyl," he said, slowly, "I am obliged to leave you."
She turned deadly pale, and her large, dark eyes were fixed on his face, in agonized inquiry.
"Scarce an hour ago, I received a letter from home," he went on, "saying, that my father was at the point of death, and, if I ever wished to see him again, I must hasten there, immediately. I have not a moment to lose. I start instantly; but first, I have come to take leave of you."
The news came so suddenly, that, for a moment she seemed stunned.
"When do you return?" she said, in a voice faint with emotion.
"Soon, I hope; but, I cannot, as yet, tell. Farewell, my own, dearest love; believe me, I will return to you as soon as may be."
"And you will write?" she said, burying her face in his shoulder.
"Certainly, Sibyl—that will be my first care. Remember me to our friends, and explain to them the cause of this abrupt departure. And now, once more, adieu."
He pressed her to his heart, and then quitted the house, and, mounting his horse, rode rapidly away.
Once he paused, and looked anxiously in the direction of the isle. He thought of Christie receiving his note, and waiting for him in vain, at their lonely, trysting-place.