But what he did say was so much beyond her utmost apprehension, which had only reached to various terms of imprisonment, that she did not imagine the dark shadow lurking behind.

What he had said was too much for her.

Her eyes dilated, her lips blanched, her pale cheeks grew yet paler.
After a minute's look into his face, as if fascinated by some horror, she stumbled backwards into the chair in the chimney comer, and covered her face with her hands, moaning out some inarticulate words.
Philip was on his knees by her, dumb from excess of sympathy, kissing her dress, all unfelt by her; he murmured half-words, he began passionate sentences that died away upon his lips; and she--she thought of nothing but her father, and was possessed and rapt out of herself by the dread of losing him to that fearful country which was almost like the grave to her, so all but impassable was the gulf.

But Philip knew that it was possible that the separation impending might be that of the dark, mysterious grave--that the gulf between the father and child might indeed be that which no living, breathing, warm human creature can ever cross.
'Sylvie, Sylvie!' said he,--and all their conversation had to be carried on in low tones and whispers, for fear of the listening ears above,--'don't,--don't, thou'rt rending my heart.

Oh, Sylvie, hearken.