From this time their homeward journey was more prosperous. They arrived
safely at Lyons, and thence proceeded to Basle--to take advantage again
of river navigation; the motion of a carriage being so inimical to the
invalid. They proceeded down the Rhine to Rotterdam, and crossing the
sea, returned at last to England, after an absence of four years.
This journey, though at first begun in terror and danger, grew less
hazardous at each mile they traversed towards the North; and while going
down the Rhine, Falkner and his adopted daughter spent several tranquil
and happy hours--comparing the scenery they saw to other and distant
landscapes--and recalling incidents that had occurred many years ago.
Falkner exerted himself for Elizabeth's sake--she had suffered so much,
and he had inflicted so much anguish upon her while endeavouring to free
himself from the burden of life, that he felt remorse at having thus
trifled with the deepest emotions of her heart--and anxious to recall
the more pleasurable sensations adapted to her age. The listless, yet
pleasing feelings attendant on convalescence influenced his mind
also--and he enjoyed a peace to which he had long been a stranger.
Elizabeth, it is true, had another source of revery besides that
ministered to her by her father. She often thought of Neville; and
though he was sad, the remembrance of him was full of pleasure. He had
been so kind, so sympathizing, so helpful; besides, there was a poetry
in his very gloom that added a charm to every thought spent upon him.
She did not only recall his conversation, but conjectured the causes of
his sorrow, and felt deeply interested by the mystery that hung about
him. So young and so unhappy! And he had been long so--he was more
miserable when they saw him roving wildly among the Alsatian hills. What
could it mean? She strove to recollect what Miss Jervis mentioned at
that time; she remembered only that he had no mother, and that his
father was severe and unkind.
Yet why, when nature is so full, of joyousness, when, at the summer
season, vegetation basks in beauty and delight, and the very clouds seem
to enjoy their aerial abode in upper sky, why should misery find a home
in the mind of man? a misery which the balmy winds will not lull, nor
the verdant landscape and its winding river dissipate. She thought thus
as she saw Falkner reclining apart, a cloud gathered on his brow, his
piercing eyes fixed in vacancy, as if it beheld there a heart-moving
tragedy; but she was accustomed to his melancholy, she had ever known
him as a man of sorrows; he had lived long before she knew him, and the
bygone years were filled by events pregnant with wretchedness, nay, if
he spoke truth, with guilt. But Neville, the young, the innocent, who
had been struck in boyhood through no fault of his own, nor any act in
which he bore a part; was there no remedy for him? and would not
friendship, and kindness, and the elastic spirit of youth suffice to
cure his wound? She remembered that he declared that he had an aim in
view, in which he resolved to succeed, and, succeeding, he should be
happy: a noble aim doubtless; for his soft eyes lighted joyously up, and
his face expressed a glad pride when he prognosticated ultimate triumph.
Her heart went with him in his efforts; she prayed earnestly for his
success, and was as sure as he that Heaven would favour an object which
she felt certain was generous and pure.
A sigh, a half groan from Falkner, called her to his side, while she
meditated on these things. Both suffer, she thought; would that some
link united them, so that both might find relief in the accomplishment
of the same resolves! Little did she think of the real link that
existed, mysterious, yet adamantine; that to pray for the success of one
was to solicit destruction for the other. A dark veil was before her
eyes, totally impervious; nor did she know that the withdrawing it, as
was soon to be, would deliver her over to conflicting duties, sad
struggles of feeling, and stain her life with the dark hues that now,
missing her, blotted the existence of the two upon earth for whom she
was most interested.
They arrived in London. Falkner's fever was gone, but his wound was
rankling, painful, and even dangerous. The bullet had grazed the bone,
and this, at first neglected, and afterward improperly treated, now
betrayed symptoms of exfoliation; his sufferings were great--he bore
them patiently; he looked on them as an atonement. He had gone out in
his remorse to die--he was yet to live, broken and destroyed; and if
suffered to live, was it not for Elizabeth's sake! and having bound her
fate to his, what right had he to die? The air of London being
injurious, and yet it being necessary to continue in the vicinity of the
most celebrated surgeons, they took a pleasant villa on Wimbledon
Common, situated in the midst of a garden, and presenting to the eye
that mixture of neatness, seclusion, and comfort that renders some of
our smaller English country-houses so delightful. Elizabeth, despite her
wanderings, had a true feminine love of home. She busied herself in
adding elegance to their dwelling, by a thousand little arts, which seem
nothing, and are everything in giving grace and cheerfulness to an
abode.
Their life became tranquil, and a confidence and Friendship existed
between them, the source of a thousand pleasant conversations and happy
hours. One subject, it is true, was forbidden; the name of Neville was
never mentioned; perhaps, on that very account, it assumed more power
over Elizabeth's imagination. A casual intercourse with one, however
interesting, might have faded into the common light of day, had not the
silence enjoined kept him in that indistinct, mysterious darkness so
favourable to the processes of the imagination. On every other subject,
the so called father and daughter talked with open heart, and Falkner
was totally unaware of a secret growth of unspoken interest which had
taken root in separation and secrecy.
Elizabeth, accustomed to fear death for one dearest to her, and to
contemplate its near approaches so often, had something holy and solemn
kneaded into the very elements of her mind, that gave sublimity to her
thoughts, resignation to her disposition, and a stirring, inquiring
spirit to her conversation, which, separated as they were from the busy
and trivial duties of life, took from the monotony and stillness of
their existence, by bringing thoughts beyond the world to people the
commonplace of each day's routine. Falkner had not much of this; but he
had a spirit of observation, a ready memory, and a liveliness of
expression and description which corrected her wilder flights, and gave
the interest of flesh and blood to her fairy dreams. When they read of
the heroes of old, or the creations of the poets, she dwelt on the moral
to be deduced, the theories of life and death, religion and virtue,
therein displayed; while he compared them to his own experience,
criticised their truth, and gave pictures of real human nature, either
contrasting with, or resembling, those presented on the written page.
Their lives, thus spent, would have been equable and pleasant, but for
the sufferings of Falkner; and as those diminished, another evil arose,
in his eyes of far more awful magnitude. They had resided at Wimbledon
about a year, when Elizabeth fell ill. Her medical advisers explained
her malady as the effect of the extreme nervous excitement she had gone
through during the last years, which, borne with a patience and
fortitude almost superhuman, had meanwhile undermined her physical
strength. This was a mortal blow to Falkner; while with self-absorbed,
and, he now felt, criminal pertinacity, he had sought death, he had
forgotten the results such acts of his might have on one so dear and
innocent. He had thought that when she lost him, Elizabeth would feel a
transitory sorrow; while new scenes, another family, and the absence of
his griefs, would soon bring comfort. But he lived, and the consequences
of his resolve to die fell upon her--she was his victim! there was
something maddening in the thought. He looked at her dear face, grown so
pale--viewed her wasting form--watched her loss of appetite and nervous
tremours with an impatient agony that irritated his wound, and brought
back malady on himself.
All that the physicians could order for Elizabeth, was change of
air--added to an intimation that an entirely new scene, and a short
separation from her father, would be of the utmost benefit. Where could
she go? it was not now that she drooped--and trembled at every sound,
that he could restore her to her father's family. No time ought to be
lost, he was told, and the word consumption mentioned; the deaths of her
parents gave a sting to that word, which filled him with terror.
Something must be done immediately--what he knew not; and he gazed on
his darling, whom he felt that by his own act he had destroyed, with an
ardour to save that he felt was impotent, and he writhed beneath the
thought.
One morning, while Falkner was brooding over these miserable ideas, and
Elizabeth was vainly trying to assume a look of cheerfulness and health,
which her languid step and pale cheek belied, a carriage entered their
quiet grounds, and a visiter was announced. It was Lady Cecil. Elizabeth
had nearly forgotten, nor ever expected to see her again--but that lady,
whose mind was at ease at the period of their acquaintance, and who had
been charmed by the beauty and virtues of the devoted daughter, had
never ceased to determine at some time to seek her, and renew their
acquaintance. She, indeed, never expected to see Falkner again, and she
often wondered what would be his daughter's fate when he died; she and
her family had remained abroad till the present spring, when, being in
London, she, by Miss Jervis's assistance, learned that he still lived,
and that they were both at Wimbledon.
Lady Cecil was a welcome visiter wherever she went, for there was an
atmosphere of cheerful and kindly warmth around her, that never failed
to communicate pleasure. Falkner, who had not seen her at Leghorn, and
had scarcely heard her name mentioned, was won at once; and when she
spoke with ardent praise of Elizabeth, and looked upon her altered
appearance with undisguised distress, his heart warmed towards her, and
he was ready to ask her assistance in his dilemma. That was offered,
however, before it was asked--she heard that change of air was
recommended--she guessed that too great anxiety for her father had
produced her illness--she felt sure that her own pleasant residence and
cheerful family was the best remedy that could be administered.
"I will not be denied," she said, after having made her invitation that
both father and daughter should pay her a visit. "You must come to me:
Lord Cecil is gone to Ireland for two months, to look after his estate
there; and our little Julius being weakly, I could not accompany him. I
have taken a house near Hastings--the air is salubrious, the place
beautiful--I lead a domestic, quiet life, and I am sure Miss Falkner
will soon be well with me."
As her invitation was urged with warmth and sincerity, Falkner did not
hesitate to accept it. To a certain degree, he modified it, by begging
that Elizabeth should accompany Lady Cecil, in the first place, alone.
As the visit was to be for two months, he promised after the first was
elapsed to join them. He alleged various reasons for this arrangement;
his real one being, that he had gathered from the physicians that they
considered a short separation from him as essential to the invalid's
recovery. She acceded, for she was anxious to get well, and hoped that
the change would restore her. Everything was therefore soon agreed upon;
and, two days afterward, the two ladies were on their road to Hastings,
where Lady Cecil's family already was--she having come to town with her
husband only, who by this time had set out on his Irish tour.
"I feel convinced that three days of my nursing will make you quite
well," said Lady Cecil, as they were together in her travelling
carriage; "I wish you to look as you did in Italy. One so young, and
naturally so healthy, will soon recover strength. You overtasked
yourself--and your energetic mind is too strong for your body; but
repose, and my care, will restore you. I am sure we shall be very
happy--my children are dear little angels, and will entertain you when
you like, and never be in your way. I shall be your head nurse--and Miss
Jervis, dear odd soul! will act under my orders. The situation of my
house is enchanting; and, to add to our family circle, I expect my
brother Gerard, whom I am sure you will like. Did I ever mention him to
you? perhaps not--but you must like Gerard--and you will delight him. He
is serious--nay, to say the truth, sad--but it is a sadness a thousand
times more interesting than the gayety of commonplace worldly men. It is
a seriousness full of noble thoughts and affectionate feelings. I never
knew, I never dreamed, that there was a creature resembling or to be
compared to him in the world, till I saw you. You have the same freedom
from worldliness--the same noble and elevated ideas--feeling for others,
and thinking not of the petty circle of ideas that encompasses and
presses down every other mind, so that they cannot see or feel beyond
their Lilliputian selves.
"In one thing you do not resemble Gerard. You, though quiet, are
cheerful; while he, naturally more vivacious, is melancholy. You look an
inquiry, but I cannot tell you the cause of my brother's unhappiness;
for his friendship for me, which I highly prize, depends upon my keeping
sacredly the promise I have given never to make his sorrows a topic of
conversation. All I can say is, that they result from a sensibility, and
a delicate pride, which is overstrained, yet which makes me love him ten
thousand times more dearly. He is better now than he used to be, and I
hope that time and reason will altogether dissipate the vain regrets
that imbitter his life. Some new, some strong feeling may one day spring
up and scatter the clouds. I pray for this; for though I love him
tenderly, and sympathize in his grief, yet I think it excessive and
deplorable; and, alas! never to be remedied, though it may be
forgotten."
Elizabeth listened with some surprise to hear of another so highly
praised, and yet unhappy; while in her heart she thought, "Though this
sound like one to be compared to Neville, yet, when I see him, how I
shall scorn the very thought of finding another as high-minded, kind,
and interesting as he!" She gave no utterance, however, to this
reflection, and merely asked, "Is your brother older than you?"
"No, younger--he is only two-and-twenty; but passion and grief, endured
almost since infancy, prevented him when a child from being childish;
and now he has all that is beautiful in youth, with none of its follies.
Pardon my enthusiasm; but you will grow enthusiastic also when you see
Gerard."
"I doubt that," thought Elizabeth; "my enthusiasm is spent, and I should
hate myself if I could think of another as of Neville." This latent
thought made the excessive praises which Lady Cecil bestowed on her
brother sound almost distastefully. Her thoughts flew back to
Marseilles; to his sedulous attentions--their parting interview--and
fixed at last upon the strange emotion Falkner had displayed when seeing
him; and his desire that his name even should not be mentioned. Again
she wondered what this meant, and her thoughts became abstracted; Lady
Cecil conjectured that she was tired, and permitted her to indulge in
her silent reveries.