That night was spent in travelling, and without any sleep. Neville saw
the day break in melancholy guise, struggling with the clouds, with
which a southeast wind veiled the sky. Nature looked bleak and desolate,
even though she was still dressed in her summer garments. It was only
the latter end of August, but so changeable is our climate, that the
bright festive days which he had lately enjoyed in Sussex were already
followed by chill and dreary precursors of the year's decline. Gerard
reached Dromore at about noon. He learned that his father had arrived
during the night--he had slept a few hours, but was already gone out; it
appeared that he had ridden over to a neighbour, Mr. Ashley; for he had
inquired if he were in the county, and had, with his groom, both on
horseback, taken the road that led toward his house.
Neville hastily took some refreshment, while he ordered a horse to be
saddled. His heart led him to seek and view a spot which he had once
before visited, and which seemed accurately described in Falkner's
narrative. He left behind him the woods of Dromore, and the foldings of
the green hills in which it was situated--he descended towards the
barren, dreary shore--the roar of ocean soon met his ear, and he reached
the waste sands that border that melancholy coast--he saw the line of
sand-hills, which formed a sort of bulwark against the tide--he reached
at length a rapid, yet shallow stream, which was but about twenty yards
wide, flowing over a rough bottom of pebbles; the eye easily reached its
utmost depth, it could not be more than two feet. Could that be the
murderous, furious estuary in which his mother had been borne away? he
looked across--there stood the hut--there the moss-grown, leafless oak,
and gathered round it was a crowd of men. His father, and two or three
other gentlemen on horseback, were stationed near--while some labourers
were throwing up the sand beneath the withered trunk. When we have long
thought of and grieved over an incident--if any outward object bring the
image of our thoughts bodily before us, it is strange what an accession
of emotion stirs the depths of the heart. For many hours Neville's mind
had dwelt upon the scene in all its parts--the wild waste sea, dark and
purple beneath the lowering clouds--the dreary extent of beach--the far,
stupendous mountains, thrown up in sublime, irregular grandeur, with
cloud-capped peaks, and vast gulfs between--a sort of Cyclopean screen
to the noble landscape, which they encompassed with their wide majestic
extent--his reflections had selected the smaller objects--the river, the
hut, the monumental tree; and it seemed as if actual vision could not
bring it home more truly; but when he actually beheld these objects, and
the very motive of his coming was revealed, as it were, by the
occupation of the men at work, his young heart, unhardened by many
sufferings, sickened, the tears rushed into his eyes, and the words--"Oh
my mother!" burst, from his lips. It was a spasm of uncontrollable
pain--an instant afterward he had mastered it, and guiding his horse
through the ford, with tranquil mien, though pale and sad, he took his
station abreast with his father. Sir Boyvill turned as he rode up; he
manifested no surprise, but he looked thankful, and even triumphant,
Gerard thought; and the young man himself, as he contemplated the glazed
eyes and attenuated form of his parent, which spoke of the weight of
years, despite his still upright carriage, and the stern expression of
his face, felt that his right place was at his side, to render the
support of his youthful strength and active faculties. The men went on
with their work in silence, nor did any speak; the sand was thrown up in
heaps, the horses pawed the ground impatiently, and the hollow murmurs
of the neighbouring breakers filled every pause with sound, but no voice
spoke; or if one of the labourers had a direction to give, it was done
in whispers. At length some harder substance opposed their progress, and
they worked more cautiously. Mingled with sand they threw out pieces of
dark substance like cloth or silk, and at length got out of the wide
long trench they had been opening. With one consent, though in silence,
every one gathered nearer, and looked in--they saw a human skeleton. The
action of the elements, which the sands had not been able to impede, had
destroyed every vestige of a human frame, except those discoloured
bones, and long tresses of dark hair, which were wound around the scull.
A universal yet suppressed groan burst from all. Gerard felt inclined to
leap into the grave, but the thought of the many eyes all gazing acted
as a check; and a second instinctive feeling of pious reverence induced
him to unfasten his large black horseman's cloak, and to cast it over
the opening. Sir Boyvill then broke the silence: "You have done well, my
son: let no man lift that covering, or in any way disturb the remains
beneath. Do you know, my friends, who lies there? Do you remember the
night when Mrs. Neville was carried off? The country was raised, but we
sought for her in vain. On that night she was murdered, and was buried
here."
A hollow murmur ran through the crowd, already augmented by several
stragglers, who had heard that something strange was going on. All
pressed forward, though but to see the cloak, now become an object of
curiosity and interest. Several remembered the lady, whose mouldered
remains were thus revealed, in the pride of youth and beauty, warm of
heart, kind, beloved; and this was all left of her! these unseemly bones
were all earth had to show of the ever sweet Alithea!
"Mr. Ashley kindly assists me," continued Sir Boyvill; "we are both
magistrates. The coroner is already sent for, a jury will be summoned;
when that duty is performed, the remains of my unfortunate, much-wronged
wife will be fitly interred. These ceremonies are necessary for the
punishment of the murderer. We know him, he cannot escape; and you,
every one of you, will rejoice in that vengeance which will be mine at
last."
Execrations against the villain burst from every lip; yet even then each
eye turned from old Sir Boyvill, whose vindictive nature had been showed
before towards the hapless victim herself, to the young man, the son,
whose grief and pious zeal had been the theme of many a gossip's story,
and who now, pale and mute as he was, showed, in his intent and
wo-struck gaze, more true touch of natural sorrow than Sir Boyvill's
wordy harangue could denote.
"We must appoint constables to guard this place," said Sir Boyvill.
Mr. Ashley assented; the proper arrangements were made; the curious were
to be kept off, and two servants from Dromore were added to the
constables; then the gentlemen rode off. Neville, bewildered, desirous
to stay to look once again on what had been his mother, yet averse to
the vulgar gaze, followed them at a slower pace, till Mr. Ashley, taking
leave of Sir Boyvill, rode away, and he perceived that his father was
waiting for him, and that he must join him.
"Thank you, my son," said Sir Boyvill, "for your zeal and timely
arrival. I expected it of you. We are one now; one to honour your
mother; one in our revenge. You will not this time refuse your
evidence."
"Do you then believe that Mr. Falkner is actually a murderer?" cried
Neville.
"Let the laws of his country decide on that question," replied Sir
Boyvill, with a sneering laugh. "I bring forward the facts only--you do
the same; let the laws of his country and a jury of his equals acquit or
condemn him."
"Your design, then, is to bring him to a trial?" asked Gerard. "I should
have thought that the publicity--"
"I design," cried Sir Boyvill, with uncontrolled passion, "to bring him
to a fate more miserable than his victim's; and I thank all-seeing
Heaven, which places such ample revenge in my hands. He will die by the
hands of the hangman, and I shall be satisfied."
There was something horrible in the old man's look and voice; he gloated
on the foul disgrace about to be heaped on his enemy. The chivalrous
notions of Gerard, a duel between the destroyer and his victim's son,
was a paltry, trifling vengeance, compared with the ignominy he
contemplated. "Was not the accusation against your mother loud,"
continued Sir Boyvill, "public, universal? Did not the assembled
parliament pronounce upon her guilt, and decree her shame? And shall her
exculpation be hushed up and private? I court publicity. A less august
tribunal, but one whose decisions are no less widely circulated, shall
proclaim her innocence. This idea alone would decide my course, if I
could so far unman my soul as to forget that vengeance is due. Let it
decide yours, if so much milk still mingle with your blood that it
sicken at the thought of justice against a felon."
Transported by rage, Sir Boyvill sought for words bitter and venomous
enough to convey his meaning; and Neville discerned at once how much he
was incensed by the language used with regard to him in Falkner's
manuscript. Wounded vanity sought to ape injured feelings; in such
petty, selfish passions, Gerard could take no share, and he observed:
"Mr. Falkner is a gentleman. I confess that his narration has won belief
from me. His crime, dressed in his own words, is frightful enough; and
heavily, if it be left to me, shall I visit it; but the plan you adopt
is too discordant with the habits of persons of our rank of life, for me
to view it without aversion. There is another which I prefer adopting."
"You mean," replied Sir Boyvill, "that you would challenge him--risk
your life on the chance of taking his. Pardon me; I can by no means
acquiesce in the propriety of such an act. I look on the wrongs he has
done us as depriving him of the right to be treated with courtesy; nor
do I wish him to add the death of my only son to the list of the
injuries I have sustained."
The old man paused: his lip quivered--his voice dropped. Neville fancied
that tenderness of feeling caused these indications; he was deceived;
his father continued: "I am endeavouring so far to command myself as to
speak with moderation. It is difficult to find words to express
implacable hatred, so let that go by; and let us talk, since you can,
and believe doubtless that I ought, calmly and reasonably. You would
challenge this villain, this gentleman, as you name him. You would put
your life on a par with his. He murdered your mother, and, to repay me,
you would die by the same hand.
"If you speak the truth--if he possess a spark of those feelings which,
as a soldier, you have a right to believe may animate him, do you think
that he would return your fire? He raves about remorse in that tissue of
infamous falsehoods which you put into my hands; if he be human, he must
have some touch of that; and he could not, if he would, raise his weapon
against the child of poor Alithea. He will therefore refuse to meet you,
or, meeting you, refuse to fire; and either it will end in a farce for
the amusement of the world, or you will shoot a defenceless man. I do
not see the mercy of this proceeding."
"Of that, sir," said Neville, "we must take our chance."
"I will take no chance," cried his father. "My unfortunate wife was
borne off forcibly from her home; you can bear witness to that. Two men
carried her away, and no tidings ever again reached us of her fate. And
now one of these men, the arch criminal, chooses to gloss over these
circumstances, events, as pleases him; tells his own story, giving it
such graces of style as may dupe the inexperienced, and we are to rest
satisfied, and say, It is so. The absurdity of such conduct would mark
us as madmen. Enough of this; I have reasoned with you as if the
decision lay with me; when, in fact, I have no voice on the subject. It
is out of my hands; I have made it over to the law, and we can but stand
by and view its course. I believe, and before Heaven and your country
you must assert the same, that the remains we have uncovered are all
that is left us of your lost mother; the clandestine burial at once
declares the guilt of murder; such must be the opinion of impartial
judges, if I mistake not. I can interfere no further. The truth will be
sifted by three juries; this is no hole-and-corner vengeance; let our
enemy escape, in God's name, if they acquit him; but, if he be guilty,
then let him die, as I believe he will, a felon's death."
Sir Boyvill looked on his son with glassy eyes, but a sneering lip, that
spoke of the cruel triumph he desired. "There is Ravenglass," he added,
"there the coroner is summoned--there the court meets. We go to give our
deposition. We shall not lie, nor pervert facts; we tell who it was
revealed to us your mother's unknown grave; it rests with them to decide
whether he, who by his own avowal placed her therein, has not the crime
of murder on his soul."