Elizabeth delayed not a moment proceeding on her journey; an exalted
enthusiasm made her heart beat high, and almost joyously. This buoyancy
of spirit, springing from a generous course of action, is the
compensation provided for our sacrifices of inclination--and at least,
on first setting out, blinds us to the sad results we may be preparing
for ourselves. Elated by a sense of acting according to the dictates of
her conscience, despite the horror of the circumstances that closed in
the prospect, her spirits were light, and her eyes glistened with a
feeling at once triumphant and tender, while reflecting on the comfort
she was bringing to her unfortunate benefactor. A spasm of horror seized
her now and then, as the recollection pressed that he was in
prison--accused as a murderer--but her young heart refused to be cowed,
even by the ignominy and anguish of such a reflection.
A philosopher not long ago remarked, when adverting to the principle of
destruction latent in all works of art, and the overthrow of the most
durable edifices; "but when they are destroyed, so as to produce only
dust, Nature asserts an empire over them; and the vegetative world rises
in constant youth, and in a period of annual successions, by the labours
of man, providing food, vitality and beauty adorn the wrecks of
monuments, which were once raised for purposes of glory." Thus when
crime and wo attack and wreck an erring human being, the affections and
virtues of one faithfully attached decorate the ruin with alien beauty;
and make that pleasant to the eye and heart which otherwise we might
turn from as a loathsome spectacle.
It was a cold September day when she began her journey, and the solitary
hours spent on the road exhausted her spirits. In the evening she
arrived at Stony Stratford, and here, at the invitation of her servant,
consented to spend the night. The solitary inn-room, without a fire, and
her lonely supper, chilled her; so susceptible are we to the minor
casualties of life, even when we meet the greater with heroic
resolution. She longed to skip the present hour, to be arrived--she
longed to see Falkner, and to hear his voice--she felt forlorn and
deserted. At this moment the door was opened, "a gentleman" was
announced, and Gerard Neville entered. Love and nature at this moment
asserted their full sway--her heart bounded in her bosom, her cheek
flushed, her soul was deluged at once with a sense of living
delight--she had never thought to see him more--she had tried to forget
that she regretted this; but he was there, and she felt that such a
pleasure were cheaply purchased by the sacrifice of her existence. He
also felt the influence of the spell. He came agitated by many fears,
perplexed by the very motive that led him to her--but she was there in
all her charms, the dear object of his nightly dreams and waking
reveries--hesitation and reserve vanished in her presence, and they both
felt the alliance of their hearts.
"Now that I am here, and see you," said Neville, "it seems to me the
most natural thing in the world that I should have followed you as I
have done. While away, I had a thousand misgivings--and wherefore? did
you not sympathize in my sufferings, and desire to aid me in my
endeavours; and I feel convinced that fate, while by the turn of events
it appeared to disunite, has, in fact, linked us closer than ever. I am
come with a message from Sophia--and to urge also, on my own part, a
change in your resolves; you must not pursue your present journey."
"You have, indeed, been taking a lesson from Lady Cecil, when you say
this," replied Elizabeth; "she has taught you to be worldly for me--a
lesson you would not learn on your own account--she did not seduce me in
this way; I gave you my support when you were going to America."
Elizabeth began to speak almost sportively, but the mention of America
brought to her recollection the cause of his going and the circumstances
that prevented him; and the tears gushed from her eyes as she continued,
in a voice broken by emotion, "Oh, Mr. Neville, I smile while my heart
is breaking--my dear, dear father! What misery is this that you have
brought on him--and now, while he treated you with unreserve, have you
falsely--you must know--accused him of crime, and pursued your vengeance
in a vindictive and ignominious manner? It is not well done!"
"I pardon your injustice," said Neville, "though it is very great. One
of my reasons for coming was to explain the exact state of things,
though I believed that your knowledge of me would have caused you to
reject the idea of my being a party to my father's feelings of revenge."
Neville then related all that had passed; the discovery of his mother's
remains in the very spot Falkner had indicated, and Sir Boyvill's
resolve to bring the whole train of events before the public. "Perhaps,"
he continued, "my father believes in the justice of his accusation--he
never saw Mr. Falkner, and cannot be impressed as I am by the tokens of
a noble mind, which, despite his errors, are indelibly imprinted on his
brow. At all events, he is filled with a sense of his own
injuries--stung by the disdain heaped on him in that narration, and
angry that he had been led to wrong a wife, the memory of whose virtues
and beauty now revives bitterly to reproach him. I cannot wonder at his
conduct, even while I deplore it: I do deplore it on your account; for
Mr. Falkner, God knows I would have visited his crime in another mode;
yet all he suffers he has brought on himself--he must feel it due--and
must bear it as best he may: forgive me if I seem harsh--I compassionate
him through you--I cannot for his own sake."
"How falsely do you reason," cried Elizabeth; "and you also are swayed
and perverted by passion. He is innocent of the hideous crime laid to
his charge--you know and feel that he is innocent; and were he guilty--I
have heard you lament that crime is so hardly visited by the laws of
society. I have heard you say, that even where guilt is joined to the
hardness of habitual vice, that it ought to be treated with the
indulgence of a correcting father, not by the cruel vengeance of the
law. And now, when one whose very substance and flesh are corroded by
remorse--one whose conscience acts as a perpetual scourge--one who has
expiated his fault by many years spent in acts of benevolence and
heroism; this man, because his error has injured you, you, forgetting
your own philosophy, would make over to a fate which, considering who
and what he is, is the most calamitous human imagination can conceive."
Neville could not hear this appeal without the deepest pain. "Let us
forget," he at last said, "these things for a few minutes. They did not
arise through me, nor can I prevent them; indeed, they are now beyond
all human control. Falkner could as easily restore my mother, whose
remains we found mouldering in the grave which he dug for them; he could
as easily bring her back to the life and happiness of which he deprived
her, as I, my father, or any one, free him from the course of law to
which he is made over. We must all abide by the issue--there is no
remedy. But you--I would speak of you--"
"I cannot speak, cannot think of myself," replied Elizabeth, "except in
one way--to think all delays tedious that keep me from my father's side,
and prevent me from sharing his wretchedness."
"And yet you must not go to him," said Neville; "yours is the scheme of
inexperience--but it must not be. How can you share Mr. Falkner's
sorrows? you will scarcely be admitted to see him. And how unfit for you
is such a scene! You cannot guess what these things are; believe me,
they are most unfit for one of your sex and age. I grieve to say in what
execration the supposed murderer of my mother is held. You would be
subjected to insult, you are alone and unprotected--even your high
spirit would be broken by the evils that will gather round you."
"I think not," replied Elizabeth; "I cannot believe that my spirit can
be broken by injustice, or that it can quail while I perform a duty. It
would indeed--spirit and heart would both break--were my conscience
burdened with the sin of deserting my father. In prison--amid the
hootings of the mob--if for such I am reserved--I shall be safe and well
guarded by the approbation of my own mind."
"Would that an angel from heaven would descend to guard you!" cried
Neville, passionately; "but in this inexplicable world, guilt and
innocence are so mingled, that the one reaps the blessings deserved by
the other; and the latter sinks beneath the punishment incurred by the
former. Else why, removed by birth, space, and time from all natural
connexion with the cause of all this misery, are you cast on this evil
hour? Were you his daughter, my heart would not rebel--blood calls to
blood, and a child's duty is paramount. But you are no child of his; you
spring from another race--honour, affection, prosperity await you in
your proper sphere. What have you to do with that unhappy man?
"Yet another word," he continued, seeing Elizabeth about to reply with
eagerness; "and yet how vain are words to persuade. Could I but take you
to a tower, and show you, spread below, the course of events, and the
fatal results of your present resolves, you would suffer me to lead you
from the dangerous path you are treading. If once you reach Cumberland,
and appear publicly as Falkner's daughter, the name of Raby is lost to
you for ever; and if the worst should come, where will you turn for
support? Where fly for refuge? Unable to convince, I would substitute
entreaty, and implore you to spare yourself these evils. You know not,
indeed you do not know, what you are about to do."
Thus impetuously urged, Elizabeth was for a few minutes half bewildered;
"I am afraid," she said, "I suppose, indeed, that I am something of a
savage--unable to bend to the laws of civilization. I did not know
this--I thought I was much like other girls--attached to their home and
parents--fulfilling their daily duties, as the necessities of those
parents demand. I nursed my father when sick: now that he is in worse
adversity, I still feel my proper place to be at his side, as his
comforter and companion, glad if I can be of any solace to him. He is my
father--my more than father--my preserver in helpless childhood from the
worst fate. May I suffer every evil when I forget that! Even if a false
belief of his guilt renders the world inimical to him, it will not be so
unjust to one as unoffending as I; and if it is, it cannot touch me.
Methinks we speak two languages--I speak of duties the most sacred; to
fail in which would entail self-condemnation on me to the end of my
days. You speak of the conveniences, the paint, the outside of life,
which is as nothing in comparison. I cannot yield--I grieve to seem
eccentric and headstrong--it is my hard fate, not my will, so to
appear."
"Do not give such a name," replied Neville, deeply moved, "to an heroic
generosity, only too exalted for this bad world. It is I that must
yield, and pray to God to shield and recompense you as you deserve--he
only can--he and your own noble heart. And will you pardon me, Miss
Raby?"
"Do not give me that name," interrupted Elizabeth. "I act in
contradiction to my relations' wishes--I will not assume their name. The
other, too, must be painful to you. Call me Elizabeth--"
Neville took her hand. "I am," he said, "a selfish, odious being; you
are full of self-sacrifice, of thought for others, of every blessed
virtue. I think of myself--and hate myself while I yield to the impulse.
Dear, dear Elizabeth, since thus I may call you, are you not all I have
ever imagined of excellent? I love you beyond all thought or word; and
have for many, many months, since first I saw you at Marseilles. Without
reflection, I knew and felt you to be the being my soul thirsted for. I
find you, and you are lost!"
Love's own colour died deeply the cheeks of Elizabeth--she felt
recompensed for every suffering in the simple knowledge of the sentiment
she inspired. A moment before, clouds and storms had surrounded her
horizon; now the sun broke in upon it. It was a transcendent though a
transient gleam. The thought of Falkner again obscured the radiance,
which, even in its momentary flash, was as if an angel, bearing with it
the airs of paradise, had revealed itself, and then again become
obscured.
Neville was less composed. He had never fully entered into his father's
bitter thoughts against Falkner--and Elizabeth's fidelity to the unhappy
man made him half suspect the unexampled cruelty and injustice of the
whole proceeding. Still compassion for the prisoner was a passive
feeling; while horror at the fate preparing for Elizabeth stirred his
sensitive nature to its depths, and filled him with anguish. He walked
impatiently about the room--and stopped before her, fixing on her his
soft lustrous eyes, whose expression was so full of tenderness and
passion. Elizabeth felt their influence; but this was not the hour to
yield to the delusions of love, and she said--"Now you will leave me,
Mr. Neville--I have far to travel to-morrow--good-night."
"Have patience with me yet a moment longer," said Neville; "I cannot
leave you thus--without offering from my whole heart, and conjuring you
to accept my services. Parting thus, it is very uncertain when we meet
again, and fearful sufferings are prepared for you. I believe that you
esteem, that you have confidence in me. You know that my disposition is
constant and persevering. You know that the aim of my early life being
fulfilled, and my mother's name freed from the unworthy aspersions cast
upon it, I at once transfer every thought, every hope, to your
well-being. At a distance, knowing the scene of misery in which you are
placed, I shall be agitated by perpetual fears, and pass unnumbered
hours of bitter disquietude. Will you promise me, that, despite all that
divides us, if you need any aid or service, you will write to me,
commanding me, in the full assurance that all you order shall be
executed in its very spirit and letter?"
"I will indeed," replied Elizabeth, "for I know that whatever happens
you will always be my friend."
"Your true, your best, your devoted friend," cried Neville; "it will
always be my dearest ambition to prove all this. I will not adopt the
name of brother--yet use me as a brother--no brother ever cherished the
honour, safety, and happiness of a sister as I do yours."
"You knew," said Elizabeth, "that I shall not be alone--that I go to one
to whom I owe obedience, and who can direct me. If in his frightful
situation he needs counsel and assistance, it is not you, alas, that can
render them; still in the world of sorrow in which I shall soon be an
inhabitant, it will be a solace and support to think of your kindness,
and rely upon it as unreservedly as I do."
"A world of sorrow, indeed!" repeated Neville; "a world of ignominy and
wo, such as ought never to have visited you, even in a dream. Its
duration will be prolonged also beyond all fortitude or patience. Of
course Mr. Falkner's legal advisers will insist on the necessity of
Osborne's testimony--he must be sent for, and brought over. This demands
time; it will be spring before the trial takes place."
"And all this time my father will be imprisoned as a felon in a jail,"
cried Elizabeth, tears, bitter tears springing into her eyes. "Most
horrible! Oh how necessary that I should be with him, to lighten the
weary, unending hours. I thought all would soon be over--and his
liberation at hand; this delay of justice is indeed beyond my fears.
"Thank God, that you are thus sanguine of the final result," replied
Neville. "I will not say a word to shake your confidence, and I
fervently hope it is well placed. And now indeed good-night, I will not
detain you longer. All good angels guard you--you cannot guess how
bitterly I feel the necessity that disjoins us in this hour of mutual
suffering."
"Forgive me," said Elizabeth, "but my thoughts are with my father. You
have conjured up a whole train of fearful anticipations; but I will
quell them, and be patient again--for his, and all our sakes."
They separated, and at the moment of parting, a gush of tenderness
smoothed the harsher feelings inspired by their grief--despite herself,
Elizabeth felt comforted by her friend's faithful and earnest
attachment; and a few minutes passed in self-communion restored her to
those hopes for the best, which are the natural growth of youth and
inexperience. Neville left the inn immediately on quitting her; and she,
unable to sleep, occupied by various reveries, passed a few uneasy, and
yet not wholly miserable, hours. A hallowed calm at last succeeded to
her anxious fears; springing from a reliance on Heaven, and the natural
delight of being loved by one so dear; it smoothed her wrinkled cares
and blunted her poignant regrets.
At earliest dawn she sprung from her bed, eager to pursue her
journey--nor did she again take rest till she arrived at Carlisle.