Elizabeth arrived at the moment of the first painful crisis of Falkner's
fate. The assizes came on--busy faces crowded into his cell, and various
consultations took place as to the method of his defence; and here began
a series of cares, mortifications, and worse anxieties, which brought
home to the hearts of the sufferers the horrors of their position.
The details of crime and its punishment are so alien to the individuals
placed in the upper classes of society, that they read them as tales of
another and a distant land. And it is like being cast away on a strange
and barbarous country to find such become a part of our own lives. The
list of criminals--the quality of their offences--the position Falkner
held among them, were all discussed by the men of law; and Falkner
listened, impassive in seeming apathy--his eagle eye bent on
vacancy--his noble brow showing no trace of the rush of agonizing
thought that flowed through his brain; it was not till he saw his
child's earnest, searching eyes bent on him that he smiled, so to soften
the keenness of her lively sympathy. She listened too, her cheek
alternately flushed and pale, and her eyes brimming over with tears, as
she drew nearer to her unfortunate friend's side, as if her innocence
and love might stand between him and the worst.
The decision of the grand jury was the first point to be considered.
There existed no doubt but that would go against the accused. The
lawyers averred this, but still Elizabeth hoped; men could not be so
blind, or some unforeseen enlightenment might dawn on their
understandings. The witnesses against him were Sir Boyvill and his son;
the latter, she well knew, abhorred the course pursued; and if some
touch could reach Sir Boyvill's heart, and show him the unworthiness and
falsehood of his proceedings, through the mode in which their evidence
might be given, all would alter--the scales would drop from men's eyes,
the fetters from Falkner's limbs, and this strange and horrible
entanglement be dissipated like morning mist. She brooded for ever on
these thoughts; sometimes she pondered on writing to Neville--sometimes
on seeing his father; but his assertion was recollected that nothing now
could alter the course of events, and that drove her back upon despair.
For ever thinking on these things and hearing them discussed, it was yet
a severe blow to both when, in the technical language of the craft, it
was announced that a true bill was found against Rupert Falkner.
Such is the nature of the mind, that hitherto Falkner had never looked
on the coming time in its true proportions or colours. The decision of
the preliminary jury, which _might_ be in his favour, had stood as a
screen between him and the future. Knowing himself to be innocent,
abhorring the very image of the crime of which he was accused, how could
twelve impartial, educated men agree that any construction put upon his
actions should cast the accusation on him? The lawyers had told him that
so it would be--he had read the fearful expectation in Elizabeth's
eyes--but it could not! Justice was not a mere word--innocence bore a
stamp not to be mistaken; the vulgar and senseless malice of Sir Boyvill
would be scouted and reprobated; such was his intimate conviction,
though he had never expressed it; but this was all changed now. The tale
of horror was admitted, registered as a probability, and had become a
rule for future acts. The ignominy of a public trial would assuredly be
his. And going, as is usual, from one extreme to the other, the belief
entered his soul that he should be found guilty and die the death. A
dark veil fell over life and nature. Ofttimes he felt glad even to
escape thus from a hideous system of wrong and suffering; but the innate
pride of the heart rebelled, and his soul struggled as in the toils.
Elizabeth heard the decision with even more dismay; her head swam, and
she grew sick at heart. Would his trial come on in a few days? would all
soon, so soon, be decided? was the very moment near at hand to make or
mar existence, and turn this earth from a scene of hope into a very hell
of torture and despair? for such to her it must be if the worst befell
Falkner. The worst! oh, what a worst! how hideous, squalid, unredeemed!
There was madness in the thought, and she hurried to his cell to see him
and hear him speak, so to dissipate the horror of her thoughts; her
presence of mind, her equanimity, all deserted her; she looked
bewildered--her heart beat as if it would burst her bosom--her face grew
ashy pale--her limbs unstrung of every strength--and her efforts to
conceal her weakness from Falkner's eyes but served the more to confuse.
She found him seated near his window, looking on so much of the autumnal
sky as could be perceived through the bars of the high narrow opening.
The clouds traversed the slender portion of heaven thus visible; they
fled fast to other lands, and the spirit of liberty rode upon their
outstretched wings; away they flew far from him, and he had no power to
reach their bourn, nor to leave the dingy walls that held him in. Oh,
Nature! while we possess thee, thy changes ever lovely, thy vernal airs
or majestic storms, thy vast creation spread at our feet, above, around
us, how can we call ourselves unhappy? There is brotherhood in the
growing, opening flowers, love in the soft winds, repose in the verdant
expanse, and a quick spirit of happy life throughout, with which our
souls hold glad communion. But the poor prisoner was barred out from
these; how cumbrous the body felt, how alien to the inner spirit of man
the fleshy bars--that allowed it to become the slave of his fellows.
The stunning effects of the first blow had passed away, and there was in
Falkner's face that lofty expression that resembled coldness, though it
was the triumph over sensibility; something of disdain curled his lip,
and his whole air denoted the acquisition of a power superior to fate.
Trembling, Elizabeth entered; never before had she lost self-command;
even now she paused at the threshold to resume it, but in vain; she saw
him, she flew to his arms, she dissolved in tears, and became all woman
in her tender fears. He was touched--he would have soothed her; a
choking sensation arose in his throat: "I never felt a prisoner till
now," he cried: "can you still cling to one struck with infamy?"
"Dearer, more beloved than ever!" she murmured: "surely there is no tie
so close and strong as misery?"
"Dear, generous girl." said Falkner, "how I hate myself for making such
large demand on your sympathy. Let me suffer alone. This is not the
place for you, Elizabeth. Your free step should be on the mountain's
side; these silken tresses the playthings of the unconfined winds. While
I thought that I should speedily be liberated, I was willing to enjoy
the comfort of your society; but now I, the murderer, am not a fit mate
for you. I am accursed, and pull disaster down on all near me. I was
born to destroy the young and beautiful."
With such talk they tried to baffle this fierce visitation of adversity.
Falkner told her that on that day it would be decided whether the trial
should take place at once, or time be given to send for Osborne from
America. The turn Neville had given to his evidence had been so
favourable to the accused as to shake the prejudice against him, and it
was believed that the judges would at once admit the necessity of
waiting for so material a witness; and yet their first and dearest hope
had been destroyed, so they feared to give way to a new one.
As they conversed, the solicitor entered with good tidings. The trial
was put off till the ensuing assizes in March, to give time for the
arrival of Osborne. The hard dealing of destiny and man relented a
little, and despair receded from their hearts, leaving space to breathe,
to pray, to hope. No time was to be lost in sending for Osborne. Would
he come? It could not be doubted. A free pardon was to be extended to
him; and he would save a fellow-creature, and his former benefactor,
without any risk of injury to himself.
The day closed, therefore, more cheeringly than it had begun. Falkner
conquered himself, even to a show of cheerfulness; and recalled the
colour to his tremulous companion's cheeks, and half a smile to her
lips, by his encouragement. He turned her thoughts from the immediate
subject, narrating the events of his first acquaintance with Osborne,
and describing the man; a poltron, but kindly hearted--fearful of his
own skin to a contemptible extent, but looking up with awe to his
superiors, and easily led by one richer and of higher station to any
line of conduct; an inborn slave, but with many of a slave's good
qualities. Falkner did not doubt that he would put himself eagerly
forward on the present occasion; and whatever his evidence were good
for, it would readily be produced.
There was no reason, then, for despair. While the shock they had
undergone took the sting from the present--fearing an immediate and
horrible catastrophe--the wretchedness of their actual state was
forgotten--it acquired comfort and security by the contrast--each tried
to cheer the other, and they separated for the night with apparent
composure. Yet that night Elizabeth's pillow, despite her earnest
endeavours to place reliance on Providence, was watered by the bitterest
tears that ever such young eyes shed; and Falkner told each hour of the
livelong night, as his memory retraced past scenes, and his spirit
writhed and bled to feel that, in the wantonness and rebellion of youth,
he had been the author of so wide-spreading, so dark a web of misery.
From this time their days were spent in that sort of monotony which has
a peculiar charm to the children of adversity. The recurrence of one day
after the other, none being marked by disaster, or indeed any event,
imparted a satisfaction, gloomy indeed, and sad, but grateful to the
heart wearied by many blows, and by the excitement of mortal hopes and
fears. The mind adapted itself to the new state of things, and
enjoyments sprung up in the very home of desolation--circumstances that,
in happier days, were but the regular routine of life, grew into
blessings from Heaven; and the thought, "Come what will, this hour is
safe," made precious the mere passage of time--months were placed
between them and the dreaded crisis--and so are we made, that when once
this is an established, acknowledged fact, we can play on the eve of
danger almost like the unconscious animal destined to bleed.
Their time was regularly divided, and occupations succeeded one to
another. Elizabeth rented apartments not far from the prison. She gave
the early morning hours to exercise, and the rest of the day was spent
in Falkner's prison. He read to her as she worked at the tapestry frame,
or she took the book while he drew or sketched; nor was music wanting,
such as suited the subdued tone of their minds, and elevated it to
reverence and resignation; and sweet still hours were spent near their
fire; for their hearth gleamed cheerfully, despite surrounding
horrors--gayety was absent, but neither was the voice of discontent
heard; all repinings were hidden in the recesses of their hearts; their
talk was calm, abstracted from matters of daily life, but gifted with
the interest that talent can bestow on all it touches. Falkner exerted
himself chiefly to vary their topics, and to enliven them by the
keenness of his observations, the beauty of his descriptions, and the
vividness of his narrations. He spoke of India, they read various
travels, and compared the manners of different countries--they forgot
the bars that checkered the sunlight on the floor of the cell--they
forgot the cheerless gloom of each surrounding object. Did they also
forget the bars and bolts between them and freedom? the thoughtful
tenderness which had become the habitual expression of Elizabeth's
face--the subdued manner and calm tones of Falkner were a demonstration
that they did not. Something they were conscious of at each minute, that
checked the free pulsations of their hearts; a word in a book, brought
by some association home to her feelings, would cause Elizabeth's eyes
to fill with unbidden tears--and proud scorn would now and then dilate
the breast of Falkner, as he read some story of oppression, and felt, "I
also am persecuted, and must endure."
In this position they each grew unutterably dear to the other--every
moment, every thought, was full to both of the image of either. There is
something inexpressibly winning in beauty and grace--it is a sweet
blessing when our household companion charms our senses by the
loveliness of her person, and makes the eye gladly turn to her, to be
gratified by such a form and look as we would travel miles to see
depicted on canvass. It soothed many a spasm of pain, and turned many an
hour of suffering into placid content, when Falkner watched the
movements of his youthful friend. You might look in her face for days,
and still read something new, something sublime in the holy calm of her
brow, in her serious, yet intelligent eyes; while all a woman's softness
dwelt in the moulding of her cheeks and her dimpled mouth. Each word she
said, and all she did, so became her, that it appeared the thing best to
be said and done--and was accompanied by a fascination, both for eye and
heart, which emanated from her purity and truth. Falkner grew to worship
the very thought of her. She had not the wild spirits and trembling
sensibility of her he had destroyed, but in her kind she was no way
inferior.
Yet though each, as it were, enjoyed the respite given by fortune to
their worst fears, yet this very sense of transitory security was in its
essence morbid and unnatural. A fever preyed nightly on Falkner, and
there were ghastly streaks upon his brow that bespoke internal suffering
and decay. Elizabeth grew paler and thinner--her step lost its
elasticity, her voice became low-toned--her eyes were acquainted with
frequent tears, and the lids grew heavy and dark. Both lived for ever in
the presence of misery--they feared to move or speak, lest they should
awaken the monster, then for a space torpid; but they spent their days
under its shadow--the air they drew was chilled by its icy influence--no
wholesome light-hearted mood of mind was ever theirs--they might pray
and resign themselves, they might congratulate themselves on the safety
of the passing moment; but each sand that flowed from the hourglass was
weighed--each thought that passed through the brain was examined--every
word uttered was pondered over. They were exhausted by the very
vividness of their unsleeping endeavours to blunt their sensations.
The hours were very sad that they spent apart. The door closed on
Elizabeth, and love, and hope, and all the pride of life vanished with
her. Falkner was again a prisoner, an accused felon--a man over whom
impended the most hideous fate--whom the dogs of law barked round, and
looked on as their prey. His high heart often quailed. He laid his head
on his pillow, desiring never again to raise it--despair kept his lids
open the livelong nights, while naught but palpable darkness brooded
over his eyeballs; he rose languid--dispirited--revolving thoughts of
death; till at last she came who by degrees dispelled the gloom, and
shed over his benighted soul the rays of her pure spirit.
She also was miserable in solitude; the silent evening hours spent apart
from him were melancholy and drear. Nothing interrupted their stillness.
She felt deserted by every human being, and was indeed reduced to the
extremity of loneliness. In the town and neighbourhood many pitied, many
admired her, and some offered their services; but none visited or tried
to cheer the solitary hours of the devoted daughter. As the child of a
man accused of murder, there was a barrier between her and the world.
The English are generous to their friends, but they are never kind to
strangers; the tie of brotherhood, which Christ taught as uniting all
mankind, is unacknowledged by them. They so fear that their sullen
fireside should be unduly invaded, and so expect to be ill-treated, that
each man makes a Martello tower of his home, and keeps watch against the
gentler charities of life, as from an invading enemy. Hour after hour,
therefore, Elizabeth spent--thought her only companion.
From Falkner and his miserable fortunes, sometimes her reflections
strayed to Gerard Neville--the generous friend on whom she wholly
relied, yet who could in no way aid or comfort her. They were divided.
He thought of her, she knew: his constant and ardent disposition would
cause her to be for ever the cherished object of his reveries; and now
and then, as she took her morning ride, or looked from her casement at
night upon the high stars, and pale, still moon, Nature spoke to her
audibly of him, and her soul overflowed with tenderness. Still he was
far--no word from him reached her--no token of living remembrance. Lady
Cecil also--she neither wrote nor sent. The sense of abandonment is hard
to bear, and many bitter tears did the young sufferer shed--and many a
yearning had she to enter, with her ill-starred father, the silent abode
of the tomb--scarcely more still or dark than the portion of life which
was allotted to them, even while existence was warm in their hearts, and
the natural impulse of their souls was to seek sympathy and receive
consolation.