The philosophy of Falkner was not proof against the intelligence that
Gerard Neville was about to undertake the voyage to America for the sake
of inducing Osborne to come over. Elizabeth acquainted him with her
design, and her friend's determination to replace her, with sparkling
eyes, and cheeks flushed by the agitation of pleasure--the pure pleasure
of having such proof of the worth of him she loved. Falkner was even
more deeply touched; even though he felt humiliated by the very
generosity that filled him with admiration. His blood was stirred, and
his feelings tortured him by a sense of his own demerits, and the
excellence of one he had injured. "Better die without a word, than
purchase my life thus!" were the words hovering on his lips--yet it was
no base cost that he paid--and he could only rejoice at the virtues of
the son of her whom he had so passionately loved. There are moments when
the past is remembered with intolerable agony; and when to alter events,
which occurred at the distance of many years, becomes a passion and a
thirst. His regret at Alithea's marriage seemed all renewed--his agony
that thence--forth she was not to be the half of his existence, as he
had hoped; that her child was not his child; that her daily life, her
present pleasures, and future hopes were divorced from his--all these
feelings were revived, together with a burning jealousy, as if, instead
of being a buried corpse, she had still adorned her home with her
loveliness and virtues.
Such thoughts lost their poignancy by degrees, and he could charm
Elizabeth by dwelling on Gerard's praises; and he remarked with pleasure
that she resumed her vivacity, and recovered the colour and elasticity
of motion, which she had lost. She did not feel less for Falkner; but
her contemplations had lost their sombre hue--they were full of
Neville--his voyage--his exertions--his success--his return; and the
spirit of love that animated each of these acts were gone over and over
again in her waking dreams; unbidden smiles gleamed in her countenance;
her ideas were gayly coloured, and her conversation gained a variety and
cheerfulness that lightened the burden of their prison hours.
Meanwhile Neville arrived in London. He visited the American minister,
and learned from him that Osborne had given up the place he held, and
had left Washington--no one knew whither he was gone--these events being
still too recent to leave any trace behind. It was evident that to seek
and find him would be a work of trouble and time, and Neville felt that
not a moment must be lost--December was drawing to a close. The voyages
to and from America might, if not favourable, consume the whole interval
that still remained before the spring assizes. Hoskins, he learned, was
gone to Liverpool.
He visited Lady Cecil before he left town. Though somewhat tainted by
worldliness, yet this very feeling made her highly disapprove Sir
Boyvill's conduct. A plausible, and, she believed, true account was
given of Mrs. Neville's death--exonerating her--redounding indeed to her
honour. It was injurious to all to cast doubts upon this tale--it was
vulgar and base to pursue revenge with such malicious and cruel
pertinacity. Falkner was a gentleman, and deserved to be treated as
such; and now he and Elizabeth were mixed up in loathsome scenes and
details, that made Lady Cecil shudder even to think of.
That Gerard should go to America as the advocate, as it were, of
Falkner, startled her; but he represented his voyage in a simpler light,
as not being undertaken for his benefit, but for the sake of justice and
truth. Sir Boyvill came in upon them while they were discussing this
measure. He was absolutely phrensied by his son's conduct and views; his
exasperation but tended to disgust, and did not operate to shake their
opinions.
Neville hastened back to Liverpool; a southwest wind reigned, whose
violence prevented any vessel from sailing for America; it was evident
that the passage would be long, and perhaps hazardous. Neville thought
only of the delay; but this made him anxious. A portion of his time was
spent in seeking for Hoskins; but he was not to be found. At last it was
notified to him that the wind had a little changed, and that the packet
was about to sail. He hurried on board--soon they were tossing on a
tempestuous sea--they lost sight of land--sky and ocean, each dusky, and
the one rising at each moment into more tumultuous commotion, surrounded
them. Neville, supporting himself by a rope, looked out over the
horizon--a few months before he had anticipated the same voyage over a
summer sea--now he went under far other auspices--the veil was
raised--the mystery explained; but the wintry storms that had gathered
round him were but types of the tempestuous passions which the
discoveries he had made raised in the hearts of all.
For three days and nights the vessel beat about in the Irish Channel,
unable to make any way--three days were thus lost to their voyage--and
when were they to arrive? Impatient--almost terrified by the delay which
attended his endeavours, Neville, began to despair of success. On the
fourth night the gale rose to a hurricane--there was no choice but to
run before it--by noon the following day the captain thought himself
very lucky to make the harbour of Liverpool; and though the gale had
much abated, and the wind had veered into a more favourable quarter, it
was necessary to run in to refit. With bitter feelings of
disappointment, Neville disembarked; several days must elapse before the
packet would be able to put to sea, so he abandoned the idea of going by
her--and finding a New-York merchantman preparing to sail at an early
hour the following morning, he resolved to take his passage on board. He
hastened to the American coffee-house to see the captain, and make the
necessary arrangements for his voyage.
The captain had just left the tavern; but a waiter came up to Neville,
and told him that the Mr. Hoskins, concerning whom he had before
inquired, was in the house--in a private room. "Show me to him," said
Neville, and followed the man as he went to announce him.
Hoskins was not alone--he had a friend with him, and they were seated
over their wine on each side of the fire. Neville could not help being
struck with the confusion evinced by both as he entered. The person with
Hoskins was a fair, light-haired, rather good-looking man, though past
the prime of life--he had at once an expression of good-nature and
cunning in his face, and, added to this, a timid, baffled look--which
grew into something very like dismay when the waiter announced "Mr.
Neville."
"Good-morning, sir," said Hoskins; "I hear that you have been inquiring
for me. I thought all our business was settled."
"On your side, probably," replied Neville; "on mine I have reasons for
wishing to see you. I have been seeking you in vain in London and here."
"Yes, I know," said the other, "I went round by Ravenglass to take leave
of the old woman before I crossed--and here I am, my passage taken, with
not an hour to lose. I sail by the Owyhee, Captain Bateman."
"Then we shall have time enough for all my inquiries," observed Neville.
"I came here for the very purpose of arranging my passage with Captain
Bateman."
"You, sir! are you going to America? I thought that was all at an end.'
"It is more necessary than ever. I must see Osborne--I must bring him
over--his testimony is necessary to clear up the mystery that hangs over
my mother's fate."
"You are nearer hanging Mr. Falkner without him than with him," said
Hoskins.
"I would bring him over for the very purpose of saving a man whom I
believe to be innocent of the crime he is charged with; for that purpose
I go to America. I wish the truth to be established--I have no desire
for revenge."
"And do you really go to America for that purpose?" repeated Hoskins.
"Certainly--I consider it my duty," replied Neville. "Nay, it may be
said that I went for this design, for I sailed by the John Adams--which
has been driven back by contrary winds. I disembarked only half an hour
ago."
"That beats all!" cried Hoskins. "Why, do you know--I have more than
half a mind to tell you--you had really sailed for America for the
purpose of bringing Osborne over, and you now intend taking a passage on
board the Owyhee?"
"Certainly; why not? What is there so strange in all this? I sought you
for the sake of making inquiries that might guide me in my search for
Osborne, who wishes to conceal himself."
"You could not have addressed a better man--by the Lord! He's a craven,
and deserves no better; so I'll just let out, Mr. Neville, that Osborne
sneaked out of this room at the instant he saw you come into it."
Neville had seen Hoskins's companion disappear--he thought it but an act
of civility--the strangeness of this coincidence, the course of events
at once so contrary and so propitious, staggered him for a moment. "They
tell of the rattlesnake," said Hoskins, "that, fixing its eye on its
prey, a bird becomes fascinated, and wheels round nearer and nearer till
he falls into the jaws of the enemy--poor Osborne! He wishes himself on
the shores of the Pacific, to be far enough off--and here he is, and
turn and twist as he will, it will end by the law grasping him by the
shoulder, and dragging him to the very noose he so fears to slip into;
not that he helped to murder the lady--you do not believe that, Mr.
Neville?--you do not think that the lady was murdered?"
"I would stake my existence that she was not," said Neville; "were it
otherwise, I should have no desire to see Osborne, or to interfere.
Strange, most strange it is, that he should be here; and he is come, you
think, with no design of offering his testimony to clear Mr. Falkner?"
"He is come under a feigned name," replied Hoskins; "under pretence that
he was sent by Osborne--he has brought a quantity of attested
declarations, and hopes to serve Mr. Falkner without endangering his own
neck."
It was even so. Osborne was a weak man, good-hearted, as it is called,
but a craven. No sooner did he hear that Hillary had sailed for Europe,
and that he might consider himself safe, than he grew uneasy on another
score. He had still possession, even while he had denied all knowledge
of the writer, of Falkner's letter, representing to him the necessity of
coming over. It was simply but forcibly written; every word went to the
heart of Osborne, now that he believed that his conduct would make over
his generous benefactor to an ignominious end. This idea haunted him
like an unlaid ghost; yet, if they hanged Falkner, what should prevent
them from hanging him too? suspicion must fall equally on both.
When Hillary had urged the case, many other objections had presented
themselves to Osborne's mind. He thought of the new honest course he had
pursued so long, the honourable station he had gained, the independence
and respectability of his present life; and he shrunk from giving up
these advantages, and becoming again, in all men's eyes, the Osborne
whose rascality he had left behind in England; it seemed hard that he
should feel the weight of the chain that bound his former existence to
his present one, when he fondly hoped that time had broken it. But these
minor considerations vanished as soon as the idea of Falkner's danger
fastened itself on his mind. It is always easy to fall back upon a state
of being which once was ours. The uncertain, disreputable life Osborne
had once led, he had gladly bidden adieu to; but the traces were still
there, and he could fall into the way of it without any great shock.
Besides this, he knew that Hillary had made his coming, and the cause of
it, known to the legal authorities in Washington; and though he might
persist in his denials, still he felt that he should be universally
disbelieved.
A dislike at being questioned and looked askance upon by his American
friends made him already turn his eyes westward. A longing to see the
old country arose unbidden in his heart. Above all, he could neither
rest, nor sleep, nor eat, nor perform any of the offices of life, for
the haunting image of his benefactor, left by him to die a felon's
death. Not that he felt tempted to alter his determination, and to come
forward to save him: on the contrary, his blood grew chill, and his
flesh shrunk at the thought; but still he might conceal himself in
England; no one would suspect him of being there; he would be on the
spot to watch the course of events; and if it was supposed that he could
render any assistance, without compromising himself, he should at least
be able to judge fairly how far he might concede: his vacillating mind
could go no further in its conclusions. Hoskins had rightly compared him
to the bird and the rattlesnake. He was fascinated; he could not avoid
drawing nearer and nearer to the danger which he believed to be yawning
to swallow him; ten days after Hillary left America, he was crossing the
Atlantic. Hoskins was the first person he saw on landing, the second was
Neville. His heart grew cold; he felt himself in the toils; how bitterly
he repented his voyage. Coward as he was, he died a thousand deaths from
fear of that one which, in fact, there was no danger of his incurring.
That Osborne should of his own accord have come to England appeared to
smooth everything. Neville did not doubt that he should be able to
persuade him to come forward at the right time. He instructed Hoskins to
reassure him, and to induce him to see him; and, if he objected, to
contrive that they should meet. He promised to take no measures for
securing his person, but to leave him in all liberty to act as he chose;
he depended that the same uneasy conscience that brought him from
America to Liverpool would induce him at last, after various throes and
struggles, to act as it was supposed he would have done at the
beginning.
But day after day passed, and Osborne was not to be found; Hoskins had
never seen him again, and it was impossible to say whither he was gone
or where he was hid. The Owyhee, whose voyage had again been delayed by
contrary winds, now sailed. Hoskins went with her. It was possible that
Osborne might be on board, returning to the land of refuge. Neville saw
the captain, and he denied having such a passenger; but he might be
bound to secrecy, or Osborne might have disguised himself. Neville went
on board; he carefully examined each person; he questioned both crew and
passengers; he even bribed the sailors to inform him if any one were
secreted. The Owyhee was not, however, the only vessel sailing; nearly
thirty packets and merchantmen, who had been detained by foul winds,
were but waiting for a tide to carry them out. Neville deliberated
whether he should not apply to a magistrate for a search-warrant. He was
averse to this--nay, repugnant. It was of the first importance to the
utility of Osborne as a witness, that he should surrender himself
voluntarily. The seizing him by force, as an accomplice in the murder,
would only place him beside Falkner in the dock, and render his evidence
of no avail; and his, Neville's, causing his arrest, could only be
regarded as a piece of rancorous hostility against the accused; yet to
suffer him to depart from the English shores was madness; and worse
still, to be left in doubt of whether he had gone or remained. If the
first were ascertained, Neville could take his passage also, and there
might still be time to bring him back.
When we act for another, we are far more liable to hesitation than when
our deeds regard ourselves only. We dread to appear lukewarm; we dread
to mar all by officiousness. Ill success always appears a fault, and yet
we dare not make a bold venture--such as we should not hesitate upon
were it our own cause. Neville felt certain that Falkner would not
himself deliberate, but risk all to possess himself of the person of
Osborne; still he dared not take so perilous, perhaps so fatal, a step.
The tide rose, and the various docks filled. One by one the
American-bound vessels dropped out and put to sea. It was a moment of
agony to Neville to see their sails unfurl, swell to the wind, and make
a speedy and distant offing. He now began to accuse himself bitterly of
neglect--he believed that there was but one mode of redeeming his
fault--to hurry on board one of the packets, and to arrive in America as
soon as Osborne, whom, he felt convinced, was already on his way
thither. Swift in his convictions, rash in execution, uncertainty was
peculiarly hostile to his nature; and these moments of vacillation and
doubt, and then of self-reproach at having lost all in consequence, were
the most painful of his life. To determine to do something was some
consolation, and now he resolved on his voyage. He hurried back to his
hotel for a few necessaries and money. On his entrance, a letter was put
into his hands--the contents changed the whole current of his ideas. His
countenance cleared up--the tumult of his thoughts subsided into a happy
calm. Changing all his plans, instead of undertaking a voyage to
America, he the same evening set out for London.