Chapter 39

The first words that Elizabeth spoke, as she embraced Lady Cecil, “You are come, then all is well,” seemed to confirm her belief that the offered protection of Mrs. Raby would sound to the poor orphan as a hospitable shore to the wrecked mariner. She pressed her fondly to her heart, repeating her own words, “All is well—dear, dear Elizabeth, you are restored to us, after I believed you lost for ever.”

“What, then, has happened?” asked Elizabeth, “and where is my dear father?”

“Your father! Miss Raby,” repeated a deep, serious, but melodious voice; “whom do you call your father?”

Elizabeth, in her agitation, had not caught her aunt’s name, and turned with surprise to the questioner, whom Lady Cecil introduced as one who had known and loved her real father; as her aunt, come to offer a happy and honourable home—and the affection of a relative to one so long lost, so gladly found.

“We have come to carry you off with us,” said Lady Cecil; “your position here is altogether disagreeable; but everything is changed now, and you will come with us.”

“But my father,” cried Elizabeth; “for what other name can I give to my benefactor? Dear Lady Cecil, where is he?”

“Do you not then know?” asked Lady Cecil, hesitatingly.

“This very morning I heard something frightful, heart-breaking; but since you are here, it must be all a fiction, or at least the dreadful mistake is put right. Tell me, where is Mr. Falkner?”

“I know less than you, I believe,” replied her friend; “my information is only gathered from the hasty letters of my brother, which explain nothing.”

“But Mr. Neville has told you,” said Elizabeth, “that my dear father is accused of murder; accused by him who possesses the best proof of his innocence. I had thought Mr. Neville generous, unsuspicious—”

“Nor is it he,” interrupted Lady Cecil, “who brings this accusation. I tell you I know little; but Sir Boyvill is the origin of Mr. Falkner’s arrest. The account he read seemed to him unsatisfactory, and the remains of poor Mrs. Neville. Indeed, dear Elizabeth, you must not question me, for I know nothing; much less than you. Gerard puts much faith in the innocence of Mr. Falkner.”

“Bless him for that!” cried Elizabeth, tears gushing into her eyes. “Oh yes, I knew that he would be just and generous. My poor, poor father! by what fatal mistake is your cause judged by one incapable of understanding or appreciating you?”

“Yet,” said Lady Cecil, “he cannot be wholly innocent; the flight, the catastrophe, the concealment of his victim’s death; is there not guilt in these events?”

“Much, much; I will not excuse or extenuate. If ever you read his narrative, which, at his desire, I gave Mr. Neville, you will learn from that every exculpation he can allege. It is not for me to speak, nor to hear even of his past errors; never was remorse more bitter, contrition more sincere. But for me, he had not survived the unhappy lady a week; but for me, he had died in Greece, to expiate his fault. Will not this satisfy his angry accusers?

“I must act from higher motives. Gratitude, duty, every human obligation bind me to him. He took me, a deserted orphan, from a state of miserable dependance on a grudging, vulgar woman; he brought me up as his child; he was more to me than father ever was. He has nursed me as my own mother would in sickness; in perilous voyages he has carried me in his arms, and sheltered me from the storm, while he exposed himself for my sake; year after year, while none else have cared for, have thought, of me, I have been the object of his solicitude. He has consented to endure life, that I might not be left desolate, when I knew not that one of my father’s family would acknowledge me. Shall I desert him now? Never!”