Chapter 45

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.