Chapter 52

The beautiful month of May had arrived, with her light budding foliage, which seems to hang over the hoar branches of the trees like a green aerial mist—the nightingales sung through the moonlight night, and every other feathered chorister took up the note at early dawn. The sweetest flowers in the year embroidered the fields; and the verdant corn-fields were spread like a lake, now glittering in the sun, now covered over by the shadows of the clouds. It appeared impossible not to hope—not to enjoy; yet a seriousness had again gathered over Falkner’s countenance that denoted the return of care. He avoided the society even of Elizabeth—his rides were solitary—his evenings passed in the seclusion of his own room. Elizabeth, for the first time in her life, grew a little discontented. “I sacrificed all to him,” she thought, “yet I cannot make him happy. Love alone possesses the sceptre and arbitrary power to rule; every other affection admits a parliament of thoughts—and debate and divisions ensue, which may make us wiser, but which sadly derogates from the throned state of what we fancy a master sentiment. I cannot make Falkner happy; yet Neville is miserable through my endeavours—and to such struggle there is no end—my promised faith is inviolable, nor do I even wish to break it.”

One balmy, lovely day, Elizabeth rode out with her cousins; Mrs. Raby was driving her father-in-law through the grounds in the pony phaeton—Falkner had been out, and was returned. Several days had passed, and no answer arrived from Neville. He was uneasy and sad, and yet rejoiced at the respite afforded to the final parting with his child. Suddenly, from the glass doors of the saloon he perceived a gentleman riding up the avenue; he recognised him, and exclaimed, “All is over!” At that moment he felt himself transported to a distant land—surrounded by strangers—cut off from all he held dear. Such must be the consequence of the arrival of Gerard Neville; and it was he who, dismounting, in a few minutes after entered the room.

He came up to Falkner, and held out his hand, saying, “We must be friends, Mr. Falkner—from this moment I trust that we are friends. We join together for the happiness of the dearest and most perfect being in the world.”

Falkner could not take his hand—his manner grew cold; but he readily replied, “I hope we do; and we must concert together to ensure our success.”

“Yet there is one other,” continued Neville, “whom we must take into our consultations.”

“Mrs. Raby?”

“No! Elizabeth herself. She alone can decide for us all, and teach us the right path to take. Do not mistake me; I know the road she will point out, and am ready to follow it. Do you think I could deceive her? Could I ask her to give me her dear self, and thus generously raise me to the very height of human happiness, with deception on my lips? I were indeed unworthy of her, if I were capable of such an act.