Falkner: A Novel

by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

"I see no way to do that now," replied Osborne, hesitatingly; "I do not come for that, I come—I could not stay away—I thought something might be done."

"Elizabeth, my love," said Falkner, "you at least will thank Mr. Osborne for his spontaneous services—you are watching the clouds which were to bear along the vessel towards him, and beyond our hopes he is already here."

Elizabeth listened breathlessly—she feared to utter a word, lest it should prove a dream—now, gathering Falkner's meaning, she came forward, and with all a woman's grace addressed the trembling man, who already looked at the door as if he longed to be on the other side, fearful that he was caught in his own toils; for, as Hoskins said, the fascinated prey had wheeled yet nearer to his fate involuntarily—he had been unable to resist his desire to see Falkner, and learn how it was with him; but he still resolved not to risk anything; he had represented himself to the magistrates as coming from Osborne, showing false papers, and a declaration drawn up by him at Washington, and attested before official men there, setting forth Falkner's innocence; he had brought this over to see if it would serve his benefactor, and had thus got access to him: such was his reliance on the honour of his patron, that he had not hesitated in placing himself in his power, well aware that he should not be detained by him against his will; for still his heart quailed, and his soul shrunk from rendering him the service that would save his life.

His manner revealed his thoughts to the observant Falkner; but Elizabeth, less well read in men's hearts, younger and more sanguine, saw in his arrival the completion of her hopes; and she thanked him with so much warmth, and with such heartfelt praises of his kindness and generosity, that Osborne began to think that his greatest difficulty would be in resisting her fascination and disappointing her wishes. He stammered out at last some lame excuses. All he could do consistently with safety, they might command; he had shown this by coming over—more could not be asked, could not be expected—he himself, God knew, was innocent, so was Mr. Falkner, of the crime he was charged with. But he had no hand whatever in the transaction; he was not in his confidence; he had not known even who the lady was; his testimony, after all, must be worth nothing, for he had nothing to tell, and for this he was to expose himself to disgrace and death.

Acquiring courage at the sound of his own voice, Osborne grew fluent. Elizabeth drew back—she looked anxiously at Falkner, and saw a cloud of displeasure and scorn gather over his countenance—she put her hand on his, as if to check the outbreak of his indignation; yet she herself, as Osborne went on, turned her eyes flashing with disdain upon him. The miserable fellow cowed before the glances of both; he shifted from one foot to the other; he dared not look up; but he knew that their eyes were on him, and he felt the beams transfix him, and wither up his soul. There are weak men who yield to persuasion; there are weaker who are vanquished by reproaches and contempt; of such was Osborne. His fluency faded into broken accents; his voice died away—as a last effort, he moved towards the door.

"Enough, sir," said Falkner, in a calm, contemptuous voice; "and now begone—hasten away—do not stop till you have gained the shore, the ship, the waves of the Atlantic; be assured I shall not send for you a second time; I have no desire to owe my life to you."

"If I could save your life, Mr. Falkner," he began; "but—"

"We will not argue that point," interrupted Falkner; "it is enough that it is generally asserted that your testimony is necessary for my preservation. Were my crime as great as it is said to be, it would find its punishment in that humiliation. Go, sir; you are safe! I would not advise you to loiter here, return to America; walls have ears in abodes like these; you may be forced to save a fellow-creature against your will; hasten then away; go, eat, drink, and be merry—whatever betides me, not even my ghost shall haunt you. Meanwhile, I would beg you no longer to insult me by your presence—begone at once."

"You are angry, sir," said Osborne, timidly.

"I hope not," replied Falkner, who had indeed felt his indignation rise, and checked himself; "I should be very sorry to feel anger against a coward; I pity you—you will repent this when too late."