"And do you remember our conversation after he left us?" said his friend, "and my praises of his wife, whom I exalted as the pattern of virtue? Who can know woman! I could have bet any sum that she would preserve her good name to the end—and she has eloped."
"Well!" said Falkner, "is that all? is that the most wonderful circumstance ever heard?"
"Had you known Mrs. Neville," replied his companion, "you would be as astonished as I: with all her charms—all her vivacity—never had the breath of scandal reached her—she seemed one of those whose hearts, though warm, are proof against the attacks of love; and with ardent affections yet turn away from passion, superior and unharmed. Yet she has eloped with a lover—there is no doubt of that fact, for he was seen—they were seen going off together, and she has not been heard of since."
"Did Mr. Neville pursue them?" asked Falkner.
"He is even now in full pursuit—vowing vengeance—more enraged than I ever beheld man. Unfortunately, he does not know who the seducer is; nor have the fugitives yet been traced. The whole affair is the most mysterious—a lover dropped from the clouds—an angel of virtue subdued, almost before she is sought. Still they must be found out—they cannot hide themselves for ever."
"And then there will be a duel to the death?" asked Falkner, in the same icy accents.
"No," replied the other; "Mrs. Neville has no brother to fight for her, and her husband breathes law only. Whatever vengeance the law will afford, that he will use to the utmost—he is too angry to fight."
"The poltron!" exclaimed Falkner; "and thus he loses his sole chance of revenge."
"I know not that," replied his companion; "he has formed a thousand schemes of chastisement for both offenders, more dread than the field of honour—there is, to be sure, a mean, as well as an indignant spirit in him, that revels rather in the thought of inflicting infamy than death. He utters a thousand mysterious threats—I do not see exactly what he can do—but when he discovers his injurer, as he must some day—and I believe there are letters that afford a clew—he will wreak all that a savage, and yet a sordid desire of vengeance can suggest. Poor Mrs. Neville! after all, she must have lived a sad life with such a fellow!"
"And here we part," said Falkner; "I am going another way. You have told me a strange story—it will be curious to mark the end. Farewell!"