Falkner: A Novel

by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

"But, on my life, a true one," cried Neville, "as I will prove. Osborne is now at Mexico. I have inquired at the American consul's. He is expected back to Washington at the end of this summer. In a few weeks I shall embark and see this man, who now bears a creditable character, and learn if there is any foundation for Hoskins's conjectures. If there is—and can I doubt it? if my mother died as he says, I shall learn the manner of her death, and who is the murderer."

"Murderer!" echoed both his auditors.

"Yes; I cannot retract the word. Murderer in effect, if not in deed. Remember, I witnessed the act of violence which tore my mother from me. He who carried her away is, in all justice, an assassin, even if his hands be not imbrued with blood. Blood! did I say? Nay, none was shed. I know the spot; I have viewed the very scene. Our waste and desolate coast—the perilous, deceitful rivers, in one of which she perished—the very night, so tempestuous—the wild west wind bearing the tide with irresistible impetuosity up the estuaries—he seeking the solitary sands—perhaps some smuggling vessel lying in wait to carry her off unseen, unheard. To me it is as if I knew each act of the tragedy, and heard her last sigh beneath the waves breathed for me. She was dragged out by these men; buried without friend; without decent rites; her tomb the evil report her enemy raised above her; her grave the sands of that dreary shore. Oh, what wild, what miserable thoughts are these! This tale, instead of alleviating my anxious doubts, has taken the sleep out from my eyes. Images of death are for ever passing before me; I think of the murderer with a heart that pants for revenge, and of my beloved mother with such pity, such religious wo, that I would spend my life on that shore seeking her remains, so that at last I might shed my tears above them, and bear them to a more sacred spot. There is an easier way to gain both ends."

"It is a sad, but a wild and uncertain story," remarked Lady Cecil, "and not sufficiently plain, I think, to take you away from us all across the Atlantic."

"A far slighter clew would take me so far," replied Gerard, "as you well know. It is not for a traveller to Egypt to measure miles with such timidity. My dear Sophy, you would indeed think me mad if, after devoting my life to one pursuit, I were now to permit a voyage across the Atlantic to stand between me and the slightest chance of having my doubts cleared up. It is a voyage which thousands take every week for their interest or their pleasure. I do much, I think, in postponing my journey till this man returns to Washington. At first I had thought of taking my passage on the instant, and meeting him on his journey homeward from Mexico; but I might miss him. Yet I long to be on the spot, in America; for, if anything should happen to him; if he should die, and his secret die with him, how for ever after I should be stung by self-reproach!"

"But there seems to me so little foundation," Lady Cecil began. Neville made an impatient gesture, exclaiming, "Are you not unreasonable, Sophy? my father has made a complete convert of you."

Elizabeth interposed, and asked, "You saw this man more than once?"

"Who? Hoskins? Yes, three times, and he always told the same story. He persisted in the main points. That the scene of the carrying off of the lady was his native shore, the coast of Cumberland; that the act immediately preceded Osborne's arrival in America, twelve years ago; and that she died miserably, the victim of her wretched lover. He knew Osborne immediately on his coming to New-York, when he was still suffering from the panic of such a tragedy, dreading the arrival of every vessel from England. At that time he concealed carefully from his new friend what he afterward, in the overflow of his heart, communicated so freely; and, in after times, he reminded him how, when an emissary of the police came from London to seek after some fraudulent defaulter, he, only hearing vaguely that there was search made for a criminal, hid himself for several days. That Osborne was privy to, was participator in a frightful tragedy, which, to my eyes, bears the aspect of murder, seems certain. I do not, I cannot doubt that my mother died then and there. How? the blood curdles to ask; but I would compass the earth to learn, to vindicate her name, to avenge her death."

Elizabeth felt Gerard's hand tremble and grow cold. He rose, and led the way into the drawing-room, while Lady Cecil whispered to her friend, "I am so very, very sorry! To go to America on such a story as this, a story which, if it bear any semblance to the truth, had better be for ever buried in oblivion. Dear Elizabeth, dissuade him, I entreat you."

"Do you think Mr. Neville so easy of persuasion, or that he ought to be?" replied her companion. "Certainly, all that he has heard is vague, coming, as it does, from a third, and an interested person. But his whole life has been devoted to the exculpation of his mother; and, if he believes that this tale affords a clew to lead to discovery, he is a son, and the nature that stirs within him may gift him with a clearer vision and a truer instinct than we can pretend to. Who can say but that a mysterious yet powerful hand is at last held out to guide him to the completion of his task? Oh, dear Lady Cecil, there are secrets in the moral, sentient world, of which we know nothing: such as brought Hamlet's father before his eyes; such as now may be stirring in your brother's heart, revealing to him the truth, almost without his own knowledge."