Falkner: A Novel

by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

"That it is a tragedy may well dash my eagerness," replied Neville; "for, right or wrong, I cannot help feeling, that to see her again—to console her for her sufferings—to show that she is remembered, loved, idolized by her son, would be a dearer reward to me than triumph over the barbarous condemnation of the world, if that triumph is to be purchased by having lost her for ever. This is not an heroic feeling, I confess—"

"If it be heroism," said Elizabeth, "to find our chief good in serving others; if compassion, sympathy, and generosity be greater virtues, as I believe, than cold self-absorbed severity, then is your feeling founded on the purest portion of our nature."

While they were thus talking, seated near each other, Elizabeth's face beaming with celestial benignity, and Neville, in the warmth of his gratitude for her approval, had taken her hand and pressed it to his lips, the door opened, and Falkner slowly entered. He had not heard of the arrival of the stranger; but seeing a guest with Elizabeth, he divined in a moment who it was. The thought ran through his frame like an ice-bolt—his knees trembled under him—cold dew gathered on his brow—for a moment he leaned against the doorway, unable to support himself; while Elizabeth, perceiving his entrance, blushing, she knew not why, and now frightened by the ghastly pallor of his face, started up, exclaiming, "My father! Are you ill?"

Falkner struggled a moment longer, and then recovered his self-possession. The disordered expression of his countenance was replaced by a cold and stern look, which, aided by the marble paleness that settled over it, looked more like the chiselling of a statue than mortal endurance. A lofty resolve to bear unflinchingly was the spirit that moulded his features into an appearance of calm. From this moment he acquired the strength of body, as well as of mind, to meet the destiny before him. The energy of his soul did not again fail. Every instant—every word, seemed to add to his courage—to nerve him to the utmost height of endurance; to make him ready to leap, without one tremour, into the abyss which he had so long and so fearfully avoided.

The likeness of Neville to his mother had shaken him more than all. His voice, whose tones were the same with hers, was another shock. His very name jarred upon his sense, but he betrayed no token of suffering. "Mr. Neville," said Elizabeth, "is come to take leave of me. To-morrow he sails to America."

"To America! Wherefore?" asked Falkner.

"I wrote to you," she replied; "I explained the motives of this voyage. You know—"

"I know all," said Falkner; "and this voyage to America is superfluous."

Neville echoed the word with surprise, while Elizabeth exclaimed, "Do you think so? You must have good reasons for this opinion. Tell them to Mr. Neville. Your counsels, I am sure, will be of use to him. I have often wished that you had been with us. I am so glad that he sees you before he goes—if he does go. You say his voyage is superfluous; tell him wherefore; advise him. Your advice will, I am sure, be good. I would give the world that he did the exact thing that is best—that is most likely to succeed."

Neville looked gratefully at her as she spoke thus eagerly; while Falkner, still standing, his eyes fixed on and scanning the person of the son of his victim, marble pale, but displaying feeling by no other outward sign, scarcely heard what she said, till her last words drew his attention. He smiled, as in scorn, and said, "Oh, yes, I can advise; and he shall succeed—and he will not go."