Falkner: A Novel

by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

"What does he mean? Can you tell me what to think?" cried Neville, almost gasping for breath.

"I will tell you in a few hours," said Elizabeth. "I must go to him now; I fear he is very ill. This is madness. When your mother died, Mr. Neville, my father and I were travelling together in Russia or Poland. I remember dates—I am sure that it was so. This is too dreadful. Farewell. You sail to-morrow—you shall hear from me to-night."

"Be sure that I do," said Neville; "for there is a method in his speech—a dignity and a composure in his manner, that enforces a sort of belief. What can he mean?"

"Do you imagine," cried Elizabeth, "that there is any truth in these unhappy ravings? That my father, who would not tread upon a worm—whose compassionate disposition and disinterestedness have been known to me since early childhood—the noblest and yet the gentlest of human beings—do you imagine that he is a murderer? Dear Mr. Neville, he never could have seen your mother!"

"Is it indeed so?" said Neville; "yet he said one word—did you not remark?—he called himself Rupert. But I will not distress you. You will write; or rather, as my time will be occupied in preparations for my voyage, and I scarcely know where the day will be spent, I will call here this evening at nine. If you cannot see me, send me a note to the gate, containing some information, either to expedite or delay my journey. Even if this strange scene be the work of insanity, how can I leave you in distress? and if it be true what he says—if he be the man I saw tear my mother from me—how altered—how turned to age and decrepitude! Yet, if he be that man, then I have a new and horrible course to take."

"Is it so?" cried Elizabeth, with indignation; "and can a man so cloud his fair fame, so destroy his very existence, by the wild words of delirium, that my dear father should be accused of being the most odious criminal?"

"Nay," replied Neville, "I make no accusation. Do not part from me in anger. You are right, I do not doubt; and I am unjust. I will call to-night."

"Do so without fail. Do not lose your passage. I little knew that personal feeling would add to my eagerness to learn the truth. Do not stay for my sake. Come to-night and learn how false and wild my father's words were; and then hasten to depart—to see Osborne—to learn all! Farewell till this evening."

She hurried away to Falkner's room, while stunned—doubting—forced, by Elizabeth, to entertain doubts, and yet convinced in his heart; for the name of Rupert brought, conviction home—Neville left the house. He had entered it fostering the sweetest dreams of happiness, and now he dared not look at the reverse.

Elizabeth, filled with the most poignant inquietude with regard to his health, hastened to the sitting-room which Falkner usually occupied. She found him seated at the table, with a small box—a box she well remembered—open before him. He was looking over the papers it contained. His manner was perfectly composed—the natural hue had returned to his cheeks—his look was sedate. He was, indeed, very different from the man who, thirteen years before, had landed in Cornwall. He was then in the prime of life; and if passion defaced his features, still youth, and health, and power animated his frame. Long years of grief and remorse, with sickness superadded, had made him old before his time. The hair had receded from the temples, and what remained was sprinkled with gray; his figure was bent and attenuated; his face careworn; yet, at this moment, he had regained a portion of his former self. There was an expression on his face of satisfaction, almost of triumph; and, when he saw Elizabeth, the old, sweet smile she knew and loved so well lighted up his countenance. He held out his hand; she took it. There was no fever in the palm—his pulse was equable; and when he spoke his voice did not falter. He said, "This blow has fallen heavily on you, my dear girl; yet all will be well soon, I trust. Meanwhile it cannot be quite unexpected."