This sudden departure led to a thousand topics of interest; to his hopes--his certainty that all would soon be revealed, and he rewarded for his long suffering. Such ideas led him to speak of the virtues of his mother, which were the foundation of his hopes. He spoke of her as he remembered her; he described her watchful tenderness, her playful but well-regulated treatment of himself. Still in his dreams, he said, he sometimes felt pressed in her arms, and kissed with all the passionate affection of her maternal heart; in such sweet visions her cry of agony would mingle; it seemed the last shriek of wo and death. "Can you wonder," continued Neville, "can my father, can Sophia wonder, that, recollecting all these things, I will not bear without a struggle that my mother's name should be clouded, her fate encompassed by mystery and blame, her very warm, kind feelings and enchanting sensibility turned into accusations against her? I do indeed hope and believe that I shall learn the truth whither I am going, and that the unfortunate victim of lawless violence, of whom Osborne spoke, is my lost mother; but, if I am disappointed in this expectation, I shall not for that give up my pursuit; it will only whet my purpose to seek the truth elsewhere."
"And that truth may be less sad than you anticipate," said Elizabeth; "yet I cannot help fearing that the miserable tragedy which you have heard is connected with your mother's fate."
"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?"