"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!"
Brave to rashness as Falkner was, yet there was much in what he had just heard that made him recoil, and almost tremble. What the vengeance was that Mr. Neville could take, he too well knew--and he resolved to defeat it. His plans, before vague, were formed on the instant. His lip curled with a disdainful smile when he recollected what his friend had said of the mystery that hung over the late occurrences--he would steep them all in tenfold obscurity. To grieve for the past was futile, or rather, nothing he could do would prevent or alleviate the piercing regret that tortured him--but that need not influence his conduct. To leave his arch enemy writhing from injury, yet powerless to revenge himself--blindly cursing he knew not who, and removing the object of his curses from all danger of being hurt by them, was an image not devoid of satisfaction. Acting in conformity with these ideas, the next morning saw him on the road to Dover--Elizabeth still his companion, resolved to seek oblivion in foreign countries and far climes--and happy, at the same time, to have her with him, whose infantine caresses already poured balm upon his rankling wounds.