Sir Boyvill was seated solitarily in his drawing-room, sipping his coffee, and indulging in various thought. His wedded life with Alithea--her charms, her admirable qualities, and sweet, endearing disposition--occupied him as they had never done before since her flight. For the first time, the veil, woven by anger and vanity, fell from his eyes, and he saw distinctly the rashness and injustice of his past actions. He became convinced that deceit could never have had a part in her; did not her child resemble her, and was he not truth itself? He had nourished an aversion to his son, as her offspring; now he looked on his virtues as an inheritance derived from his sweet mother, and his heart instinctively, unaccountably, warmed towards both. Gerard opened the door of the room and looked in; Sir Boyvill could hardly have recognised him, his face whiter than marble, his eyes wild and wandering, his whole countenance convulsed, his person shrunk up and writhing. He threw the packet on the table, crying out, "Victory, my father, victory!" in a voice so shrill and dissonant, so near a shriek, as to inspire his auditor with fear rather than triumph: "Read! read!" he continued, "I have not yet--I keep my word, you shall know all, even before me--and yet, I _do_ know all, I have seen my mother's destroyer! She is dead!" Sir Boyvill now, in some degree, comprehended his son's agitation. He saw that he was too much excited to act with any calmness; he could not guess how he had discovered the villain on whom both would desire to heap endless, unsatiable revenge; but he did not wonder, that if he had really encountered this man, and learned his deeds, that he should be transported into a sort of phrensy. He took up the packet--he cut the string that tied it--he turned over the papers, and his brow darkened. "Here is a long narrative," he said; "there is much of excuse, and much of explanation here. The story ought to be short that exculpates her; I do not like these varnishings of the simple truth." "You will find none," said Neville; "at least, I heard none. His words were direct--his avowal contained no subterfuge." "Of whom do you speak?" asked Sir Boyvill. "Read," said Neville, "and you will know more than I; but half an hour ago those papers were put into my hands. I have not read them. I give them to you before I am aware of their contents, that I might fully acquit myself of my promise. They come from Rupert Falkner, my mother's destroyer." "Leave me then to my task," said Sir Boyvill, in an altered and subdued tone. "You speak of strange things; facts to undo a frightful past, and to generate a future dedicated to a new revenge. Leave me; let me remain alone while I read--while I ponder on what credit I may give--what course I must pursue. Leave me, Gerard. I have long injured you, but at last you will be repaid. Come back in a few hours; the moment I am master of the contents of the manuscript I will see you."