"We are both apt, it would seem," he replied, "to see our duties in a strong light, and to make sudden, or they may be called rash, resolutions. Perhaps we both go too far, and are in consequence reprehended by those about us: in each other, then, let us find approval--you must not go to America, for your going would be useless--with all your zeal you could not succeed. But I will go. Of course this act will be treated as madness, or worse, by Sir Boyvill and the rest--but my own mind assures me that I do right. For many years I devoted myself to discovering my mother's fate. I have discovered it. Falkner's narrative tells all. But clear and satisfactory as that is to me, others choose to cast frightful doubts over its truth, and conjure up images the most revolting. Have they any foundation? I do not believe it--but many do--and all assert that the approaching trial alone can establish the truth. This trial is but a mockery, unless it is fair and complete--it cannot be that without Osborne. Surely, then, it neither misbecomes me as her son, nor as the son of Sir Boyvill, to undertake any action that will tend to clear up the mystery. "I am resolved--I shall go--be assured that I shall not return without Osborne. You will allow me to take your place, to act for you--you do not distrust my zeal?" Elizabeth had regarded her own resolves as the simple dictates of reason and duty. But her heart was deeply touched by Neville's offer; tears rushed into her eyes as she replied, in a voice faltering with emotion, "I fear this cannot be; it will meet with too much opposition; but never, never can I repay your generosity in but imagining so great a service."