"It will be too late," said Gerard; "you may then please yourself by admiring one so superior to every human being; but you will not benefit her--Falkner acquitted, she will have risen above all need of your support. Now is the hour to be of use. The very hour of the trial, when this unfortunate, heroic girl is thrown entirely on herself--wounded by her absolute friendlessness, yet disdaining to complain. I could almost wish that Sophia would disregard appearances, and hasten to her side; although her connexion with our family would render that too strange. But you, Mrs. Raby, what should stop you? she is your niece--how vain to attempt to conceal this from the world--it must be known--through me, I fondly trust, it will be known--who shall claim her as Miss Raby--when, as Elizabeth Falkner, I could never see her more. And, when it is known, will not your desertion be censured? Be wise, be generous--win that noblest and gentlest heart by your kindness now, and the very act will be your reward. Hasten to Carlisle; be with her in the saddest hour that ever one so young and innocent passed through." Mrs. Raby was moved--she was persuaded; she felt a veil fall from before her eyes; she saw her duty, and she keenly felt the littleness of her past desertion; she did not hesitate; and now that she perceived how gladly her niece welcomed her in this hour of affliction, and how gratefully she appreciated her kindness, she found in the approval of her own heart the sweetest recompense for her disinterestedness. Elizabeth's swollen eyes, and timid, hurried manner, betrayed how she had passed the night, and how she was possessed by the most agitating fears. Still she spoke of the acquittal of her father, as she took pride in calling him at this crisis, as certain; and Mrs. Raby, taking advantage of this, endeavoured to draw her mind from the torture of representing to herself the progress of the scene then acting at so short a distance from them, by speaking of the future. Elizabeth mentioned Falkner's determination to quit England, and her own to accompany him; the hinted dissuasion of Mrs. Raby she disregarded. "He has been a father to me--I am his child. What would you say to a daughter who deserted her father in adversity and sickness? And, dear Mrs. Raby, you must remember that my father is, in spite of all his courage, struck by disease; accustomed to my attentions, he would die if left to hirelings. Deserted by me, he would sink into apathy or despair."