Elizabeth was startled. Many years had elapsed since Falkner had alluded to her alien parentage. She went by his name, she called him father; and the appellation scarcely seemed a fiction--he had been the kindest, fondest parent to her--nor had he ever hinted that he meant to forego the claim his adoption had given him, and to make her over to those who were worse than strangers in her eyes. If ever they had recurred to her real situation, he had not been chary of expressions of indignation against the Raby family. He had described with warm resentment the selfishness, the hardness of heart, and disdain of the well-being of those allied to them by blood, which too often subsists in aristocratic English families when the first bond has been broken by any act of disobedience. He grew angry as he spoke of the indignity with which her mother had been treated, and the barbarous proposition of separating her from her only child; and he had fondly assured her that it was his dearest pride to render her independent of these unworthy and inhuman relations. Why were his intentions changed? His voice and look were ominous. Elizabeth was hurt--she did not like to object; she was silent--but Falkner deciphered her wounded feelings in her ingenuous countenance, and he too was pained; he could not bear that she should think him ungrateful--mindless of her affection, her filial attentions, and endearing virtues; he felt that he must, to a certain degree, explain his views--difficult as it was to make a segment of his feelings in any way take a definite or satisfactory shape. "Do not think hardly of me, my own dear girl," he began, "for wishing that we should separate. God knows that it is a blow that will visit me far more severely than you. You will find relations and friends who will be proud of you--whose affections you will win; wherever you are, you will meet with love and admiration--and your sweet disposition and excellent qualities will make life happy. I depart alone. You are my only tie--my only friend--I break it and leave you--never can I find another. Henceforth, alone, I shall wander into distant and uncivilized countries, enter on a new and perilous career, during which I may perish miserably. You cannot share these dangers with me." "But why do you seek them?" exclaimed Elizabeth, alarmed by this sudden prophecy of ill. "Do you remember the day when we first met?" replied Falkner; "when my hand was raised against my own life, because I knew myself unworthy to exist. It is the same now. It is cowardly to live, feeling that I have forfeited every right to enjoy the blessings of life. I go that I may die--not by my own hand--but where I can meet death by the hand of others." Strangely and frightfully did these words fall on the ear of his appalled listener; he went on rapidly--for having once begun, the words he uttered relieved, in some degree, the misery that burdened his soul.