Elizabeth, however, remained but a few days at Marseilles--it was of the first necessity to escape the southern heats, and Falkner was pronounced able to bear the voyage up the Rhone. The stranger showed some sadness at the idea of being left behind. In truth, if Elizabeth was gladdened and comforted by her new friend, he felt double pleasure in the contemplation of her beauty and admirable qualities. No word of self ever passed her lips. All thought, all care, was spent on him she called her father--and the stranger was deeply touched by her demonstrations of filial affection--her total abnegation of every feeling that did not centre in his comfort and recovery. He had been present one evening, though standing apart, when Falkner, awakening from sleep, spoke with regret of the fatigue Elizabeth endured, and the worthlessness of his life compared with all that she went through for his sake. Elizabeth replied at once with such energy of affection, such touching representation of the comfort she derived from his returning health, and such earnest entreaties for him to love life, that the stranger listened as if an angel spoke. Falkner answered, but the remorse that burdened his heart gave something of bitterness to his reply. And her eloquent though gentle solicitations that he would look on life in a better and nobler light--not rashly to leave its duties here to encounter those he knew not of in an existence beyond--and kind intimations, which, exalting his repentance into a virtue, might reconcile him to himself--all this won the listener to a deep and wondering admiration. Not in human form had he ever seen imbodied so much wisdom, and so much, strong yet tender emotion--none but woman could feel thus, but it was beyond woman to speak and to endure as she did. She spoke only just so openly, remembering the stranger's presence, as to cast a veil over her actual relationship to Falkner, whom she called, and wished to have believed to be, her true father.