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 CONTENTS vii

CHAPTER 7
Optimization 198
7.1 Introduction and Background 199
7.2 One-Dimensional Optimization 202
7.3 Multidimensional Optimization 211
7.4 Case Study: Equilibrium and Minimum Potential Energy 213
Problems 215

Part Three Linear Systems 223

3.1 Overview 223
3.2 Part Organization 225

CHAPTER 8
Linear Algebraic Equations and Matrices 227
8.1 Matrix Algebra Overview 229
8.2 Solving Linear Algebraic Equations with MATLAB 238
8.3 Case Study: Currents and Voltages in Circuits 240
Problems 244

CHAPTER 9
Gauss Elimination 248
9.1 Solving Small Numbers of Equations 249
9.2 Naive Gauss Elimination 254
9.3 Pivoting 261
9.4 Tridiagonal Systems 264
9.5 Case Study: Model of a Heated Rod 266
Problems 270

CHAPTER 10
LU Factorization 274
10.1 Overview of LU Factorization 275
10.2 Gauss Elimination as LU Factorization 276
10.3 Cholesky Factorization 283
10.4 MATLAB Left Division 286
Problems 287
viii CONTENTS

CHAPTER 11
Matrix Inverse and Condition 288
11.1 The Matrix Inverse 288
11.2 Error Analysis and System Condition 292
11.3 Case Study: Indoor Air Pollution 297
Problems 300

CHAPTER 12
Iterative Methods 305
12.1 Linear Systems: Gauss-Seidel 305
12.2 Nonlinear Systems 312
12.3 Case Study: Chemical Reactions 320
Problems 323

CHAPTER 13
Eigenvalues 326
13.1 Mathematical Background 328
13.2 Physical Background 331
13.3 The Power Method 333
13.4 MATLAB Function: eig 336
13.5 Case Study: Eigenvalues and Earthquakes 337
Problems 340

Part Four Curve Fitting 343

4.1 Overview 343
4.2 Part Organization 345

CHAPTER 14
Linear Regression 346
14.1 Statistics Review 348
14.2 Random Numbers and Simulation 353
14.3 Linear Least-Squares Regression 358
14.4 Linearization of Nonlinear Relationships 366
14.5 Computer Applications 370
14.6 Case Study: Enzyme Kinetics 373
Problems 378
 CONTENTS ix

CHAPTER 15
General Linear Least-Squares and Nonlinear Regression 385
15.1 Polynomial Regression 385
15.2 Multiple Linear Regression 389
15.3 General Linear Least Squares 391
15.4 QR Factorization and the Backslash Operator 394
15.5 Nonlinear Regression 395
15.6 Case Study: Fitting Experimental Data 397
Problems 399

CHAPTER 16
Fourier Analysis 404
16.1 Curve Fitting with Sinusoidal Functions 405
16.2 Continuous Fourier Series 411
16.3 Frequency and Time Domains 414
16.4 Fourier Integral and Transform 415
16.5 Discrete Fourier Transform (DFT) 418
16.6 The Power Spectrum 423
16.7 Case Study: Sunspots 425
Problems 426

CHAPTER 17
Polynomial Interpolation 429
17.1 Introduction to Interpolation 430
17.2 Newton Interpolating Polynomial 433
17.3 Lagrange Interpolating Polynomial 441
17.4 Inverse Interpolation 444
17.5 Extrapolation and Oscillations 445
Problems 449

CHAPTER 18
Splines and Piecewise Interpolation 453
18.1 Introduction to Splines 453
18.2 Linear Splines 455
18.3 Quadratic Splines 459
18.4 Cubic Splines 462
18.5 Piecewise Interpolation in MATLAB 468
18.6 Multidimensional Interpolation 473
18.7 Case Study: Heat Transfer 476
Problems 480
x CONTENTS

Part Five Integration and Differentiation 485

5.1 Overview 485
5.2 Part Organization 486

CHAPTER 19
Numerical Integration Formulas 488
19.1 Introduction and Background 489
19.2 Newton-Cotes Formulas 492
19.3 The Trapezoidal Rule 494
19.4 Simpson’s Rules 501
19.5 Higher-Order Newton-Cotes Formulas 507
19.6 Integration with Unequal Segments 508
19.7 Open Methods 512
19.8 Multiple Integrals 512
19.9 Case Study: Computing Work with Numerical Integration 515
Problems 518

CHAPTER 20
Numerical Integration of Functions 524
20.1 Introduction 524
20.2 Romberg Integration 525
20.3 Gauss Quadrature 530
20.4 Adaptive Quadrature 537
20.5 Case Study: Root-Mean-Square Current 540
Problems 544

CHAPTER 21
Numerical Differentiation 548
21.1 Introduction and Background 549
21.2 High-Accuracy Differentiation Formulas 552
21.3 Richardson Extrapolation 555
21.4 Derivatives of Unequally Spaced Data 557
21.5 Derivatives and Integrals for Data with Errors 558
21.6 Partial Derivatives 559
21.7 Numerical Differentiation with MATLAB 560
21.8 Case Study: Visualizing Fields 565
Problems 567
 CONTENTS xi

Part six Ordinary Differential Equations 573

6.1 Overview 573
6.2 Part Organization 577

CHAPTER 22
Initial-Value Problems 579
22.1 Overview 581
22.2 Euler’s Method 581
22.3 Improvements of Euler’s Method 587
22.4 Runge-Kutta Methods 593
22.5 Systems of Equations 598
22.6 Case Study: Predator-Prey Models and Chaos 604
Problems 609

CHAPTER 23
Adaptive Methods and Stiff Systems 615
23.1 Adaptive Runge-Kutta Methods 615
23.2 Multistep Methods 624
23.3 Stiffness 628
23.4 MATLAB Application: Bungee Jumper with Cord 634
23.5 Case Study: Pliny’s Intermittent Fountain 635
Problems 640

CHAPTER 24
Boundary-Value Problems 646
24.1 Introduction and Background 647
24.2 The Shooting Method 651
24.3 Finite-Difference Methods 658
24.4 MATLAB Function: bvp4c 665
Problems 668

APPENDIX A: MATLAB BUILT-IN FUNCTIONS 674

APPENDIX B: MATLAB M-FILE FUNCTIONS 676
APPENDIX C: INTRODUCTION TO SIMULINK 677
BIBLIOGRAPHY 685
INDEX 687
Required=Results
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 PREFACE

This book is designed to support a one-semester course in numerical methods. It has been
written for students who want to learn and apply numerical methods in order to solve prob-
lems in engineering and science. As such, the methods are motivated by problems rather
than by mathematics. That said, sufficient theory is provided so that students come away
with insight into the techniques and their shortcomings.
MATLAB® provides a great environment for such a course. Although other en-
vironments (e.g., Excel/VBA, Mathcad) or languages (e.g., Fortran 90, C++) could
have been chosen, MATLAB presently offers a nice combination of handy program-
ming features with powerful built-in numerical capabilities. On the one hand, its
M-file programming environment allows students to implement moderately compli-
cated algorithms in a structured and ­coherent fashion. On the other hand, its built-in,
numerical capabilities empower students to solve more difficult problems without try-
ing to “reinvent the wheel.”
The basic content, organization, and pedagogy of the third edition are essentially pre-
served in the fourth edition. In particular, the conversational writing style is intentionally
maintained in order to make the book easier to read. This book tries to speak directly to the
reader and is designed in part to be a tool for self-teaching.
That said, this edition differs from the past edition in three major ways: (1) new
material, (2) new and revised homework problems, and (3) an appendix introducing
Simulink.
1. New Content. I have included new and enhanced sections on a number of topics. The
primary additions include material on some MATLAB functions not included in previ-
ous editions (e.g., fsolve, integrate, bvp4c), some new applications of Monte Carlo
for problems such as integration and optimization, and MATLAB’s new way to pass
parameters to function functions.
2. New Homework Problems. Most of the end-of-chapter problems have been modified,
and a variety of new problems have been added. In particular, an effort has been made
to include several new problems for each chapter that are more challenging and dif-
ficult than the problems in the previous edition.
3. I have developed a short primer on Simulink which I have my students read prior to
covering that topic. Although I recognize that some professors may not choose to
cover Simulink, I included it as a teaching aid for those that do.
xiv
PREFACE xv

Aside from the new material and problems, the fourth edition is very similar to the
third. In particular, I have endeavored to maintain most of the features contributing to its
pedagogical effectiveness including extensive use of worked examples and engineering and
scien­tific applications. As with the previous edition, I have made a concerted effort to make
this book as “student-friendly” as possible. Thus, I’ve tried to keep my explanations straight-
forward and practical.
Although my primary intent is to empower students by providing them with a sound
introduction to numerical problem solving, I have the ancillary objective of making this
­introduction exciting and pleasurable. I believe that motivated students who enjoy engi-
neering and science, problem solving, mathematics—and yes—programming, will ulti-
mately make better professionals. If my book fosters enthusiasm and appreciation for these
subjects, I will consider the effort a success.

Acknowledgments. Several members of the McGraw-Hill team have contributed to

this project. Special thanks are due to Jolynn Kilburg, Thomas Scaife, Ph.D., Chelsea
Haupt, Ph.D., and Jeni McAtee for their encouragement, support, and direction.
During the course of this project, the folks at The MathWorks, Inc., have truly dem-
onstrated their overall excellence as well as their strong commitment to engineering and
­science education. In particular, Naomi Fernandes of The MathWorks, Inc., Book Program
has been especially helpful and Jared Wasserman of the MathWorks Technical Support
Department was of great help with technical questions.
The generosity of the Berger family has provided me with the opportunity to work on
creative projects such as this book dealing with computing and engineering. In addition,
my colleagues in the School of Engineering at Tufts, notably Masoud Sanayei, Babak
Moaveni, Luis Dorfmann, Rob White, Linda Abriola, and Laurie Baise, have been very
supportive and helpful.
Significant suggestions were also given by a number of colleagues. In particular, Dave
Clough (University of Colorado–Boulder), and Mike Gustafson (Duke University) pro-
vided valuable ideas and suggestions. In addition, a number of reviewers provided use-
ful feedback and advice including Karen Dow Ambtman (University of Alberta), Jalal
Behzadi (Shahid Chamran University), Eric Cochran (Iowa State University), Frederic
Gibou (University of California at Santa Barbara), Jane Grande-Allen (Rice University),
Raphael Haftka (University of Florida), Scott Hendricks (Virginia Tech University), Ming
Huang (University of San Diego), Oleg Igoshin (Rice University), David Jack (Baylor Uni-
versity), Se Won Lee (Sungkyunkwan University), Clare McCabe (Vanderbilt University),
Eckart Meiburg (University of California at Santa Barbara), Luis Ricardez (University of
Waterloo), James Rottman (University of California, San Diego), Bingjing Su (University
of Cincinnati), Chin-An Tan (Wayne State University), Joseph Tipton (The University
of Evansville), Marion W. Vance (Arizona State University), Jonathan Vande Geest
(University of Arizona), Leah J. Walker (Arkansas State University), Qiang Hu (University
of Alabama, Huntsville), Yukinobu Tanimoto (Tufts University), Henning T. Søgaard
(Aarhus University), and Jimmy Feng (University of British Columbia).
It should be stressed that although I received useful advice from the aforementioned
individuals, I am responsible for any inaccuracies or mistakes you may find in this book.
Please contact me via e-mail if you should detect any errors.
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xvi PREFACE

Finally, I want to thank my family, and in particular my wife, Cynthia, for the love,
­patience, and support they have provided through the time I’ve spent on this project.

Steven C. Chapra
Tufts University

Medford, Massachusetts
[email protected]

PEDAGOGICAL TOOLS

Theory Presented as It Informs Key Concepts.   The text is intended for Numerical
Methods users, not developers. Therefore, theory is not included for “theory’s sake,” for ex-
ample no proofs. Theory is included as it informs key concepts such as the Taylor ­series, con-
vergence, condition, etc. Hence, the student is shown how the theory connects with practical
­issues in problem solving.

Introductory MATLAB Material.   The text in­cludes two introductory chapters on how to
use ­MATLAB. Chapter 2 shows students how to ­per­form computations and create graphs
in ­MATLAB’s standard command mode. Chapter 3 provides a primer on developing
­numerical programs via M ­ ATLAB M-file functions. Thus, the text provides students with
the means to develop their own nu­merical algorithms as well as to tap into MATLAB’s
powerful built-in routines.

Algorithms Presented Using MATLAB M-files.   Instead of using pseudocode, this book
­presents algorithms as well-structured MATLAB M-files. Aside from being useful com-
puter ­programs, these provide students with models for their own M-files that they will
­develop as homework exercises.

Worked Examples and Case Studies.   Extensive worked examples are laid out in detail
so that students can clearly follow the steps in each numerical computation. The case stud-
ies consist of engineering and science applications which are more complex and richer than
the worked examples. They are placed at the ends of selected chapters with the intention
of (1) illustrating the nuances of the methods and (2) showing more realistically how the
­methods along with MATLAB are applied for problem solving.

Problem Sets.   The text includes a wide variety of problems. Many are drawn from en-
gineering and scientific disciplines. Others are used to illustrate numerical techniques and
theoretical concepts. Problems include those that can be solved with a pocket calculator as
well as others that ­require computer solution with MATLAB.

Useful Appendices and Indexes.   Appendix A contains MATLAB commands, ­Appendix

B contains M-file functions, and new Appendix C contains a brief Simulink primer.

Instructor Resources.   Solutions Manual, Lecture PowerPoints, Text images in Power-

Point, M-files and additional MATLAB resources are available through Connect®.
Part One
Modeling, Computers,
and Error Analysis

1.1 MOTIVATION

What are numerical methods and why should you study them?
Numerical methods are techniques by which mathematical problems are formulated
so that they can be solved with arithmetic and logical operations. Because digital comput-
ers excel at performing such operations, numerical methods are sometimes referred to as
computer mathematics.
In the pre–computer era, the time and drudgery of implementing such calculations
­seriously limited their practical use. However, with the advent of fast, inexpensive digital
computers, the role of numerical methods in engineering and scientific problem solving
has exploded. Because they figure so prominently in much of our work, I believe that
numerical methods should be a part of every engineer’s and scientist’s basic education.
Just as we all must have solid foundations in the other areas of mathematics and science,
we should also have a fundamental understanding of numerical methods. In particular, we
should have a solid appreciation of both
their ­capabilities and their limitations.
Beyond contributing to your overall
education, there are several additional
reasons why you should study numerical
methods:
1. N umerical methods greatly expand the
types of problems you can address.
They are capable of handling large sys-
tems of equations, nonlinearities, and
complicated geometries that are not
uncommon in engineering and science
and that are often impossible to solve
analytically with standard calculus. As
such, they greatly enhance your prob-
lem-solving skills.
2. Numerical methods allow you to use
“canned” software with insight. During
1
2 PART 1 Modeling, Computers, and Error Analysis

your career, you will invariably have occasion to use commercially available prepack-
aged computer programs that involve numerical methods. The intelligent use of these
programs is greatly enhanced by an understanding of the basic theory underlying the
methods. In the absence of such understanding, you will be left to treat such packages
as “black boxes” with little critical insight into their inner workings or the validity of
the results they produce.
3. Many problems cannot be approached using canned programs. If you are conversant
with numerical methods, and are adept at computer programming, you can design
your own programs to solve problems without having to buy or commission expensive
software.
4. Numerical methods are an efficient vehicle for learning to use computers. Because nu-
merical methods are expressly designed for computer implementation, they are ideal for
illustrating the computer’s powers and limitations. When you successfully implement
numerical methods on a computer, and then apply them to solve otherwise intractable
problems, you will be provided with a dramatic demonstration of how computers can
serve your professional development. At the same time, you will also learn to acknowl-
edge and control the errors of approximation that are part and parcel of large-scale
­numerical calculations.
5. Numerical methods provide a vehicle for you to reinforce your understanding of math-
ematics. Because one function of numerical methods is to reduce higher mathematics
to basic arithmetic operations, they get at the “nuts and bolts” of some otherwise
­obscure topics. Enhanced understanding and insight can result from this alternative
­perspective.
With these reasons as motivation, we can now set out to understand how numerical
methods and digital computers work in tandem to generate reliable solutions to mathemati-
cal problems. The remainder of this book is devoted to this task.

1.2 PART ORGANIZATION

This book is divided into six parts. The latter five parts focus on the major areas of nu-
merical methods. Although it might be tempting to jump right into this material, Part One
consists of four chapters dealing with essential background material.
Chapter 1 provides a concrete example of how a numerical method can be employed
to solve a real problem. To do this, we develop a mathematical model of a free-falling
bungee jumper. The model, which is based on Newton’s second law, results in an ordinary
differential equation. After first using calculus to develop a closed-form solution, we then
show how a comparable solution can be generated with a simple numerical method. We
end the chapter with an overview of the major areas of numerical methods that we cover in
Parts Two through Six.
Chapters 2 and 3 provide an introduction to the MATLAB® software environment.
Chapter 2 deals with the standard way of operating MATLAB by entering commands one
at a time in the so-called calculator, or command, mode. This interactive mode provides
a straightforward means to orient you to the environment and illustrates how it is used for
common operations such as performing calculations and creating plots.
1.2 PART ORGANIZATION 3

Chapter 3 shows how MATLAB’s programming mode provides a vehicle for assem-
bling individual commands into algorithms. Thus, our intent is to illustrate how MATLAB
serves as a convenient programming environment to develop your own software.
Chapter 4 deals with the important topic of error analysis, which must be understood
for the effective use of numerical methods. The first part of the chapter focuses on the
roundoff errors that result because digital computers cannot represent some quantities
­exactly. The latter part addresses truncation errors that arise from using an approximation
in place of an exact mathematical procedure.
 1
Mathematical Modeling,
Numerical Methods,
and Problem Solving

CHAPTER OBJECTIVES
The primary objective of this chapter is to provide you with a concrete idea of what
numerical methods are and how they relate to engineering and scientific problem
solving. Specific objectives and topics covered are
• Learning how mathematical models can be formulated on the basis of scientific
principles to simulate the behavior of a simple physical system.
• Understanding how numerical methods afford a means to generate solutions in a
manner that can be implemented on a digital computer.
• Understanding the different types of conservation laws that lie beneath the models
used in the various engineering disciplines and appreciating the difference
between steady-state and dynamic solutions of these models.
• Learning about the different types of numerical methods we will cover in this
book.

YOU’VE GOT A PROBLEM

S
uppose that a bungee-jumping company hires you. You’re given the task of
predicting the velocity of a jumper (Fig. 1.1) as a function of time during the
free-fall part of the jump. This information will be used as part of a larger
analysis to determine the length and required strength of the bungee cord for jumpers
of different mass.
You know from your studies of physics that the acceleration should be equal to the ratio
of the force to the mass (Newton’s second law). Based on this insight and your knowledge

4
 1.1 A Simple Mathematical Model 5

Upward force of physics and fluid mechanics, you develop the following mathematical model for the rate
due to air of change of velocity with respect to time,
resistance
c
​​  dυ ​​ = g − ___
___ ​​  md ​​υ2
dt

where υ = downward vertical velocity (m/s), t = time (s), g = the acceleration due to
gravity (≅ 9.81 m/s2), cd = a lumped drag coefficient (kg/m), and m = the jumper’s
mass (kg). The drag coefficient is called “lumped” because its magnitude depends on fac-
tors such as the jumper’s area and the fluid density (see Sec. 1.4).
Because this is a differential equation, you know that calculus might be used to obtain
an analytical or exact solution for υ as a function of t. However, in the following pages, we
will illustrate an alternative solution approach. This will involve developing a computer-
oriented numerical or approximate solution.
Aside from showing you how the computer can be used to solve this particular prob-
Downward lem, our more general objective will be to illustrate (a) what numerical methods are and
force due (b) how they figure in engineering and scientific problem solving. In so doing, we will also
to gravity show how mathematical models figure prominently in the way engineers and scientists use
numerical methods in their work.
FIGURE 1.1
Forces acting
on a free-falling
bungee jumper.

1.1 A SIMPLE MATHEMATICAL MODEL

A mathematical model can be broadly defined as a formulation or equation that expresses
the essential features of a physical system or process in mathematical terms. In a very gen-
eral sense, it can be represented as a functional relationship of the form

Dependent
variable
= f ​​    (
independent
variables
, parameters,
forcing
functions )
   ​​ (1.1)

where the dependent variable is a characteristic that typically reflects the behavior or state
of the system; the independent variables are usually dimensions, such as time and space,
along which the system’s behavior is being determined; the parameters are reflective of
the system’s properties or composition; and the forcing functions are external influences
acting upon it.
The actual mathematical expression of Eq. (1.1) can range from a simple algebraic
­relationship to large complicated sets of differential equations. For example, on the basis
of his observations, Newton formulated his second law of motion, which states that the
time rate of change of momentum of a body is equal to the resultant force acting on it. The
mathematical expression, or model, of the second law is the well-known equation
F = ma (1.2)

where F is the net force acting on the body (N, or kg m/s2), m is the mass of the object (kg),
and a is its acceleration (m/s2).
6 Mathematical Modeling, Numerical Methods, and Problem Solving

The second law can be recast in the format of Eq. (1.1) by merely dividing both sides
by m to give

a = __ F  ​​
​​  m (1.3)

where a is the dependent variable reflecting the system’s behavior, F is the forcing func-
tion, and m is a parameter. Note that for this simple case there is no independent variable
because we are not yet predicting how acceleration varies in time or space.
Equation (1.3) has a number of characteristics that are typical of mathematical models
of the physical world.
• It describes a natural process or system in mathematical terms.
• It represents an idealization and simplification of reality. That is, the model ignores
negligible details of the natural process and focuses on its essential manifestations.
Thus, the second law does not include the effects of relativity that are of minimal
importance when applied to objects and forces that interact on or about the earth’s
surface at velocities and on scales visible to humans.
• Finally, it yields reproducible results and, consequently, can be used for predictive
purposes. For example, if the force on an object and its mass are known, Eq. (1.3) can
be used to compute acceleration.
Because of its simple algebraic form, the solution of Eq. (1.2) was obtained easily.
However, other mathematical models of physical phenomena may be much more complex,
and either cannot be solved exactly or require more sophisticated mathematical techniques
than simple algebra for their solution. To illustrate a more complex model of this kind,
Newton’s second law can be used to determine the terminal velocity of a free-falling body
near the earth’s surface. Our falling body will be a bungee jumper (Fig. 1.1). For this case,
a model can be derived by expressing the acceleration as the time rate of change of the
­velocity (dυ/dt) and substituting it into Eq. (1.3) to yield

​​  dυ ​​ = __
___ ​​  F  ​​ (1.4)
dt m
where υ is velocity (in meters per second). Thus, the rate of change of the velocity is equal
to the net force acting on the body normalized to its mass. If the net force is positive, the
object will accelerate. If it is negative, the object will decelerate. If the net force is zero, the
object’s velocity will remain at a constant level.
Next, we will express the net force in terms of measurable variables and parameters.
For a body falling within the vicinity of the earth, the net force is composed of two
opposing forces: the downward pull of gravity FD and the upward force of air resistance FU
(Fig. 1.1):
F = FD + FU (1.5)

If force in the downward direction is assigned a positive sign, the second law can be
used to formulate the force due to gravity as
FD = mg (1.6)
2
where g is the acceleration due to gravity (9.81 m/s ).
 1.1 A Simple Mathematical Model 7

Air resistance can be formulated in a variety of ways. Knowledge from the science
of fluid mechanics suggests that a good first approximation would be to assume that it is
proportional to the square of the velocity,

FU = −cd υ2 (1.7)

where cd is a proportionality constant called the lumped drag coefficient (kg/m). Thus, the
greater the fall velocity, the greater the upward force due to air resistance. The parameter
cd accounts for properties of the falling object, such as shape or surface roughness, that af-
fect air resistance. For the present case, cd might be a function of the type of clothing or the
orientation used by the jumper during free fall.
The net force is the difference between the downward and upward force. Therefore,
Eqs. (1.4) through (1.7) can be combined to yield

c
​​  dυ ​​ = g − ___
___ ​​  md ​​  υ2 (1.8)
dt

Equation (1.8) is a model that relates the acceleration of a falling object to the forces
acting on it. It is a differential equation because it is written in terms of the differential rate
of change (dυ/dt) of the variable that we are interested in predicting. However, in contrast
to the solution of Newton’s second law in Eq. (1.3), the exact solution of Eq. (1.8) for the
velocity of the jumper cannot be obtained using simple algebraic manipulation. Rather,
more advanced techniques such as those of calculus must be applied to obtain an exact or
analytical solution. For example, if the jumper is initially at rest (υ = 0 at t = 0), calculus
can be used to solve Eq. (1.8) for

( )
___ ___
gm gc
υ(t) = ​​ ___
​  c  ​ ​​ tanh​​  ​√___
√ ​  md ​ ​t   ​​ (1.9)
d

where tanh is the hyperbolic tangent that can be either computed directly1 or via the more
elementary exponential function as in

x −x
​​  ex − e−x ​​
tanh x = _______ (1.10)
e +e

Note that Eq. (1.9) is cast in the general form of Eq. (1.1) where υ(t) is the dependent
variable, t is the independent variable, cd and m are parameters, and g is the forcing function.

EXAMPLE 1.1 Analytical Solution to the Bungee Jumper Problem

Problem Statement.   A bungee jumper with a mass of 68.1 kg leaps from a stationary
hot air balloon. Use Eq. (1.9) to compute velocity for the first 12 s of free fall. Also deter-
mine the terminal velocity that will be attained for an infinitely long cord (or alternatively,
the jumpmaster is having a particularly bad day!). Use a drag coefficient of 0.25 kg/m.

1
MATLAB allows direct calculation of the hyperbolic tangent via the built-in function tanh(x).
8 Mathematical Modeling, Numerical Methods, and Problem Solving

Solution. Inserting the parameters into Eq. (1.9) yields

_________

(√ )
_________
9.81(68.1) 9.81(0.25)
√
υ(t) = ​​ _________
​ 
0.25
 ​ ​​ tanh​​  ​ _________
​ 
68.1
 ​ ​  t ​​ = 51.6938 tanh(0.18977t)

which can be used to compute

t, s υ, m/s

0 0
2 18.7292
4 33.1118
6 42.0762
8 46.9575
10 49.4214
12 50.6175
∞ 51.6938

According to the model, the jumper accelerates rapidly (Fig. 1.2). A velocity of
49.4214 m/s (about 110 mi/hr) is attained after 10 s. Note also that after a sufficiently

FIGURE 1.2
The analytical solution for the bungee jumper problem as computed in Example 1.1. Velocity
­increases with time and asymptotically approaches a terminal velocity.

60

Terminal velocity

40
υ, m/s

20

0
0 4 8 12
t, s
Other documents randomly have
different content
They sat down to breakfast, but Lady Cecil was full of discontent. "It
is not only that he is gone," she continued, "but the cause of his
going is full of pain and care—and, unfortunately, you cannot
sympathize with me, for I have not obtained his consent to confide
his hapless story to you. Would that I might!—you would feel for him
—for us all."
"He has been unhappy since childhood," observed Elizabeth.
"He has, it is true; but how did you learn that? has he ever told you
anything?"
"I saw him, many years ago, at Baden. How wild, how sullen he was
—unlike his present self! for then there was a violence and a
savageness in his gloom, which has vanished."
"Poor boy!" said Lady Cecil; "I remember well—and it is a pleasure
to think that I am, to a great degree, the cause of the change. He
had no friend at that time—none to love—to listen to him, and foster
hopes which, however vain, diminish his torments, and are all the
cure he can obtain, till he forgets them. But what can this mean?"
she continued, starting up; "what can bring him back? It is Gerard
returned!"
She threw open the glass door, and went out to meet him as he rode
up the avenue—he threw himself from his horse, and advanced,
exclaiming, "Is my father here?"
"Sir Boyvill? No; is he coming?"
"Oh yes! we shall see him soon. I met a servant with a letter sent
express—the post was too slow—he will be here soon; he left
London last night—you know with what speed he travels."
"But why this sudden visit?"
"Can you not guess? He received a letter from the same person—
containing the same account; he knew I was here—he comes to balk
my purpose, to forbid, to storm, to reproach; to do all that he has
done a thousand times before, with the same success."
Neville looked flushed and disturbed; his face, usually "more in
sorrow than in anger," now expressed the latter emotion, mingled
with scorn and resolution; he gave the letter he had received to Lady
Cecil. "I am wrong, perhaps, in returning at his bidding, since I do
not mean ultimately to obey—yet he charges me on my duty to hear
him once again; so I am come to hear—to listen to the old war of his
vanity with what he calls my pride—his vindictiveness with my sense
of duty—his vituperation of her I worship—and I must bear this!"
Lady Cecil read the letter, and Neville pressed Elizabeth's hand, and
besought her excuse, while she, much bewildered, was desirous to
leave the room. At this moment the noise of a carriage was heard on
the gravel. "He is here," said Neville; "see him first, Sophia, tell him
how resolved I am—how right in my resolves. Try to prevent a
struggle, as disgraceful as vain; and most so to my father, since he
must suffer defeat."
With a look of much distress, Lady Cecil left the room to receive her
new guest; while Elizabeth stole out by another door into the grove,
and mused under the shady covert on what had passed. She felt
curious, yet saddened. Concord, affection, and sympathy are so
delightful, that all that disturbs the harmony is eminently distasteful.
Family contentions are worst of all. Yet she would not prejudge
Neville. He felt, in its full bitterness, the pain of disobeying his
parent; and whatever motive led to such a mode of action, it hung
like an eclipse over his life. What it might be she could not guess;
but it was no ignoble, self-centred passion. Hope and joy were
sacrificed to it. She remembered him as she first saw him, a boy
driven to wildness by a sense of injury; she remembered him when
reason and his better nature had subdued the selfish portion of his
feeling—grown kind as a woman—active, friendly, and sympathizing,
as few men are; she recollected him by Falkner's sick couch, and
when he took leave of her, auguring that they should meet in a
happier hour. That hour had not yet come, and she confessed to
herself that she longed to know the cause of his unhappiness; and
wondered whether, by counsel or sympathy, she could bring any
cure.
She was plunged in revery, walking slowly beneath the forest trees,
when she heard a quick step brushing the dead leaves and fern, and
Neville joined her. "I have escaped," he cried, "and left poor Sophy
to bear the scoldings of an unjust and angry man. I could not stay—
it was not cowardice—but I have recollections joined to such
contests, that make my heart sick. Besides, I should reply—and I
would not willingly forget that he is my father."
"It must be indeed painful," said Elizabeth, "to quarrel with, to
disobey a parent."
"Yet there are motives that might, that must excuse it. Do you
remember the character of Hamlet, Miss Falkner?"
"Perfectly—it is the imbodying of the most refined, the most
genuine, and yet the most harrowing feelings and situation, that the
imagination ever conceived."
"I have read that play," said Neville, "till each word seems instinct
with a message direct to my heart—as if my own emotions gave a
conscious soul to every line. Hamlet was called upon to avenge a
father—in execution of his task he did not spare a dearer, a far more
sacred name—if he used no daggers with his mother, he spoke
them; nor winced, though she writhed beneath his hand. Mine is a
lighter, yet a holier duty. I would vindicate a mother—without
judging my father—without any accusation against him, I would
establish her innocence. Is this blameable? What would you do, Miss
Falkner, if your father were accused of a crime?"
"My father and a crime! Impossible!" exclaimed Elizabeth; for,
strange to say, all the self-accusations of Falkner fell empty on her
ear. It was a virtue in him to be conscience-stricken for an error; of
any real guilt she would have pledged her life that he was free.
"Yes—impossible!" cried Neville—"doubtless it is so; but did you hear
his name stigmatized—shame attend your very kindred to him—what
would you do?—defend him—prove his innocence—would you not?"
"A life were well sacrificed to such a duty."
"And to that very duty mine is devoted. In childhood I rebelled
against the accusation with vain, but earnest indignation; now I am
calmer because I am more resolved; but I will yield to no
impediment—be stopped by no difficulty—not even by my father's
blind commands. My mother! dear name—dearer for the ills attached
to it—my angel mother shall find an unfaltering champion in her son.
"You must not be angry," he continued, in reply to her look of
wonder, "that I mention circumstances which it is customary to slur
over and conceal. It is shame for me to speak—for you to hear—my
mother's name. That very thought gives a keener edge to my
purpose. God knows what miserable truth is hidden by the veils
which vanity, revenge, and selfishness have drawn around my
mother's fate; but that truth—though it be a bleeding one—shall be
disclosed, and her innocence be made as clear as the sun now
shining above us.
"It is dreadful, very dreadful, to be told—to be persuaded that the
idol of one's thoughts is corrupt and vile. It is no new story, it is true
—wives have been false to their husbands ere now, and some have
found excuses, and sometimes been justified; it is the manner
makes the thing. That my mother should have left her happy home
—which, under her guardian eye, was paradise—have deserted me,
her child, whom she so fondly loved—and who, even in that
unconscious age, adored her—and her poor little girl, who died
neglected—that year after year she has never inquired after us—nor
sent nor sought a word—while following a stranger's fortune through
the world! That she whose nightly sleep was broken by her tender
cares—whose voice so often lulled me, and whose every thought
and act was pure as an angel's—that she, tempted by the arch fiend,
strayed from hell for her destruction, should leave us all to misery,
and her own name to obloquy. No! no! The earth is yet sheltered by
heaven, and sweet and good things abide in it—and she was, and is,
among them sweetest and best!"
Neville was carried away by his feelings—while Elizabeth,
overpowered by his vehemence—astonished by the wild, strange
tale he disclosed, listened in silence, yet an eloquent silence—for her
eyes filled with tears—and her heart burned in her bosom with a
desire to show how entirely she shared his deep emotion.
"I have made a vow," he continued—"it is registered in heaven; and
each night as I lay my head on my pillow I renew it; and beside you
—the best of earthly things now that my dear mother is gone, I
repeat—that I devote my life to vindicate her who gave me life; and
my selfish, revengeful father is here to impede—to forbid—but I
trample on such obstacles, as on these dead leaves beneath our
feet. You do not speak, Miss Falkner—did you ever hear of Mrs.
Neville?"
"I have spent all my life out of England," replied Elizabeth, "yet I
have some recollection."
"I do not doubt it—to the ends of the earth the base-minded love to
carry the tale of slander and crime. You have heard of Mrs. Neville,
who, for the sake of a stranger, deserted her home, her husband,
her helpless children—and has never been heard of since; who,
unheard and undefended, was divorced from her husband—whose
miserable son was brought to witness against her. It is a story well
fitted to raise vulgar wonder—vulgar abhorrence; do you wonder
that I, who since I was nine years old have slept and waked on the
thought, should have been filled with hate, rancour, and every evil
passion, till the blessed thought dawned on my soul, that I would
prove her innocence, and that she should be avenged—for this I live.
"And now I must leave you. I received yesterday a letter which
promises a clew to guide me through this labyrinth; wherever it
leads, there I follow. My father has come to impede me—but I have,
after using unavailing remonstrance, told him that I will obey a
sense of duty independent of parental authority. I do not mean to
see him again—I now go—but I could not resist the temptation of
seeing you before I went, and proving to you the justice of my
resolves. If you wish for further explanation, ask Sophia—tell her
that she may relate all; there is not a thought or act of my life with
which I would have you unacquainted, if you will deign to listen."
"Thank you for this permission," said Elizabeth; "Lady Cecil is
desirous, I know, of telling me the cause of a melancholy which,
good and kind as you are, you ought not to suffer. Alas! this is a
miserable world: and when I hear of your sorrows, and remember
my dear father's, I think that I must be stone to feel no more than I
do; and yet, I would give my life to assist you in your task."
"I know well how generous you are, though I cannot now express
how my heart thanks you. I will return before you leave my sister;
wherever fate and duty drives me, I will see you again."
They returned towards the house, and he left her; his horse was
already saddled, and standing at the door; he was on it, and gone in
a moment.
Elizabeth felt herself as in a dream when he was gone, yet her heart
and wishes went with him; for she believed the truth of all he said,
and revered the enthusiasm of affection that impelled his actions.
There was something wild and proud in his manner, which forcibly
reminded her of the boy of sixteen, who had so much interested her
girlish mind; and his expressions, indignant and passionate as they
were, yet vouched, by the very sentiment they conveyed, for the
justice of his cause. "Gallant, noble-hearted being! God assist your
endeavours! God and every good spirit that animates this world."
Thus her soul spoke as she saw him ride off; and, turning into the
house, a half involuntary feeling made her take up the volume of
Shakspeare containing Hamlet; and she was soon buried, not only in
the interest of the drama itself, but in the various emotions it excited
by the association it now bore to one she loved more even than she
knew. It was nothing strange that Neville, essentially a dreamer and
a poet, should have identified himself with the Prince of Denmark;
while the very idea that he took to himself, and acted on sentiments
thus high-souled and pure, adorned him yet more in her eyes,
endowing him in ample measure with that ideality which the young
and noble love to bestow on the objects of their attachment.
After a short time, she was interrupted by Lady Cecil, who looked
disturbed and vexed. She said little, except to repine at Gerard's
going and Sir Boyvill's stay—he also was to depart the following
morning: but Sir Boyvill was a man who made his presence felt
disagreeably, even when it was limited to a few hours. Strangers
acknowledged this; no one liked the scornful, morose old man; and
a near connexion, who was open to so many attacks, and sincerely
loved one whom Sir Boyvill pretended most to depreciate, was even
more susceptible to the painful feelings he always contrived to
spread round him. To despise everybody, to contradict everybody
with marks of sarcasm and contempt, to set himself up for an idol,
and yet to scorn his worshippers; these were the prominent traits of
his character, added to a galled and sore spirit, which was for ever
taking offence, which discerned an attack in every word, and was on
the alert to repay these fancied injuries with real and undoubted
insult. He had been a man of fashion, and retained as much good
breeding as was compatible with a techy and revengeful temper; this
was his only merit.
He was nearly seventy years of age, remarkably well preserved, but
with strongly-marked features, and a countenance deeply lined, set
off by a young-looking wig, which took all venerableness from his
appearance, without bestowing juvenility; his lips were twisted into a
sneer, and there was something in his evident vanity that might have
provoked ridicule, but that traces of a violent, unforgiving temper
prevented him from being merely despicable, while they destroyed
every particle of compassion with which he might have been
regarded; for he was a forlorn old man, separating himself from
those allied to him by blood or connexion, excellent as they were.
His only pleasure had been in society; secluding himself from that,
or presenting himself only in crowds, where he writhed to find that
he went for nothing, he was miserable, yet not to be comforted, for
the torments he endured were integral portions of his own nature.
He looked surprised to see Elizabeth, and was at first very civil to
her, with a sort of oldfashioned gallantry which, had it been good-
humoured, might have amused, but, as it was, appeared forced,
misplaced, and rendered its object very uncomfortable. Whatever
Lady Cecil said, he contradicted. He made disagreeable remarks
about her children, prophesying in them so much future torment;
and when not personally impertinent, amused them by recapitulating
all the most scandalous stories rife in London of unfaithful wives and
divided families, absolutely gloating with delight, when he narrated
anything peculiarly disgraceful. After half an hour, Elizabeth quite
hated him; and he extended the same sentiment to her on her
bestowing a meed of praise on his son. "Yes," he said, in reply,
"Gerard is a very pleasant person; if I said he was half madman, half
fool, I should certainly say too much, and appear an unkind father;
but the sort of imbecility that characterizes his understanding is, I
think, only equalled by his self-willed defiance of all laws which
society has established; in conduct he very much resembles a lunatic
armed with a weapon of offence, which he does not fear himself,
and deals about on those unfortunately connected with him, with
the same indifference to wounds."
On this speech, Lady Cecil coloured and rose from the table, and her
friend gladly followed, leaving Sir Boyvill to his solitary wine. Never
had Elizabeth experienced before the intolerable weight of an odious
person's society—she was stunned. "We have but one resource,"
said Lady Cecil; "you must sit down to the piano. Sir Boyvill is too
polite not to entreat you to play on, and too weary not to fall asleep;
he is worse than ever."
"But he is your father!" cried Elizabeth, astonished.
"No, thank Heaven!" said Lady Cecil. "What could have put that into
your head? Oh, I see—I call Gerard my brother. Sir Boyvill married
my poor mother, who is since dead. We are only connected—I am
happy to say—there is no drop of his blood in my veins. But I hear
him coming. Do play something of Herz. The noise will drown every
other sound, and even astonish my father-in-law."
The evening was quickly over, for Sir Boyvill retired early; the next
morning he was gone, and the ladies breathed freely again. It is
impossible to attempt to describe the sort of moral nightmare the
presence of such a man produces. "Do you remember in Madame de
Sévigné's Letters," said Lady Cecil, "where she observes that
disagreeable society is better than good—because one is so pleased
to get rid of it? In this sense, Sir Boyvill is the best company in the
whole world. We will take a long drive to-day, to get rid of the last
symptoms of the Sir Boyvill fever."
"And you will tell me what all this mystery means," said Elizabeth.
"Mr. Neville gave some hints yesterday; but referred me to you. You
may tell me all."
"Yes; I am aware," replied Lady Cecil. "This one good, at least, I
have reaped from Sir Boyvill's angry visit. I am permitted to explain
to you the causes of our discord, and of dear Gerard's sadness. I
shall win your sympathy for him, and exculpate us both. It is a
mournful tale—full of unexplainable mystery—shame—and dreaded
ill. It fills me perpetually with wonder and regret; nor do I see any
happy termination, except in the oblivion, in which I wish that it was
buried. Here is the carriage. We will not take any of the children with
us, that we may suffer no interruption."
Elizabeth's interest was deeply excited, and she was as eager to
listen as her friend to tell. The story outlasted a long drive. It was
ended in the dusky twilight—as they sat after dinner, looking out on
the summer woods—while the stars came out twinkling amid the
foliage of the trees—and the deer kept close to graze. The hour was
still—and was rendered solemn by a tale as full of heartfelt sorrow
and generous enthusiasm as ever won maiden's attention, and
bespoke her favour for him who loved and suffered.

CHAPTER XVI

Lady Cecil began:—

"I have already told you, that though I call Gerard my brother, and
he possesses my sisterly affection, we are only connexions by
marriage, and not the least related in blood. His father married my
mother; but Gerard is the offspring of a former marriage, as I am
also. Sir Boyvill's first wife is the unfortunate lady who is the heroine
of my tale.
"Sir Boyvill, then Mr. Neville, for he inherited his baronetcy only a
few years ago, had advanced beyond middle age when he first
married. He was a man of the world, and of pleasure; and being also
clever, handsome, and rich, had great success in the circles of
fashion. He was often involved in liaisons with ladies, whose names
were rife among the last generation for loving notoriety and
amusement better than duty and honour. As he made a considerable
figure, he conceived that he had a right to entertain a high opinion
of himself, and not without some foundation; his good sayings were
repeated; his songs were set to music, and sung with enthusiasm in
his own set—he was courted and feared. Favoured by women,
imitated by men, he reached the zenith of a system, any connexion
with which is considered as enviable.
"He was some five-and-forty when he fell in love, and married. Like
many dissipated men, he had a mean idea of female virtue—and
especially disbelieved that any portion of it was to be found in
London; so he married a country girl, without fortune, but with
beauty and attractions sufficient to justify his choice. I never saw his
lady; but several of her early friends have described her to me. She
was something like Gerard—yet how unlike! In the colour of the eyes
and hair, and the formation of the features, they resembled; but the
expression was wholly different. Her clear complexion was tinged by
a pure blood, that ebbed and flowed rapidly in her veins, driven by
the pulsations of her soul, rather than of her body. Her large dark
eyes were irresistibly brilliant; and opened their lids on the spectator
with an effect such as the sun has, when it drops majestically below
a heavy cloud, and dazzles the beholder with its unexpected beams.
She was vivacious—nay, wild of spirit; but though raised far above
the dull monotony of common life by her exuberant joyousness of
soul, yet every thought and act was ruled by a pure unsullied heart.
Her impulses were keen and imperative; her sensibility, true to the
touch of nature, was tremblingly alive; but their more dangerous
tendencies were guarded by excellent principles, and a truth never
shadowed by a cloud. Her generous and confiding heart might be
duped—might spring forward too eagerly—and she might be
imprudent; but she was never false. An ingenuous confession of
error, if ever she fell into it, purged away all suspicion that anything
mysterious or forbidden lurked in her most thoughtless acts. Other
women, who, like her, are keenly sensitive, and who are driven by
ungovernable spirits to do what they afterward repent, and are
endowed, as she was, with an aptitude to shame when rebuked,
guard their dignity or their fears by falsehood; and while their
conduct is essentially innocent, immesh themselves in such a web of
deceit, as not only renders them absolutely criminal in the eyes of
those who detect them, but in the end hardens and perverts their
better nature. Alithea Neville never sheltered herself from the
consequences of her faults; rather she met them too eagerly,
acknowledged a venial error with too much contrition, and never
rested till she had laid her heart bare to her friend and judge, and
vindicated its every impulse. To this admirable frankness, soft
tenderness, and heart-cheering gayety was added a great store of
common sense. Her fault, if fault it could be called, was a too
earnest craving for the sympathy and affection of those she loved;
to obtain this, she was unwearied, nay, prodigal, in her endeavours
to please and serve. Her generosity was a ready prompter, while her
sensibility enlightened her. She sought love, and not applause; and
she obtained both from all who knew her. To sum up all with the
mention of a defect—though she could feel the dignity which an
adherence to the dictates of duty imparts, yet sometimes going
wrong—sometimes wounded by censure, and always keenly alive to
blame, she had a good deal of timidity in her character. She was so
susceptible to pain, that she feared it too much, too agonizingly; and
this terror of meeting anything harsh or grating in her path rendered
her too diffident of herself—too submissive to authority—too
miserable, and too yielding, when anything disturbed the harmony
with which she desired to be surrounded.
"It was these last qualities, probably, that led her to accept Mr.
Neville's offer. Her father wished it, and she obeyed. He was a
retired lieutenant in the navy. Sir Boyvill got him raised to the rank of
post captain; and what naval officer but would feel unbounded
gratitude for such a favour! He was appointed to a ship—sailed—and
fell in an engagement not many months after his daughter's
marriage—grateful, even in his last moments, that he died
commanding the deck of a man-of-war. Meanwhile his daughter bore
the effects of his promotion in a less gratifying way. Yet, at first, she
loved and esteemed her husband. He was not then what he is now.
He was handsome; and his good breeding had the polish of the day.
He was popular, through a sort of liveliness which passes for wit,
though it was rather a conventional ease in conversation than the
sparkle of real intellect. Besides, he loved her to idolatry. Whatever
he is now, still vehemence of passion forms his characteristic; and
though the selfishness of his disposition gave an evil bias even to his
love, yet it was there, and for a time it shed its delusions over his
real character. While her artless and sweet caresses could create
smiles—while he played the slave at her feet, or folded her in his
arms with genuine and undisguised transport, even his darker nature
was adorned by the, to him, alien and transitory magic of love.
"But marriage too soon changed Sir Boyvill for the worse. Close
intimacy disclosed the distortions of his character. He was a vain and
a selfish man. Both qualities rendered him exacting in the extreme;
and the first gave birth to the most outrageous jealousy. Alithea was
too ingenuous for him to be able to entertain suspicions; but his
jealousy was nourished by the difference of their age and temper.
She was nineteen—in the first bloom of loveliness—in the freshest
spring of youthful spirits—too innocent to suspect his doubts—too
kind in her most joyous hour to fancy that she could offend. He was
a man of the world—a thousand times had seen men duped and
women deceive. He did not know of the existence of a truth as
spotless and uncompromising as existed in Alithea's bosom. He
imagined that he was marked out as the old husband of a young
wife; he feared that she would learn that she might have married
more happily; and, desirous of engrossing her all to himself, a smile
spent on another was treason to the absolute nature of his rights. At
first she was blind to his bad qualities. A thousand times he frowned
when she was gay—a thousand times ill-humour and cutting
reproofs were the results of her appearing charming to others,
before she discovered the selfish and contemptible nature of his
passion, and became aware that, to please him, she must blight and
uproot all her accomplishments, all her fascinations; that she must
for ever curb her wish to spread happiness around; that she, the
very soul of generous, unsuspecting goodness, must become
cramped in a sort of bed of Procrustes, now having one portion
lopped off, and then another, till the maimed and half-alive remnant
should resemble the soulless, niggard tyrant, whose every thought
and feeling centred in his Lilliputian self. That she did at last make
this discovery, cannot be doubted; though she never disclosed her
disappointment, nor complained of the tyranny from which she
suffered. She grew heedful not to displease, guarded in her
behaviour to others, and so accommodated her manner to his
wishes, as showed that she feared, but concealed that she no longer
esteemed him. A new reserve sprang up in her character, which,
after all, was not reserve; for it was only the result of her fear to
give pain, and of her unalterable principles. Had she spoken of her
husband's faults, it would have been to himself—but she had no
spirit of governing—and quarrelling and contention were the
antipodes of her nature. If, indeed, this silent yielding to her
husband's despotism was contrary to her original frankness, it was a
sacrifice made to what she esteemed her duty, and never went
beyond the silence which best becomes the injured.
"It cannot be doubted that she was alive to her husband's faults.
Generous, she was restrained by his selfishness; enthusiastic, she
was chilled by his worldly wisdom; sympathetic, she was rebuked by
a jealousy that demanded every feeling. She was like a poor bird,
that with untired wing would mount gayly to the skies, when on
each side the wires of the aviary impede its flight. Still it was her
principle that we ought not to endeavour to form a destiny for
ourselves, but to act well our part on the scene where Providence
has placed us. She reflected seriously, and perhaps sadly, for the
first time in her life; and she formed a system for herself, which
would give the largest extent to the exercise of her natural
benevolence, and yet obviate the suspicions and cure the fears of
her narrow-minded, self-engrossed husband.
"In pursuance of her scheme, she made it her request that they
should take up their residence entirely at their seat in the north of
England; giving up London society, and transforming herself
altogether into a country lady. In her benevolent schemes, in the
good she could there do, and in the few friends she could gather
round her, against whom her husband could form no possible
objection, she felt certain of possessing a considerable share of
rational happiness—exempt from the hurry and excitement of town,
for which her sensitive and ardent mind rendered her very unfit,
under the guidance of a man who at once desired that she should
hold a foremost place, and was yet disturbed by the admiration
which she elicited. Sir Boyvill complied with seeming reluctance, but
real exultation. He possesses a delightful seat in the southern part of
Cumberland. Here, amid a simple-hearted peasantry, and in a
neighbourhood where she could cultivate many social pleasures, she
gave herself up to a life which would have been one of extreme
happiness, had not the exactions, the selfishness, the uncongenial
mind of Sir Boyvill debarred her from the dearest blessings of all—
sympathy and friendship with the partner of her life.
"Still she was contented. Her temper was sweet and yielding. She
did not look on each cross in circumstance as an injury or a
misfortune; but rather as a call on her philosophy, which it was her
duty to meet cheerfully. Her heart was too warm not to shrink with
pain from her husband's ungenerous nature, but she had a resource,
to which she gave herself up with ardour. She turned the full but
checked tide of affections from her husband to her son. Gerard was
all in all to her—her hope, her joy, her idol, and he returned her love
with more than a child's affection. His sensibility developed early,
and she cultivated it perhaps too much. She wished to secure a
friend—and the temptation afforded by the singular affectionateness
of his disposition and his great intelligence was too strong. Mr.
Neville strongly objected to the excess to which she carried her
maternal cares, and augured ill of the boy's devotion to her; but
here his interference was vain, the mother could not alter; and the
child, standing at her side, eyed his father even then with a sort of
proud indignation, on his daring to step in between them.
"To Mrs. Neville, this boy was as an angel sent to comfort her. She
could not bear that any one should attend on him except herself—
she was his playmate and instructress. When he opened his eyes
from sleep, his mother's face was the first he saw; she hushed him
to rest at night—did he hurt himself, she flew to his side in agony—
did she utter one word of tender reproach, it curbed his childish
passions on the instant—he seldom left her side, but she was young
enough to share his pastimes—her heart overflowed with its excess
of love, and he, even as a mere child, regarded her as something to
protect, as well as worship.
"Mr. Neville was angry, and often reproved her too great partiality,
though by degrees it won some favour in his eyes. Gerard was his
son and heir, and he might be supposed to have a share in the
affection lavished on him. He respected, also, the absence of
frivolous vanity that led her to be happy with her child—contented
away from London—satisfied in fulfilling the duties of her station,
though his eyes only were there to admire. He persuaded himself
that there must exist much latent attachment towards himself, to
reconcile her to this sort of exile; and her disinterestedness received
the reward of his confidence—he who never before believed or
respected woman. He began to yield to her more than he was wont,
and to consider that he ought now and then to show some
approbation of her conduct.
"When Gerard was about six years old, they went abroad on a tour.
Travelling was a mode of passing the time that accorded well with
Mr. Neville's matrimonial view of keeping his wife to himself. In the
travelling carriage, he only was beside her; in seeing sights, he, who
had visited Italy before, and had some taste, could guide and
instruct her; and short as their stay in each town was, there was no
possibility of forming serious attachments or lasting friendships; at
the same time, his vanity was gratified by seeing his wife and son
admired by strangers and natives. While abroad, Mrs. Neville bore
another child, a little girl. This added greatly to her domestic
happiness. Her husband grew extremely fond of his baby daughter;
there was too much difference of age to set her up as a rival to
Gerard; she was by contradistinction the father's darling, it is true;
but this rather produced harmony than discord—for the mother
loved both children too well to feel hurt by the preference; and,
softened by having an object he really loved to lavish his favour on,
Sir Boyvill grew much more of a tender father and indulgent
husband than he had hitherto shown himself."

CHAPTER XVII

"It was not until a year after their return from abroad that the
events happened which terminated so disastrously Mrs. Neville's
career in her own family. I am perplexed how to begin the narration,
the story is so confused and obscure; the mystery that envelops the
catastrophe so impenetrable; the circumstances that we really know
so few, and these gleaned, as it were, ear by ear, as dropped in the
passage of the event; so making, if you will excuse my rustic
metaphor, a meager, ill-assorted sheaf. Mrs. Neville had been a wife
nearly ten years; never had she done one act that could be
disapproved by the most circumspect; never had she swerved from
that veracity and open line of conduct which was a safeguard
against the mingled ardour and timidity of her disposition. It
required extraordinary circumstances to taint her reputation, as, to
say the least, it is tainted; and we are still in the dark as to the main
instrument by which these circumstances were brought about. Their
result is too obvious. At one moment Mrs. Neville was an honoured
and beloved wife; a mother, whose heart's pulsations depended on
the well-being of her children; and whose fond affection was to
them as the sun's warmth to the opening flower. At the next, where
is she? Silence and mystery wrap her from us; and surmise is busy in
tracing shapes of infamy from the fragments of truth that we can
gather.
"On the return of the family from abroad, they again repaired to
their seat of Dromore; and, at the time to which I allude, Mr. Neville
had left them there, to go to London on business. He went for a
week; but his stay was prolonged to nearly two months. He heard
regularly from his wife. Her letters were more full of her children and
household than herself; but they were kind; and her maternal heart
warmed, as she wrote, into anticipations of future happiness in her
children, greater even than she now enjoyed. Every line breathed of
home and peace; every word seemed to emanate from a mind in
which lurked no concealed feeling, no one thought unconfessed or
unapproved. To such a home, cheered by so much beauty and
excellence, Sir Boyvill returned, as he declares, with eager and
grateful affection. The time came when he was expected at home;
and true, both to the day and to the hour, he arrived. It was at
eleven at night. His carriage drove through the grounds; the doors
of the house were thrown open; several eager faces were thrust
forward with more of curiosity and anxiety than is at all usual in an
English household; and as he alighted, the servants looked aghast,
and exchanged glances of terror. The truth was soon divulged. At
about six in the evening, Mrs. Neville, who dined early in the
absence of her husband, had gone to walk in the park with Gerard;
since then, neither had returned.
"When the darkness, which closed in with a furious wind and
thunder-storm, rendered her prolonged absence a matter of
solicitude, the servants had gone to seek her in the grounds. They
found their mistress's key in the lock of a small masked gate that
opened on a green lane. They went one way up the lane to meet
her; but found no trace. They followed the other, with like ill success.
Again they searched the park with more care; and again resorted to
the lanes and fields; but in vain. The obvious idea was, that she had
taken shelter from the storm; and a horrible fear presented itself,
that she might have found no better retreat than a tree or hay-rick,
and that she had been struck by the lightning. A slight hope
remained, that she had gone along the high-road to meet her
husband, and would return with him. His arrival alone took from
them this last hope.
"The country was now raised. Servants and tenants were sent divers
ways; some on horseback, some on foot. Though summer-time, the
night was inclement and tempestuous; a furious west wind swept
the earth; high trees were bowed to the ground; and the blast
howled and roared, at once baffling and braving every attempt to
hear cries or distinguish sounds.
"Dromore is situated in a beautiful, but wild and thinly—inhabited
part of Cumberland, on the verge of the plain that forms the coast
where it first breaks into uplands, dingles, and ravines; there is no
high-road towards the sea—but as they took the one that led to
Lancaster, they approached the ocean, and the distant roar of its
breakers filled up the pauses of the gale. It was on this road, at the
distance of some five miles from the house, that Gerard was found.
He was lying on the road in a sort of stupor—which could be hardly
called sleep—his clothes were drenched by the storm, and his limbs
stiff from cold. When first found, and disturbed, he looked wildly
around; and his cry was for his mother—terror was painted in his
face—and his intellects seemed deranged by a sudden and terrific
shock. He was taken home. His father hurried to him, questioning
him eagerly—but the child only raved that his mother was being
carried from him; and his pathetic cry of 'Come back, mamma—stop
—stop for me!' filled every one with terror and amazement. As
speedily as possible, medical assistance was sent for; the physician
found the boy in a high fever, the result of fright, exposure to the
storm, and subsequent sleep in his wet clothes in the open air. It
was many days before his life could be answered for—or the delirium
left him—and still he raved that his mother was being carried off,
and would not stop for him, and often he tried to rise from his bed
under the notion of pursuing her.
"At length consciousness returned—consciousness of the actual
objects around him, mingled with an indistinct recollection of the
events that immediately preceded his illness. His pulse was calm; his
reason restored; and he lay quietly with open eyes fixed on the door
of his chamber. At last he showed symptoms of uneasiness, and
asked for his mother. Mr. Neville was called, as he had desired he
might be the moment his son showed signs of being rational. Gerard
looked up in his father's face with an expression of disappointment,
and again murmured, 'Send mamma to me.'
"Fearful of renewing his fever by awakening his disquietude, his
father told him that mamma was tired and asleep, and could not be
disturbed.
"'Then she has come back?' he cried; 'that man did not take her
quite away? The carriage drove here at last.'
"Such words renewed all their consternation. Afraid of questioning
the child himself, lest he should terrify him, Mr. Neville sent the
nurse who had been with him from infancy, to extract information.
His story was wild and strange; and here I must remark, that the
account drawn from him by the woman's questions differs somewhat
from that to which he afterward adhered; though not so much in
actual circumstances as in the colouring given. This his father
attributes to his subsequent endeavours to clear his mother from
blame; while he asserts, and I believe with truth, that time and
knowledge, by giving him an insight into motives, threw a new light
on the words and actions which he remembered; and that
circumstances which bore one aspect to his ignorance, became
clearly visible in another, when he was able to understand the real
meaning of several fragments of conversation which had at first
been devoid of sense.
"All that he could tell during this first stage of inquiry was, that his
mother had taken him to walk with her in the grounds, that she had
unlocked the gate that opened out on the lane with her own key,
and that a gentleman was without waiting.
"Had he ever seen the gentleman before?
"Never; he did not know him, and the stranger took no notice of
him; he heard his mamma call him Rupert.
"His mother took the stranger's arm, and walked on through the
lane, while he sometimes ran on before, and sometimes remained at
her side. They conversed earnestly, and his mother at one time
cried; he, Gerard, felt very angry with the gentleman for making her
cry, and took her hand, and begged her to leave him and come
away; but she kissed the boy, told him to run on, and they would
return very soon.
"Yet they did not return, but walked on to where the lane was
intersected by the high-road. Here they stopped, and continued to
converse; but it seemed as if she were saying good-by to the
stranger, when a carriage, driven at full speed, was seen
approaching; it stopped close to them; it was an open carriage, a
sort of calèche, with the head pulled forward low down; as it
stopped his mother went up to it, when the stranger, pulling the
child's hand from hers, hurried her into the carriage, and sprang in
after, crying out to him, 'Jump in, my boy!' but, before he could do
so, the postillion whipped the horses, who started forward almost
with a bound, and were in a gallop on the instant; he heard his
mother scream; the words 'My child! my son!' reached his ears,
shrieked in agony. He ran wildly after the carriage; it disappeared,
but still he ran on. It must stop somewhere, and he would reach it—
his mother had called for him; and thus, crying, breathless, panting,
he ran along the high-road; the carriage had long been out of sight,
the sun had set; the wind, rising in gusts, brought on the thunder-
storm; yet still he pursued, till nature and his boyish strength gave
way, and he threw himself on the ground to gain breath. At every
sound which he fancied might be that of carriage-wheels, he started
up; but it was only the howling of the blast in the trees, and the
hoarse muttering of the now distant thunder; twice and thrice he
rose from the earth and ran forward; till, wet through and utterly
exhausted, he lay on the ground, weeping bitterly, and expecting to
die.
"This was all his story. It produced a strict inquiry among the
servants, and then circumstances scarcely adverted to were
remembered, and some sort of information gained. About a week or
ten days before, a gentleman on horseback, unattended by any
servant, had called. He asked for Mrs. Neville; the servant requested
his name, but he muttered that it was no matter. He was ushered
into the room where their mistress was sitting; he stayed at least
two hours; and, when he was gone, they remarked that her eyes
were red, as if she had been weeping. The stranger called again,
and Mrs. Neville was denied to him.
"Inquiries were now instituted in the neighbourhood. One or two
persons remembered something of a stranger gentleman who had
been seen riding about the country, mounted on a fine bay horse.
One evening he was seen coming from the masked gate in the park,
which caused it to be believed that he was on a visit at Dromore.
Nothing more was known of him.
"The servants tasked themselves to remember more particularly the
actions of their lady, and it was remembered that one evening she
went to walk alone in the grounds, some accident having prevented
Gerard from accompanying her. She returned very late, at ten
o'clock; and there was, her maid declared, a good deal of confusion
in her manner. She threw herself on a sofa, ordered the lights to be
taken away, and remained alone for two hours past her usual time
for retiring for the night, till, at last, her maid ventured in to ask her
if she needed anything. She was awake, and, when lights were
brought, had evidently been weeping. After this she only went out in
the carriage with the children, until the fatal night of her
disappearance. It was remembered, also, that she received several
letters, brought by a strange man, who left them without waiting for
any answer. She received one the very morning of the day when she
left her home, and this last note was found; it threw some light on
the fatal mystery. It was only dated with the day of the week, and
began abruptly:—

"'On one condition I will obey you; I will never see you more—I
will leave the country—I will forget my threats against the most
hated life in the world; he is safe on one condition. You must
meet me this evening; I desire to see you for the last time.
Come to the gate of your park that opens on the lane, which
you opened for me a few nights ago; you will find me waiting
outside. I will not detain you long. A farewell to you and to my
just revenge shall be breathed at once. If you do not come I will
wait till night, till I am past hope, and then enter your grounds,
wait till he returns, and—oh, do not force me to say what you
will call wicked and worse than unkind, but come, come, and
prevent all ill. I charge you come, and hereafter you shall, if you
please, be for ever delivered from your
"'RUPERT.

"On this letter she went; yet in innocence, for she took her child with
her. Could any one doubt that she was betrayed, carried off, the
victim of the foulest treachery? No one did doubt it. Police were sent
from London, the country searched, the most minute inquiries set on
foot. Sometimes it was supposed that a clew was found, but in the
end all failed. Month after month passed; hope became despair; pity
merged into surmise; and condemnation quickly followed. If she had
been carried forcibly from her home, still she could not forever be
imprisoned and debarred from all possibility at least of writing. She
might have sent tidings from the ends of the earth, nay, it was
madness to think that she could be carried far against her own will.
In any town, in any village, she might appeal to the justice and
humanity of her fellow-creatures, and be set free. She would not
have remained with the man of violence who had torn her away,
unless she had at last become a party in his act, and lost all right to
return to her husband's roof.
"Such suspicions began to creep about—rather felt in men's minds
than inferred in their speech—till her husband first, uttered the fatal
word; and then, as if set free from a spell, each one was full of
indignation at her dereliction and his injuries. Sir Boyvill was beyond
all men vain—vanity rendered him liable to jealousy—and, when
jealous, full of sore and angry feelings. His selfishness and
unforgiving nature, which had been neutralized by his wife's virtues,
now, quickened by the idea of her guilt, burst forth and engrossed
every other emotion. He was injured there where the pride of man is
most accessible—branded by pity—the tale of the world. He had
feared such a catastrophe during the first years of his wedded life,
being conscious of the difference which age and nature had placed
between him and his wife. In the recesses of his heart he had felt
deeply grateful to her for having dissipated these fears. From the
moment that her prudent conduct had made him secure, he had
become another man—as far as his defective nature and narrow
mind permitted—he had grown virtuous and disinterested; but this
fabric of good qualities was the result of her influence; and it was
swept away and utterly erased from the moment she left him, and
that love and esteem were exchanged for contempt and hatred.
"Soon, very soon, had doubts of his wife's allegiance and a suspicion
of her connivance insinuated themselves. Like all evilly-inclined
persons, he jumped at once into a belief of the worst; her taking her
son with her was a mere contrivance, or worse, since her design had
probably been to carry him with her—a design frustrated by
accident, and the lukewarmness of her lover on that point; the letter
left behind he looked on as a fabrication, left there to gloss over her
conduct. He forgot her patient goodness—her purity of soul—her
devoted attachment to her children—her truth; and attributed at
once the basest artifice—the grossest want of feeling. Want of
feeling in her! She whose pulses quickened and whose blushes were
called up at a word; she who idolized her child even to a fault, and
whose tender sympathy was alive to every call; but these
demonstrations of sensibility grew into accusations. Her very
goodness and guarded propriety were against her. Why appear so
perfect, except to blind? Why seclude herself, except from fears
which real virtue need never entertain? Why foster the morbid
sensibility of her child, except from a craving for that excitement
which is a token of depravity? In this bad world we are apt to
consider every deviation from stony apathy as tending at last to the
indulgence of passions against which society has declared a ban;
and thus with poor Alithea, all could see, it was said, that a nature
so sensitive must end in ill at last; and that, if tempted, she must
yield to an influence which few, even of the coldest natures, can
resist.
"While Sir Boyvill revolved these thoughts, he grew gloomy and
sullen. At first his increased unhappiness was attributed to sorrow;
but a little word betrayed the real source—a little word that named
his wife with scorn. That word turned the tide of public feeling; and
she, who had been pitied and wept as dead, was now regarded as a
voluntary deserter from her home. Her virtues were remembered
against her; and surmises, which before would have been
reprobated almost as blasphemy, became current—as undoubted
truths.
"It was long before Gerard became aware of this altered feeling. The
minds of children are such a mystery to us! They are so blank, yet
so susceptible of impression, that the point where ignorance ends
and knowledge is perfected is an enigma often impossible to solve.
From the time that he rose from his sick-bed, the boy was
perpetually on the watch for intelligence—eagerly inquiring what
discoveries were made—what means were used for, what hopes
entertained of, his mother's rescue. He had asked his father whether
he should not be justified in shooting the villain who had stolen her
if ever he met him. He had shed tears of sorrow and pity until
indignation swallowed up each softer feeling, and a desire to succour
and to avenge became paramount. His dear, dear mother! that she
should be away—kept from him by force—that he could not find—
not get at her, were ideas to incense his young heart to its very
height of impatience and rage. Every one seemed too tame—too
devoid of expedients and energy. It appeared an easy thing to
measure the whole earth, step by step, and inch by inch, leaving no
portion uninspected till she was found and liberated. He longed to
set off on such an expedition; it was his dream by night and day;
and he communicated these bursting feelings to every one, with an
overflowing eloquence, inexpressibly touching from its truth and
earnestness.
"Suddenly he felt the change. Perhaps some officious domestic
suggested the idea. He says himself, it came on him as infection may
be caught by one who enters an hospital. He saw it in the eyes—he
felt it in the air and manner of all: his mother was believed to be a
voluntary fugitive; of her own accord she went, and never would
return. At the thought his heart grew sick within him:—

"'To see his nobleness!

Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
He straight declined upon't, drooped, took it
deeply;
Fastened and fixed the shame on't in himself;
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
And downright languished.'

"He refused food, and turned in disgust from every former pursuit.
Hitherto he had ardently longed for the return of his mother; and it
seemed to him that, give his limbs but a manlier growth, let a few
years go over, and he should find and bring her back in triumph. But
that contumely and disgrace should fall on that dear mother's head
—how could he avert that? The evil was remediless, and death was
slight in comparison. One day he walked up to his father, and fixing
his clear young eyes upon him, said, 'I know what you think, but it is
not true. Mamma would come back if she could. When I am a man I
will find and bring her back, and you will be sorry then!'
"What more he would have said was lost in sobs. His heart had beat
impetuously as he had worked on himself to address his father, and
assert his mother's truth; but the consciousness that she was indeed
gone, and that for years there was no hope of seeing her, broke in—
his throat swelled, he felt suffocated, and fell down in a fit."

CHAPTER XVIII

Lady Cecil had broken off her tale on their return from their morning
drive. She resumed it in the evening, as she and Elizabeth sat
looking on the summer woods; and the soft but dim twilight better
accorded with her melancholy story.
"Poor Gerard! His young heart was almost broken by struggling
passions, and the want of tenderness in those about him. After this
scene with his father, his life was again in the greatest danger for
some days, but at last health of body returned. He lay on his little
couch, pale and wasted, an altered child—but his heart was the
same, and he adhered tenaciously to one idea. 'Nurse,' he said, one
day, to the woman who had attended him from his birth, 'I wish you
would take pen and paper, and write down what I am going to say.
Or, if that is too much trouble, I wish you would remember every
word, and repeat it to my father. I cannot speak to him. He does not
love mamma as he used; he is unjust, and I cannot speak to him—
but I wish to tell every little thing that happened, that people may
see that what I say is true, and be as sure as I am that mamma
never meant to go away.
"'When we met the strange gentleman first, we walked along the
lane, and I ran about gathering flowers—yet I remember I kept
thinking, why is mamma offended with that gentleman?—what right
has he to displease her? and I came back with it in my mind to tell
him that he should not say anything to annoy mamma; but when I
took her hand she seemed no longer angry, but very, very sorry. I
remember she said, "I grieve deeply for you, Rupert"—and then she
added, "My good wishes are all I have to give." I remember the
words, for they made me fancy, in a most childish manner, mamma
must have left her purse at home—and I began to think of my own
—but seeing him so well dressed, I felt a few shillings would do him
no good. Mamma talked on very softly, looking up in the stranger's
face; he was tall—taller, younger—and better looking than papa: and
I ran on again, for I did not know what they were talking about. At
one time mamma called me and said she would go back, and I was
very glad, for it was growing late, and I felt hungry—but the
stranger said, "Only a little farther—to the end of the lane only"—so
we walked on, and he talked about her forgetting him, and she said
something that was best, and he ought to forget her. On this he
burst forth very angrily, and I grew angry too—but he changed, and
asked her to forgive him—and so we reached the end of the lane.
"'We stopped there, and mamma held out her hand, and said
—"Farewell!"—and something more—when suddenly we heard the
sound of wheels, and a carriage came at full speed round from a
turn in the road; it stopped close to us—her hand trembled which
held mine—and the stranger said—"You see I said true—I am going
—and shall soon be far distant: I ask but for one half hour—sit in the
carriage, it is getting cold." Mamma said, "No, no—it is late—
farewell" but as she spoke the stranger as it were led her forward,
and in a moment lifted her up; he seemed stronger than any two
men—and put her in the carriage—and got in himself, crying to me
to jump after, which I would have done, but the postillion whipped
the horses. I was thrown almost under the wheel by the sudden
motion—I heard mamma scream; but when I got up the carriage
was already a long way off—and though I called as loud as I could—
and ran after it—it never stopped, and the horses were going at full
gallop. I ran on—thinking it would stop or turn back—and I cried out
on mamma—while I ran so fast that I was soon breathless—and she
was out of hearing—and then I shrieked and cried, and threw myself
on the ground—till I thought I heard wheels, and I got up and ran
again—but it was only the thunder—and that pealed and the wind
roared, and the rain came down—and I could keep my feet no
longer, but fell on the ground and forgot everything, except that
mamma must come back and I was watching for her. And this,
nurse, is my story—every word is true—and is it not plain that
mamma was carried away by force?'
"'Yes,' said the woman, 'no one doubts that, Master Gerard—but why
does she not come back!—no man could keep her against her will in
a Christian country like this.'
"'Because she is dead or in prison,' cried the boy, bursting into tears
—'but I see you are as wicked as everybody else—and have wicked
thoughts too—and I hate you and everybody—except mamma.'
"From that time Gerard was entirely altered; his boyish spirit was
dashed—he brooded perpetually over the wrong done his mother—
and was irritated to madness, by feeling that by a look and a word
he could not make others share his belief in her spotless innocence.
He became sullen, shy—shut up in himself—above all, he shunned
his father. Months passed away: requisitions, set on foot at first from
a desire to succour, were continued from a resolve to revenge; no
pains or expense were spared to discover the fugitives, and all in
vain. The opinion took root that they had fled to America—and who
on that vast continent could find two beings resolved on
concealment? Inquiries were made at New-York and other principal
towns; but all in vain.
"The strangest and most baffling circumstance in this mystery was,
that no guess could be formed as to who the stranger was. Though
he seemed to have dropped from the clouds, he had evidently been
known long before to Mrs. Neville. His name, it appeared, was
Rupert—no one knew of any bearing that name. Had Alithea loved
before her marriage? such a circumstance must have been carefully
hidden, for her husband had never suspected it. Her childhood had
been spent with her mother, her father being mostly at sea. When
sixteen, she lost her mother, and after a short interval resided with
her father, then retired from service. He had assured Sir Boyvill that
his daughter had never loved; and the husband, jealous as he was,
had never seen cause to doubt the truth of this statement. Had she
formed any attachment during the first years of her married life!
Was it to escape the temptation so held out that she secluded
herself in the country? Rupert was probably a feigned name; and Sir
Boyvill tried to recollect who her favourites were, so to find a clew
by their actions to her disappearance. It was in vain that he called to
mind every minute circumstance, and pondered over the name of
each visiter: he could remember nothing that helped discovery. Yet
the idea that she had, several years ago, conceived a partiality for
some man, who, as it proved, loved her to distraction, became fixed
in Sir Boyvill's mind. The thought poured venom on the time gone
by. It might have been a virtue in her to banish him she loved and to
seclude herself; but this mystery, where all seemed so frank and
open, this defalcation of the heart, this inward thought which made
no sign, yet ruled every action, was gall and wormwood to her
proud, susceptible husband. That in her secret soul she loved this
other, was manifest—for though it might be admitted that he used
art and violence to tear her from her home, yet in the end she was
vanquished; and even maternal duties and affections sacrificed to
irresistible passion.
"Can you wonder that such a man as Sir Boyvill, ever engrossed by
the mighty idea of self—yet fearful that that self should receive the
minutest wound; proud of his wife—because, being so lovely and so
admired, she was all his—grateful to her, for being so glorious and
enviable a possession—can you wonder that this vain but sensitive
man should be wound up to the height of jealous rage by the loss of
such a good, accompanied by circumstances of deception and
dishonour? He had been fond of his wife in return for her affection,
while she in reality loved another; he had respected the perfection of
her truth, and there was falsehood at the core. Had she avowed the
traitor passion; declared her struggles, and, laying bare her heart,
confessed that, while she preferred his honour and happiness, yet in
the weakness of her nature another had stolen a portion of that
sentiment which she desired to consecrate to him—then with what
tenderness he had forgiven her—with what soothing forbearance he
had borne her fault—how magnanimous and merciful he had shown
himself! But she had acted the generous part; thanks had come
from him—the shows of obligation from her. He fancied that he held
a flower in his hand, from which the sweetest perfume alone could
be extracted—but the germe was blighted, and the very core turned
to bitter ashes and dust.
"Such a theme is painful; howsoever we view it, it is scarcely
possible to imagine any event in life more desolating. To be happy is
to attain one's wishes, and to look forward to the lastingness of their
possession. Sir Boyvill had long been skeptical and distrusting; but at
last he was brought to believe that he had drawn the fortunate
ticket; that his wife's faith was a pure and perfect chrysolite—and if
in his heart he deemed that she did not regard him with all the
reverence that was his due; if she did not nurture all the pride of
place, and disdain of her fellow-creatures which he thought that his
wife ought to feel—yet her many charms and virtues left him no
room for complaint. Her sensibility, her vivacity, her wit, her
accomplishments, her exceeding loveliness—they were all
undeniably his—and all made her a piece of enchantment. This merit
was laid low—deprived of its crown—her fidelity to him; and the
selfish, the heartless, and the cold whom she reproved and disliked,
were lifted to the eminence of virtue, while she lay fallen, degraded,
worthless.
"Sir Boyvill was, in his own conceit, for ever placed on a pedestal;
and he loved to imagine that he could say, 'Look at me, you can see
no defect! I am a wealthy and a well-born man. I have a wife the
envy of all—children who promise to inherit all our virtues. I am
prosperous—no harm can reach me—look at me!' He was still on his
pedestal, but had become a mark for scorn, for pity! Oh, how he
loathed himself—how he abhorred her who had brought him to this
pass! He had, in her best days, often fancied that he loved her too
well, yielded too often his pride—nurtured schemes to her soft
persuasions. He had indeed believed that Providence had created
this exquisite and most beautiful being, that life might be made
perfect to him. Besides, his months, and days, and hours had been
replete with her image; her very admirable qualities, accompanied as
they were by the trembling delicacy that droops at a touch, and then
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