Subscribe for ad free access & additional features for teachers. Authors: 267, Books: 3,607, Poems & Short Stories: 4,435, Forum Members: 71,154, Forum Posts: 1,238,602, Quizzes: 344

Chapter 4

THE next day Lord Raymond called at Perdita's cottage, on his way to
Windsor Castle. My sister's heightened colour and sparkling eyes half
revealed her secret to me. He was perfectly self-possessed; he accosted us
both with courtesy, seemed immediately to enter into our feelings, and to
make one with us. I scanned his physiognomy, which varied as he spoke, yet
was beautiful in every change. The usual expression of his eyes was soft,
though at times he could make them even glare with ferocity; his complexion
was colourless; and every trait spoke predominate self-will; his smile was
pleasing, though disdain too often curled his lips--lips which to female
eyes were the very throne of beauty and love. His voice, usually gentle,
often startled you by a sharp discordant note, which shewed that his usual
low tone was rather the work of study than nature. Thus full of
contradictions, unbending yet haughty, gentle yet fierce, tender and again
neglectful, he by some strange art found easy entrance to the admiration
and affection of women; now caressing and now tyrannizing over them
according to his mood, but in every change a despot.

At the present time Raymond evidently wished to appear amiable. Wit,
hilarity, and deep observation were mingled in his talk, rendering every
sentence that he uttered as a flash of light. He soon conquered my latent
distaste; I endeavoured to watch him and Perdita, and to keep in mind every
thing I had heard to his disadvantage. But all appeared so ingenuous, and
all was so fascinating, that I forgot everything except the pleasure his
society afforded me. Under the idea of initiating me in the scene of
English politics and society, of which I was soon to become a part, he
narrated a number of anecdotes, and sketched many characters; his
discourse, rich and varied, flowed on, pervading all my senses with
pleasure. But for one thing he would have been completely triumphant. He
alluded to Adrian, and spoke of him with that disparagement that the
worldly wise always attach to enthusiasm. He perceived the cloud gathering,
and tried to dissipate it; but the strength of my feelings would not permit
me to pass thus lightly over this sacred subject; so I said emphatically,
"Permit me to remark, that I am devotedly attached to the Earl of Windsor;
he is my best friend and benefactor. I reverence his goodness, I accord
with his opinions, and bitterly lament his present, and I trust temporary,
illness. That illness, from its peculiarity, makes it painful to me beyond
words to hear him mentioned, unless in terms of respect and affection."

Raymond replied; but there was nothing conciliatory in his reply. I saw
that in his heart he despised those dedicated to any but worldly idols.
"Every man," he said, "dreams about something, love, honour, and pleasure;
you dream of friendship, and devote yourself to a maniac; well, if that be
your vocation, doubtless you are in the right to follow it."--

Some reflection seemed to sting him, and the spasm of pain that for a
moment convulsed his countenance, checked my indignation. "Happy are
dreamers," he continued, "so that they be not awakened! Would I could
dream! but 'broad and garish day' is the element in which I live; the
dazzling glare of reality inverts the scene for me. Even the ghost of
friendship has departed, and love"----He broke off; nor could I guess
whether the disdain that curled his lip was directed against the passion,
or against himself for being its slave.

This account may be taken as a sample of my intercourse with Lord Raymond.
I became intimate with him, and each day afforded me occasion to admire
more and more his powerful and versatile talents, that together with his
eloquence, which was graceful and witty, and his wealth now immense, caused
him to be feared, loved, and hated beyond any other man in England.

My descent, which claimed interest, if not respect, my former connection
with Adrian, the favour of the ambassador, whose secretary I had been, and
now my intimacy with Lord Raymond, gave me easy access to the fashionable
and political circles of England. To my inexperience we at first appeared
on the eve of a civil war; each party was violent, acrimonious, and
unyielding. Parliament was divided by three factions, aristocrats,
democrats, and royalists. After Adrian's declared predeliction to the
republican form of government, the latter party had nearly died away,
chiefless, guideless; but, when Lord Raymond came forward as its leader, it
revived with redoubled force. Some were royalists from prejudice and
ancient affection, and there were many moderately inclined who feared alike
the capricious tyranny of the popular party, and the unbending despotism of
the aristocrats. More than a third of the members ranged themselves under
Raymond, and their number was perpetually encreasing. The aristocrats built
their hopes on their preponderant wealth and influence; the reformers on
the force of the nation itself; the debates were violent, more violent the
discourses held by each knot of politicians as they assembled to arrange
their measures. Opprobrious epithets were bandied about, resistance even to
the death threatened; meetings of the populace disturbed the quiet order of
the country; except in war, how could all this end? Even as the destructive
flames were ready to break forth, I saw them shrink back; allayed by the
absence of the military, by the aversion entertained by every one to any
violence, save that of speech, and by the cordial politeness and even
friendship of the hostile leaders when they met in private society. I was
from a thousand motives induced to attend minutely to the course of events,
and watch each turn with intense anxiety.

I could not but perceive that Perdita loved Raymond; methought also that he
regarded the fair daughter of Verney with admiration and tenderness. Yet I
knew that he was urging forward his marriage with the presumptive heiress
of the Earldom of Windsor, with keen expectation of the advantages that
would thence accrue to him. All the ex-queen's friends were his friends; no
week passed that he did not hold consultations with her at Windsor.

I had never seen the sister of Adrian. I had heard that she was lovely,
amiable, and fascinating. Wherefore should I see her? There are times when
we have an indefinable sentiment of impending change for better or for
worse, to arise from an event; and, be it for better or for worse, we fear
the change, and shun the event. For this reason I avoided this high-born
damsel. To me she was everything and nothing; her very name mentioned by
another made me start and tremble; the endless discussion concerning her
union with Lord Raymond was real agony to me. Methought that, Adrian
withdrawn from active life, and this beauteous Idris, a victim probably to
her mother's ambitious schemes, I ought to come forward to protect her from
undue influence, guard her from unhappiness, and secure to her freedom of
choice, the right of every human being. Yet how was I to do this? She
herself would disdain my interference. Since then I must be an object of
indifference or contempt to her, better, far better avoid her, nor expose
myself before her and the scornful world to the chance of playing the mad
game of a fond, foolish Icarus. One day, several months after my return to
England, I quitted London to visit my sister. Her society was my chief
solace and delight; and my spirits always rose at the expectation of seeing
her. Her conversation was full of pointed remark and discernment; in her
pleasant alcove, redolent with sweetest flowers, adorned by magnificent
casts, antique vases, and copies of the finest pictures of Raphael,
Correggio, and Claude, painted by herself, I fancied myself in a fairy
retreat untainted by and inaccessible to the noisy contentions of
politicians and the frivolous pursuits of fashion. On this occasion, my
sister was not alone; nor could I fail to recognise her companion: it was
Idris, the till now unseen object of my mad idolatry.

In what fitting terms of wonder and delight, in what choice expression and
soft flow of language, can I usher in the loveliest, wisest, best? How in
poor assemblage of words convey the halo of glory that surrounded her, the
thousand graces that waited unwearied on her. The first thing that struck
you on beholding that charming countenance was its perfect goodness and
frankness; candour sat upon her brow, simplicity in her eyes, heavenly
benignity in her smile. Her tall slim figure bent gracefully as a poplar to
the breezy west, and her gait, goddess-like, was as that of a winged angel
new alit from heaven's high floor; the pearly fairness of her complexion
was stained by a pure suffusion; her voice resembled the low, subdued tenor
of a flute. It is easiest perhaps to describe by contrast. I have detailed
the perfections of my sister; and yet she was utterly unlike Idris.
Perdita, even where she loved, was reserved and timid; Idris was frank and
confiding. The one recoiled to solitude, that she might there entrench
herself from disappointment and injury; the other walked forth in open day,
believing that none would harm her. Wordsworth has compared a beloved
female to two fair objects in nature; but his lines always appeared to me
rather a contrast than a similitude:

A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye,
Fair as a star when only one
Is shining in the sky.

Such a violet was sweet Perdita, trembling to entrust herself to the very
air, cowering from observation, yet betrayed by her excellences; and
repaying with a thousand graces the labour of those who sought her in her
lonely bye-path. Idris was as the star, set in single splendour in the
dim anadem of balmy evening; ready to enlighten and delight the subject
world, shielded herself from every taint by her unimagined distance from
all that was not like herself akin to heaven.

I found this vision of beauty in Perdita's alcove, in earnest conversation
with its inmate. When my sister saw me, she rose, and taking my hand, said,
"He is here, even at our wish; this is Lionel, my brother." Idris arose
also, and bent on me her eyes of celestial blue, and with grace peculiar
said--"You hardly need an introduction; we have a picture, highly valued
by my father, which declares at once your name. Verney, you will
acknowledge this tie, and as my brother's friend, I feel that I may trust
you."

Then, with lids humid with a tear and trembling voice, she continued--
"Dear friends, do not think it strange that now, visiting you for the first
time, I ask your assistance, and confide my wishes and fears to you. To you
alone do I dare speak; I have heard you commended by impartial spectators;
you are my brother's friends, therefore you must be mine. What can I say?
if you refuse to aid me, I am lost indeed!" She cast up her eyes, while
wonder held her auditors mute; then, as if carried away by her feelings,
she cried--"My brother! beloved, ill-fated Adrian! how speak of your
misfortunes? Doubtless you have both heard the current tale; perhaps
believe the slander; but he is not mad! Were an angel from the foot of
God's throne to assert it, never, never would I believe it. He is wronged,
betrayed, imprisoned--save him! Verney, you must do this; seek him out in
whatever part of the island he is immured; find him, rescue him from his
persecutors, restore him to himself, to me--on the wide earth I have none
to love but only him!"

Her earnest appeal, so sweetly and passionately expressed, filled me with
wonder and sympathy; and, when she added, with thrilling voice and look,
"Do you consent to undertake this enterprize?" I vowed, with energy and
truth, to devote myself in life and death to the restoration and welfare of
Adrian. We then conversed on the plan I should pursue, and discussed the
probable means of discovering his residence. While we were in earnest
discourse, Lord Raymond entered unannounced: I saw Perdita tremble and grow
deadly pale, and the cheeks of Idris glow with purest blushes. He must have
been astonished at our conclave, disturbed by it I should have thought; but
nothing of this appeared; he saluted my companions, and addressed me with a
cordial greeting. Idris appeared suspended for a moment, and then with
extreme sweetness, she said, "Lord Raymond, I confide in your goodness and
honour."

Smiling haughtily, he bent his head, and replied, with emphasis, "Do you
indeed confide, Lady Idris?"

She endeavoured to read his thought, and then answered with dignity, "As
you please. It is certainly best not to compromise oneself by any
concealment."

"Pardon me," he replied, "if I have offended. Whether you trust me or not,
rely on my doing my utmost to further your wishes, whatever they may be."

Idris smiled her thanks, and rose to take leave. Lord Raymond requested
permission to accompany her to Windsor Castle, to which she consented, and
they quitted the cottage together. My sister and I were left--truly like
two fools, who fancied that they had obtained a golden treasure, till
daylight shewed it to be lead--two silly, luckless flies, who had played
in sunbeams and were caught in a spider's web. I leaned against the
casement, and watched those two glorious creatures, till they disappeared
in the forest-glades; and then I turned. Perdita had not moved; her eyes
fixed on the ground, her cheeks pale, her very lips white, motionless and
rigid, every feature stamped by woe, she sat. Half frightened, I would
have taken her hand; but she shudderingly withdrew it, and strove to
collect herself. I entreated her to speak to me: "Not now," she replied,
"nor do you speak to me, my dear Lionel; you can say nothing, for you know
nothing. I will see you to-morrow; in the meantime, adieu!" She rose, and
walked from the room; but pausing at the door, and leaning against it, as
if her over-busy thoughts had taken from her the power of supporting
herself, she said, "Lord Raymond will probably return. Will you tell him
that he must excuse me to-day, for I am not well. I will see him to-morrow
if he wishes it, and you also. You had better return to London with him;
you can there make the enquiries agreed upon, concerning the Earl of
Windsor and visit me again to-morrow, before you proceed on your
journey--till then, farewell!"

She spoke falteringly, and concluded with a heavy sigh. I gave my assent to
her request; and she left me. I felt as if, from the order of the
systematic world, I had plunged into chaos, obscure, contrary,
unintelligible. That Raymond should marry Idris was more than ever
intolerable; yet my passion, though a giant from its birth, was too
strange, wild, and impracticable, for me to feel at once the misery I
perceived in Perdita. How should I act? She had not confided in me; I could
not demand an explanation from Raymond without the hazard of betraying what
was perhaps her most treasured secret. I would obtain the truth from her
the following day--in the mean time--But, while I was occupied by
multiplying reflections, Lord Raymond returned. He asked for my sister; and
I delivered her message. After musing on it for a moment, he asked me if I
were about to return to London, and if I would accompany him: I consented.
He was full of thought, and remained silent during a considerable part of
our ride; at length he said, "I must apologize to you for my abstraction;
the truth is, Ryland's motion comes on to-night, and I am considering my
reply."

Ryland was the leader of the popular party, a hard-headed man, and in his
way eloquent; he had obtained leave to bring in a bill making it treason to
endeavour to change the present state of the English government and the
standing laws of the republic. This attack was directed against Raymond and
his machinations for the restoration of the monarchy.

Raymond asked me if I would accompany him to the House that evening. I
remembered my pursuit for intelligence concerning Adrian; and, knowing that
my time would be fully occupied, I excused myself. "Nay," said my
companion, "I can free you from your present impediment. You are going to
make enquiries concerning the Earl of Windsor. I can answer them at once,
he is at the Duke of Athol's seat at Dunkeld. On the first approach of his
disorder, he travelled about from one place to another; until, arriving at
that romantic seclusion he refused to quit it, and we made arrangements
with the Duke for his continuing there."

I was hurt by the careless tone with which he conveyed this information,
and replied coldly: "I am obliged to you for your intelligence, and will
avail myself of it."

"You shall, Verney," said he, "and if you continue of the same mind, I will
facilitate your views. But first witness, I beseech you, the result of this
night's contest, and the triumph I am about to achieve, if I may so call
it, while I fear that victory is to me defeat. What can I do? My dearest
hopes appear to be near their fulfilment. The ex-queen gives me Idris;
Adrian is totally unfitted to succeed to the earldom, and that earldom in
my hands becomes a kingdom. By the reigning God it is true; the paltry
earldom of Windsor shall no longer content him, who will inherit the rights
which must for ever appertain to the person who possesses it. The Countess
can never forget that she has been a queen, and she disdains to leave a
diminished inheritance to her children; her power and my wit will rebuild
the throne, and this brow will be clasped by a kingly diadem.--I can do
this--I can marry Idris."---

He stopped abruptly, his countenance darkened, and its expression changed
again and again under the influence of internal passion. I asked, "Does
Lady Idris love you?"

"What a question," replied he laughing. "She will of course, as I shall
her, when we are married."

"You begin late," said I, ironically, "marriage is usually considered the
grave, and not the cradle of love. So you are about to love her, but do not
already?"

"Do not catechise me, Lionel; I will do my duty by her, be assured. Love! I
must steel my heart against that; expel it from its tower of strength,
barricade it out: the fountain of love must cease to play, its waters be
dried up, and all passionate thoughts attendant on it die--that is to
say, the love which would rule me, not that which I rule. Idris is a
gentle, pretty, sweet little girl; it is impossible not to have an
affection for her, and I have a very sincere one; only do not speak of love
--love, the tyrant and the tyrant-queller; love, until now my conqueror,
now my slave; the hungry fire, the untameable beast, the fanged
snake--no--no--I will have nothing to do with that love. Tell me,
Lionel, do you consent that I should marry this young lady?"

He bent his keen eyes upon me, and my uncontrollable heart swelled in my
bosom. I replied in a calm voice--but how far from calm was the thought
imaged by my still words--"Never! I can never consent that Lady Idris
should be united to one who does not love her."

"Because you love her yourself."

"Your Lordship might have spared that taunt; I do not, dare not love her."

"At least," he continued haughtily, "she does not love you. I would not
marry a reigning sovereign, were I not sure that her heart was free. But,
O, Lionel! a kingdom is a word of might, and gently sounding are the terms
that compose the style of royalty. Were not the mightiest men of the olden
times kings? Alexander was a king; Solomon, the wisest of men, was a king;
Napoleon was a king; Caesar died in his attempt to become one, and
Cromwell, the puritan and king-killer, aspired to regality. The father of
Adrian yielded up the already broken sceptre of England; but I will rear
the fallen plant, join its dismembered frame, and exalt it above all the
flowers of the field.

"You need not wonder that I freely discover Adrian's abode. Do not
suppose that I am wicked or foolish enough to found my purposed
sovereignty on a fraud, and one so easily discovered as the truth
or falsehood of the Earl's insanity. I am just come from him. Before I
decided on my marriage with Idris, I resolved to see him myself again, and
to judge of the probability of his recovery.--He is irrecoverably mad."

I gasped for breath--

"I will not detail to you," continued Raymond, "the melancholy particulars.
You shall see him, and judge for yourself; although I fear this visit,
useless to him, will be insufferably painful to you. It has weighed on my
spirits ever since. Excellent and gentle as he is even in the downfall of
his reason, I do not worship him as you do, but I would give all my hopes
of a crown and my right hand to boot, to see him restored to himself."

His voice expressed the deepest compassion: "Thou most unaccountable
being," I cried, "whither will thy actions tend, in all this maze of
purpose in which thou seemest lost?"

"Whither indeed? To a crown, a golden be-gemmed crown, I hope; and yet I
dare not trust and though I dream of a crown and wake for one, ever and
anon a busy devil whispers to me, that it is but a fool's cap that I seek,
and that were I wise, I should trample on it, and take in its stead, that
which is worth all the crowns of the east and presidentships of the west."

"And what is that?"

"If I do make it my choice, then you shall know; at present I dare not
speak, even think of it."

Again he was silent, and after a pause turned to me laughingly. When scorn
did not inspire his mirth, when it was genuine gaiety that painted his
features with a joyous expression, his beauty became super-eminent, divine.
"Verney," said he, "my first act when I become King of England, will be to
unite with the Greeks, take Constantinople, and subdue all Asia. I intend
to be a warrior, a conqueror; Napoleon's name shall vail to mine; and
enthusiasts, instead of visiting his rocky grave, and exalting the merits
of the fallen, shall adore my majesty, and magnify my illustrious
achievements."

I listened to Raymond with intense interest. Could I be other than all ear,
to one who seemed to govern the whole earth in his grasping imagination,
and who only quailed when he attempted to rule himself. Then on his word
and will depended my own happiness--the fate of all dear to me. I
endeavoured to divine the concealed meaning of his words. Perdita's name
was not mentioned; yet I could not doubt that love for her caused the
vacillation of purpose that he exhibited. And who was so worthy of love as
my noble-minded sister? Who deserved the hand of this self-exalted king
more than she whose glance belonged to a queen of nations? who loved him,
as he did her; notwithstanding that disappointment quelled her passion, and
ambition held strong combat with his.

We went together to the House in the evening. Raymond, while he knew that
his plans and prospects were to be discussed and decided during the
expected debate, was gay and careless. An hum, like that of ten thousand
hives of swarming bees, stunned us as we entered the coffee-room. Knots of
politicians were assembled with anxious brows and loud or deep voices. The
aristocratical party, the richest and most influential men in England,
appeared less agitated than the others, for the question was to be
discussed without their interference. Near the fire was Ryland and his
supporters. Ryland was a man of obscure birth and of immense wealth,
inherited from his father, who had been a manufacturer. He had witnessed,
when a young man, the abdication of the king, and the amalgamation of the
two houses of Lords and Commons; he had sympathized with these popular
encroachments, and it had been the business of his life to consolidate and
encrease them. Since then, the influence of the landed proprietors had
augmented; and at first Ryland was not sorry to observe the machinations of
Lord Raymond, which drew off many of his opponent's partizans. But the
thing was now going too far. The poorer nobility hailed the return of
sovereignty, as an event which would restore them to their power and
rights, now lost. The half extinct spirit of royalty roused itself in the
minds of men; and they, willing slaves, self-constituted subjects, were
ready to bend their necks to the yoke. Some erect and manly spirits still
remained, pillars of state; but the word republic had grown stale to the
vulgar ear; and many--the event would prove whether it was a majority--
pined for the tinsel and show of royalty. Ryland was roused to resistance;
he asserted that his sufferance alone had permitted the encrease of this
party; but the time for indulgence was passed, and with one motion of his
arm he would sweep away the cobwebs that blinded his countrymen.

When Raymond entered the coffee-room, his presence was hailed by his
friends almost with a shout. They gathered round him, counted their
numbers, and detailed the reasons why they were now to receive an addition
of such and such members, who had not yet declared themselves. Some
trifling business of the House having been gone through, the leaders took
their seats in the chamber; the clamour of voices continued, till Ryland
arose to speak, and then the slightest whispered observation was audible.
All eyes were fixed upon him as he stood--ponderous of frame, sonorous of
voice, and with a manner which, though not graceful, was impressive. I
turned from his marked, iron countenance to Raymond, whose face, veiled by
a smile, would not betray his care; yet his lips quivered somewhat, and his
hand clasped the bench on which he sat, with a convulsive strength that
made the muscles start again.

Ryland began by praising the present state of the British empire. He
recalled past years to their memory; the miserable contentions which in the
time of our fathers arose almost to civil war, the abdication of the late
king, and the foundation of the republic. He described this republic;
shewed how it gave privilege to each individual in the state, to rise to
consequence, and even to temporary sovereignty. He compared the royal and
republican spirit; shewed how the one tended to enslave the minds of men;
while all the institutions of the other served to raise even the meanest
among us to something great and good. He shewed how England had become
powerful, and its inhabitants valiant and wise, by means of the freedom
they enjoyed. As he spoke, every heart swelled with pride, and every cheek
glowed with delight to remember, that each one there was English, and that
each supported and contributed to the happy state of things now
commemorated. Ryland's fervour increased--his eyes lighted up--his
voice assumed the tone of passion. There was one man, he continued, who
wished to alter all this, and bring us back to our days of impotence and
contention:--one man, who would dare arrogate the honour which was due to
all who claimed England as their birthplace, and set his name and style
above the name and style of his country. I saw at this juncture that
Raymond changed colour; his eyes were withdrawn from the orator, and cast
on the ground; the listeners turned from one to the other; but in the
meantime the speaker's voice filled their ears--the thunder of his
denunciations influenced their senses. The very boldness of his language
gave him weight; each knew that he spoke truth--a truth known, but not
acknowledged. He tore from reality the mask with which she had been
clothed; and the purposes of Raymond, which before had crept around,
ensnaring by stealth, now stood a hunted stag--even at bay--as all
perceived who watched the irrepressible changes of his countenance. Ryland
ended by moving, that any attempt to re-erect the kingly power should be
declared treason, and he a traitor who should endeavour to change the
present form of government. Cheers and loud acclamations followed the close
of his speech.

After his motion had been seconded, Lord Raymond rose,--his countenance
bland, his voice softly melodious, his manner soothing, his grace and
sweetness came like the mild breathing of a flute, after the loud,
organ-like voice of his adversary. He rose, he said, to speak in favour of
the honourable member's motion, with one slight amendment subjoined. He was
ready to go back to old times, and commemorate the contests of our fathers,
and the monarch's abdication. Nobly and greatly, he said, had the
illustrious and last sovereign of England sacrificed himself to the
apparent good of his country, and divested himself of a power which could
only be maintained by the blood of his subjects--these subjects named so
no more, these, his friends and equals, had in gratitude conferred certain
favours and distinctions on him and his family for ever. An ample estate
was allotted to them, and they took the first rank among the peers of Great
Britain. Yet it might be conjectured that they had not forgotten their
ancient heritage; and it was hard that his heir should suffer alike with
any other pretender, if he attempted to regain what by ancient right and
inheritance belonged to him. He did not say that he should favour such an
attempt; but he did say that such an attempt would be venial; and, if the
aspirant did not go so far as to declare war, and erect a standard in the
kingdom, his fault ought to be regarded with an indulgent eye. In his
amendment he proposed, that an exception should be made in the bill in
favour of any person who claimed the sovereign power in right of the earls
of Windsor. Nor did Raymond make an end without drawing in vivid and glowing
colours, the splendour of a kingdom, in opposition to the commercial spirit
of republicanism. He asserted, that each individual under the English
monarchy, was then as now, capable of attaining high rank and power--with
one only exception, that of the function of chief magistrate; higher and
nobler rank, than a bartering, timorous commonwealth could afford. And for
this one exception, to what did it amount? The nature of riches and
influence forcibly confined the list of candidates to a few of the
wealthiest; and it was much to be feared, that the ill-humour and
contention generated by this triennial struggle, would counterbalance its
advantages in impartial eyes. I can ill record the flow of language and
graceful turns of expression, the wit and easy raillery that gave vigour
and influence to his speech. His manner, timid at first, became firm--his
changeful face was lit up to superhuman brilliancy; his voice, various as
music, was like that enchanting.

It were useless to record the debate that followed this harangue. Party
speeches were delivered, which clothed the question in cant, and veiled its
simple meaning in a woven wind of words. The motion was lost; Ryland
withdrew in rage and despair; and Raymond, gay and exulting, retired to
dream of his future kingdom.

Sorry, no summary available yet.