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Chapter 7

AND now let the reader, passing over some short period of time, be
introduced to our happy circle. Adrian, Idris and I, were established in
Windsor Castle; Lord Raymond and my sister, inhabited a house which the
former had built on the borders of the Great Park, near Perdita's cottage,
as was still named the low-roofed abode, where we two, poor even in hope,
had each received the assurance of our felicity. We had our separate
occupations and our common amusements. Sometimes we passed whole days under
the leafy covert of the forest with our books and music. This occurred
during those rare days in this country, when the sun mounts his etherial
throne in unclouded majesty, and the windless atmosphere is as a bath of
pellucid and grateful water, wrapping the senses in tranquillity. When the
clouds veiled the sky, and the wind scattered them there and here, rending
their woof, and strewing its fragments through the aerial plains--then we
rode out, and sought new spots of beauty and repose. When the frequent
rains shut us within doors, evening recreation followed morning study,
ushered in by music and song. Idris had a natural musical talent; and her
voice, which had been carefully cultivated, was full and sweet. Raymond and
I made a part of the concert, and Adrian and Perdita were devout listeners.
Then we were as gay as summer insects, playful as children; we ever met one
another with smiles, and read content and joy in each other's countenances.
Our prime festivals were held in Perdita's cottage; nor were we ever weary
of talking of the past or dreaming of the future. Jealousy and disquiet
were unknown among us; nor did a fear or hope of change ever disturb our
tranquillity. Others said, We might be happy--we said--We are.

When any separation took place between us, it generally so happened, that
Idris and Perdita would ramble away together, and we remained to discuss
the affairs of nations, and the philosophy of life. The very difference of
our dispositions gave zest to these conversations. Adrian had the
superiority in learning and eloquence; but Raymond possessed a quick
penetration, and a practical knowledge of life, which usually displayed
itself in opposition to Adrian, and thus kept up the ball of discussion. At
other times we made excursions of many days' duration, and crossed the
country to visit any spot noted for beauty or historical association.
Sometimes we went up to London, and entered into the amusements of the busy
throng; sometimes our retreat was invaded by visitors from among them. This
change made us only the more sensible to the delights of the intimate
intercourse of our own circle, the tranquillity of our divine forest, and
our happy evenings in the halls of our beloved Castle.

The disposition of Idris was peculiarly frank, soft, and affectionate. Her
temper was unalterably sweet; and although firm and resolute on any point
that touched her heart, she was yielding to those she loved. The nature of
Perdita was less perfect; but tenderness and happiness improved her temper,
and softened her natural reserve. Her understanding was clear and
comprehensive, her imagination vivid; she was sincere, generous, and
reasonable. Adrian, the matchless brother of my soul, the sensitive and
excellent Adrian, loving all, and beloved by all, yet seemed destined not
to find the half of himself, which was to complete his happiness. He often
left us, and wandered by himself in the woods, or sailed in his little
skiff, his books his only companions. He was often the gayest of our party,
at the same time that he was the only one visited by fits of despondency;
his slender frame seemed overcharged with the weight of life, and his soul
appeared rather to inhabit his body than unite with it. I was hardly more
devoted to my Idris than to her brother, and she loved him as her teacher,
her friend, the benefactor who had secured to her the fulfilment of her
dearest wishes. Raymond, the ambitious, restless Raymond, reposed midway on
the great high-road of life, and was content to give up all his schemes of
sovereignty and fame, to make one of us, the flowers of the field. His
kingdom was the heart of Perdita, his subjects her thoughts; by her he was
loved, respected as a superior being, obeyed, waited on. No office, no
devotion, no watching was irksome to her, as it regarded him. She would sit
apart from us and watch him; she would weep for joy to think that he was
hers. She erected a temple for him in the depth of her being, and each
faculty was a priestess vowed to his service. Sometimes she might be
wayward and capricious; but her repentance was bitter, her return entire,
and even this inequality of temper suited him who was not formed by nature
to float idly down the stream of life.

During the first year of their marriage, Perdita presented Raymond with a
lovely girl. It was curious to trace in this miniature model the very
traits of its father. The same half-disdainful lips and smile of triumph,
the same intelligent eyes, the same brow and chestnut hair; her very hands
and taper fingers resembled his. How very dear she was to Perdita! In
progress of time, I also became a father, and our little darlings, our
playthings and delights, called forth a thousand new and delicious
feelings.

Years passed thus,--even years. Each month brought forth its successor,
each year one like to that gone by; truly, our lives were a living comment
on that beautiful sentiment of Plutarch, that "our souls have a natural
inclination to love, being born as much to love, as to feel, to reason, to
understand and remember." We talked of change and active pursuits, but
still remained at Windsor, incapable of violating the charm that attached
us to our secluded life.

Pareamo aver qui tutto il ben raccolto
Che fra mortali in piu parte si rimembra.

Now also that our children gave us occupation, we found excuses for
our idleness, in the idea of bringing them up to a more splendid
career. At length our tranquillity was disturbed, and the course of events,
which for five years had flowed on in hushing tranquillity, was broken by
breakers and obstacles, that woke us from our pleasant dream.

A new Lord Protector of England was to be chosen; and, at Raymond's
request, we removed to London, to witness, and even take a part in the
election. If Raymond had been united to Idris, this post had been his
stepping-stone to higher dignity; and his desire for power and fame had
been crowned with fullest measure. He had exchanged a sceptre for a lute, a
kingdom for Perdita.

Did he think of this as we journeyed up to town? I watched him, but could
make but little of him. He was particularly gay, playing with his child,
and turning to sport every word that was uttered. Perhaps he did this
because he saw a cloud upon Perdita's brow. She tried to rouse herself, but
her eyes every now and then filled with tears, and she looked wistfully on
Raymond and her girl, as if fearful that some evil would betide them. And
so she felt. A presentiment of ill hung over her. She leaned from the
window looking on the forest, and the turrets of the Castle, and as these
became hid by intervening objects, she passionately exclaimed--"Scenes of
happiness! scenes sacred to devoted love, when shall I see you again! and
when I see ye, shall I be still the beloved and joyous Perdita, or shall I,
heart-broken and lost, wander among your groves, the ghost of what I
am!"

"Why, silly one," cried Raymond, "what is your little head pondering
upon, that of a sudden you have become so sublimely dismal? Cheer up, or I
shall make you over to Idris, and call Adrian into the carriage, who, I see
by his gesture, sympathizes with my good spirits."

Adrian was on horseback; he rode up to the carriage, and his gaiety, in
addition to that of Raymond, dispelled my sister's melancholy. We entered
London in the evening, and went to our several abodes near Hyde Park.

The following morning Lord Raymond visited me early. "I come to you," he
said, "only half assured that you will assist me in my project, but
resolved to go through with it, whether you concur with me or not. Promise
me secrecy however; for if you will not contribute to my success, at least
you must not baffle me."

"Well, I promise. And now---"

"And now, my dear fellow, for what are we come to London? To be present at
the election of a Protector, and to give our yea or nay for his shuffling
Grace of----? or for that noisy Ryland? Do you believe, Verney, that I
brought you to town for that? No, we will have a Protector of our own. We
will set up a candidate, and ensure his success. We will nominate Adrian,
and do our best to bestow on him the power to which he is entitled by his
birth, and which he merits through his virtues.

"Do not answer; I know all your objections, and will reply to them in
order. First, Whether he will or will not consent to become a great man?
Leave the task of persuasion on that point to me; I do not ask you to
assist me there. Secondly, Whether he ought to exchange his employment of
plucking blackberries, and nursing wounded partridges in the forest, for
the command of a nation? My dear Lionel, we are married men, and find
employment sufficient in amusing our wives, and dancing our children. But
Adrian is alone, wifeless, childless, unoccupied. I have long observed him.
He pines for want of some interest in life. His heart, exhausted by his
early sufferings, reposes like a new-healed limb, and shrinks from all
excitement. But his understanding, his charity, his virtues, want a field
for exercise and display; and we will procure it for him. Besides, is it
not a shame, that the genius of Adrian should fade from the earth like a
flower in an untrod mountain-path, fruitless? Do you think Nature composed
his surpassing machine for no purpose? Believe me, he was destined to be
the author of infinite good to his native England. Has she not bestowed on
him every gift in prodigality?--birth, wealth, talent, goodness? Does not
every one love and admire him? and does he not delight singly in such
efforts as manifest his love to all? Come, I see that you are already
persuaded, and will second me when I propose him to-night in parliament."

"You have got up all your arguments in excellent order," I replied; "and,
if Adrian consent, they are unanswerable. One only condition I would make,
--that you do nothing without his concurrence."

"I believe you are in the right," said Raymond; "although I had thought at
first to arrange the affair differently. Be it so. I will go instantly to
Adrian; and, if he inclines to consent, you will not destroy my labour by
persuading him to return, and turn squirrel again in Windsor Forest. Idris,
you will not act the traitor towards me?"

"Trust me," replied she, "I will preserve a strict neutrality."

"For my part," said I, "I am too well convinced of the worth of our friend,
and the rich harvest of benefits that all England would reap from his
Protectorship, to deprive my countrymen of such a blessing, if he consent
to bestow it on them."

In the evening Adrian visited us.--"Do you cabal also against me," said
he, laughing; "and will you make common cause with Raymond, in dragging a
poor visionary from the clouds to surround him with the fire-works and
blasts of earthly grandeur, instead of heavenly rays and airs? I thought
you knew me better."

"I do know you better," I replied "than to think that you would be happy in
such a situation; but the good you would do to others may be an inducement,
since the time is probably arrived when you can put your theories into
practice, and you may bring about such reformation and change, as will
conduce to that perfect system of government which you delight to
portray."

"You speak of an almost-forgotten dream," said Adrian, his countenance
slightly clouding as he spoke; "the visions of my boyhood have long since
faded in the light of reality; I know now that I am not a man fitted to
govern nations; sufficient for me, if I keep in wholesome rule the little
kingdom of my own mortality.

"But do not you see, Lionel, the drift of our noble friend; a drift,
perhaps, unknown to himself, but apparent to me. Lord Raymond was never
born to be a drone in the hive, and to find content in our pastoral life.
He thinks, that he ought to be satisfied; he imagines, that his present
situation precludes the possibility of aggrandisement; he does not
therefore, even in his own heart, plan change for himself. But do you not
see, that, under the idea of exalting me, he is chalking out a new path for
himself; a path of action from which he has long wandered?

"Let us assist him. He, the noble, the warlike, the great in every quality
that can adorn the mind and person of man; he is fitted to be the Protector
of England. If I--that is, if we propose him, he will assuredly be
elected, and will find, in the functions of that high office, scope for the
towering powers of his mind. Even Perdita will rejoice. Perdita, in whom
ambition was a covered fire until she married Raymond, which event was for
a time the fulfilment of her hopes; Perdita will rejoice in the glory and
advancement of her lord--and, coyly and prettily, not be discontented
with her share. In the mean time, we, the wise of the land, will return to
our Castle, and, Cincinnatus-like, take to our usual labours, until our
friend shall require our presence and assistance here."

The more Adrian reasoned upon this scheme, the more feasible it appeared.
His own determination never to enter into public life was insurmountable,
and the delicacy of his health was a sufficient argument against it. The
next step was to induce Raymond to confess his secret wishes for dignity
and fame. He entered while we were speaking. The way in which Adrian had
received his project for setting him up as a candidate for the
Protectorship, and his replies, had already awakened in his mind, the view
of the subject which we were now discussing. His countenance and manner
betrayed irresolution and anxiety; but the anxiety arose from a fear that
we should not prosecute, or not succeed in our idea; and his irresolution,
from a doubt whether we should risk a defeat. A few words from us decided
him, and hope and joy sparkled in his eyes; the idea of embarking in a
career, so congenial to his early habits and cherished wishes, made him as
before energetic and bold. We discussed his chances, the merits of the
other candidates, and the dispositions of the voters.

After all we miscalculated. Raymond had lost much of his popularity, and
was deserted by his peculiar partizans. Absence from the busy stage had
caused him to be forgotten by the people; his former parliamentary
supporters were principally composed of royalists, who had been willing to
make an idol of him when he appeared as the heir of the Earldom of Windsor;
but who were indifferent to him, when he came forward with no other
attributes and distinctions than they conceived to be common to many among
themselves. Still he had many friends, admirers of his transcendent
talents; his presence in the house, his eloquence, address and imposing
beauty, were calculated to produce an electric effect. Adrian also,
notwithstanding his recluse habits and theories, so adverse to the spirit
of party, had many friends, and they were easily induced to vote for a
candidate of his selection.

The Duke of----, and Mr. Ryland, Lord Raymond's old antagonist, were the
other candidates. The Duke was supported by all the aristocrats of the
republic, who considered him their proper representative. Ryland was the
popular candidate; when Lord Raymond was first added to the list, his
chance of success appeared small. We retired from the debate which had
followed on his nomination: we, his nominators, mortified; he dispirited to
excess. Perdita reproached us bitterly. Her expectations had been strongly
excited; she had urged nothing against our project, on the contrary, she
was evidently pleased by it; but its evident ill success changed the
current of her ideas. She felt, that, once awakened, Raymond would never
return unrepining to Windsor. His habits were unhinged; his restless mind
roused from its sleep, ambition must now be his companion through life; and
if he did not succeed in his present attempt, she foresaw that unhappiness
and cureless discontent would follow. Perhaps her own disappointment added
a sting to her thoughts and words; she did not spare us, and our own
reflections added to our disquietude.

It was necessary to follow up our nomination, and to persuade Raymond to
present himself to the electors on the following evening. For a long time
he was obstinate. He would embark in a balloon; he would sail for a distant
quarter of the world, where his name and humiliation were unknown. But this
was useless; his attempt was registered; his purpose published to the
world; his shame could never be erased from the memories of men. It was as
well to fail at last after a struggle, as to fly now at the beginning of
his enterprise.

From the moment that he adopted this idea, he was changed. His depression
and anxiety fled; he became all life and activity. The smile of triumph
shone on his countenance; determined to pursue his object to the uttermost,
his manner and expression seem ominous of the accomplishment of his wishes.
Not so Perdita. She was frightened by his gaiety, for she dreaded a greater
revulsion at the end. If his appearance even inspired us with hope, it only
rendered the state of her mind more painful. She feared to lose sight of
him; yet she dreaded to remark any change in the temper of his mind. She
listened eagerly to him, yet tantalized herself by giving to his words a
meaning foreign to their true interpretation, and adverse to her hopes. She
dared not be present at the contest; yet she remained at home a prey to
double solicitude. She wept over her little girl; she looked, she spoke, as
if she dreaded the occurrence of some frightful calamity. She was half mad
from the effects of uncontrollable agitation.

Lord Raymond presented himself to the house with fearless confidence and
insinuating address. After the Duke of----and Mr. Ryland had finished
their speeches, he commenced. Assuredly he had not conned his lesson; and
at first he hesitated, pausing in his ideas, and in the choice of his
expressions. By degrees he warmed; his words flowed with ease, his language
was full of vigour, and his voice of persuasion. He reverted to his past
life, his successes in Greece, his favour at home. Why should he lose this,
now that added years, prudence, and the pledge which his marriage gave to
his country, ought to encrease, rather than diminish his claims to
confidence? He spoke of the state of England; the necessary measures to be
taken to ensure its security, and confirm its prosperity. He drew a glowing
picture of its present situation. As he spoke, every sound was hushed,
every thought suspended by intense attention. His graceful elocution
enchained the senses of his hearers. In some degree also he was fitted to
reconcile all parties. His birth pleased the aristocracy; his being the
candidate recommended by Adrian, a man intimately allied to the popular
party, caused a number, who had no great reliance either on the Duke or Mr.
Ryland, to range on his side.

The contest was keen and doubtful. Neither Adrian nor myself would have
been so anxious, if our own success had depended on our exertions; but we
had egged our friend on to the enterprise, and it became us to ensure his
triumph. Idris, who entertained the highest opinion of his abilities, was
warmly interested in the event: and my poor sister, who dared not hope, and
to whom fear was misery, was plunged into a fever of disquietude.

Day after day passed while we discussed our projects for the evening, and
each night was occupied by debates which offered no conclusion. At last the
crisis came: the night when parliament, which had so long delayed its
choice, must decide: as the hour of twelve passed, and the new day began,
it was by virtue of the constitution dissolved, its power extinct.

We assembled at Raymond's house, we and our partizans. At half past five
o'clock we proceeded to the House. Idris endeavoured to calm Perdita; but
the poor girl's agitation deprived her of all power of self-command. She
walked up and down the room,--gazed wildly when any one entered, fancying
that they might be the announcers of her doom. I must do justice to my
sweet sister: it was not for herself that she was thus agonized. She alone
knew the weight which Raymond attached to his success. Even to us he
assumed gaiety and hope, and assumed them so well, that we did not divine
the secret workings of his mind. Sometimes a nervous trembling, a sharp
dissonance of voice, and momentary fits of absence revealed to Perdita the
violence he did himself; but we, intent on our plans, observed only his
ready laugh, his joke intruded on all occasions, the flow of his spirits
which seemed incapable of ebb. Besides, Perdita was with him in his
retirement; she saw the moodiness that succeeded to this forced hilarity;
she marked his disturbed sleep, his painful irritability--once she had
seen his tears--hers had scarce ceased to flow, since she had beheld the
big drops which disappointed pride had caused to gather in his eye, but
which pride was unable to dispel. What wonder then, that her feelings were
wrought to this pitch! I thus accounted to myself for her agitation; but
this was not all, and the sequel revealed another excuse.

One moment we seized before our departure, to take leave of our beloved
girls. I had small hope of success, and entreated Idris to watch over my
sister. As I approached the latter, she seized my hand, and drew me into
another apartment; she threw herself into my arms, and wept and sobbed
bitterly and long. I tried to soothe her; I bade her hope; I asked what
tremendous consequences would ensue even on our failure. "My brother," she
cried, "protector of my childhood, dear, most dear Lionel, my fate hangs by
a thread. I have you all about me now--you, the companion of my infancy;
Adrian, as dear to me as if bound by the ties of blood; Idris, the sister
of my heart, and her lovely offspring. This, O this may be the last time
that you will surround me thus!"

Abruptly she stopped, and then cried: "What have I said?--foolish false
girl that I am!" She looked wildly on me, and then suddenly calming
herself, apologized for what she called her unmeaning words, saying that
she must indeed be insane, for, while Raymond lived, she must be happy; and
then, though she still wept, she suffered me tranquilly to depart. Raymond
only took her hand when he went, and looked on her expressively; she
answered by a look of intelligence and assent.

Poor girl! what she then suffered! I could never entirely forgive Raymond
for the trials he imposed on her, occasioned as they were by a selfish
feeling on his part. He had schemed, if he failed in his present attempt,
without taking leave of any of us, to embark for Greece, and never again to
revisit England. Perdita acceded to his wishes; for his contentment was the
chief object of her life, the crown of her enjoyment; but to leave us all,
her companions, the beloved partners of her happiest years, and in the
interim to conceal this frightful determination, was a task that almost
conquered her strength of mind. She had been employed in arranging for
their departure; she had promised Raymond during this decisive evening, to
take advantage of our absence, to go one stage of the journey, and he,
after his defeat was ascertained, would slip away from us, and join her.

Although, when I was informed of this scheme, I was bitterly offended by
the small attention which Raymond paid to my sister's feelings, I was led
by reflection to consider, that he acted under the force of such strong
excitement, as to take from him the consciousness, and, consequently, the
guilt of a fault. If he had permitted us to witness his agitation, he would
have been more under the guidance of reason; but his struggles for the shew
of composure, acted with such violence on his nerves, as to destroy his
power of self-command. I am convinced that, at the worst, he would have
returned from the seashore to take leave of us, and to make us the partners
of his council. But the task imposed on Perdita was not the less painful.
He had extorted from her a vow of secrecy; and her part of the drama, since
it was to be performed alone, was the most agonizing that could be devised.
But to return to my narrative.

The debates had hitherto been long and loud; they had often been protracted
merely for the sake of delay. But now each seemed fearful lest the fatal
moment should pass, while the choice was yet undecided. Unwonted silence
reigned in the house, the members spoke in whispers, and the ordinary
business was transacted with celerity and quietness. During the first stage
of the election, the Duke of----had been thrown out; the question
therefore lay between Lord Raymond and Mr. Ryland. The latter had felt
secure of victory, until the appearance of Raymond; and, since his name had
been inserted as a candidate, he had canvassed with eagerness. He had
appeared each evening, impatience and anger marked in his looks, scowling
on us from the opposite side of St. Stephen's, as if his mere frown would
cast eclipse on our hopes.

Every thing in the English constitution had been regulated for the better
preservation of peace. On the last day, two candidates only were allowed to
remain; and to obviate, if possible, the last struggle between these, a
bribe was offered to him who should voluntarily resign his pretensions; a
place of great emolument and honour was given him, and his success
facilitated at a future election. Strange to say however, no instance had
yet occurred, where either candidate had had recourse to this expedient; in
consequence the law had become obsolete, nor had been referred to by any of
us in our discussions. To our extreme surprise, when it was moved that we
should resolve ourselves into a committee for the election of the Lord
Protector, the member who had nominated Ryland, rose and informed us that
this candidate had resigned his pretensions. His information was at first
received with silence; a confused murmur succeeded; and, when the chairman
declared Lord Raymond duly chosen, it amounted to a shout of applause and
victory. It seemed as if, far from any dread of defeat even if Mr. Ryland
had not resigned, every voice would have been united in favour of our
candidate. In fact, now that the idea of contest was dismissed, all hearts
returned to their former respect and admiration of our accomplished friend.
Each felt, that England had never seen a Protector so capable of fulfilling
the arduous duties of that high office. One voice made of many voices,
resounded through the chamber; it syllabled the name of Raymond.

He entered. I was on one of the highest seats, and saw him walk up the
passage to the table of the speaker. The native modesty of his disposition
conquered the joy of his triumph. He looked round timidly; a mist seemed
before his eyes. Adrian, who was beside me, hastened to him, and jumping
down the benches, was at his side in a moment. His appearance re-animated
our friend; and, when he came to speak and act, his hesitation vanished,
and he shone out supreme in majesty and victory. The former Protector
tendered him the oaths, and presented him with the insignia of office,
performing the ceremonies of installation. The house then dissolved. The
chief members of the state crowded round the new magistrate, and conducted
him to the palace of government. Adrian suddenly vanished; and, by the time
that Raymond's supporters were reduced to our intimate friends merely,
returned leading Idris to congratulate her friend on his success.

But where was Perdita? In securing solicitously an unobserved retreat in
case of failure, Raymond had forgotten to arrange the mode by which she was
to hear of his success; and she had been too much agitated to revert to
this circumstance. When Idris entered, so far had Raymond forgotten
himself, that he asked for my sister; one word, which told of her
mysterious disappearance, recalled him. Adrian it is true had already gone
to seek the fugitive, imagining that her tameless anxiety had led her to
the purlieus of the House, and that some sinister event detained her. But
Raymond, without explaining himself, suddenly quitted us, and in another
moment we heard him gallop down the street, in spite of the wind and rain
that scattered tempest over the earth. We did not know how far he had to
go, and soon separated, supposing that in a short time he would return to
the palace with Perdita, and that they would not be sorry to find
themselves alone.

Perdita had arrived with her child at Dartford, weeping and inconsolable.
She directed everything to be prepared for the continuance of their
journey, and placing her lovely sleeping charge on a bed, passed several
hours in acute suffering. Sometimes she observed the war of elements,
thinking that they also declared against her, and listened to the pattering
of the rain in gloomy despair. Sometimes she hung over her child, tracing
her resemblance to the father, and fearful lest in after life she should
display the same passions and uncontrollable impulses, that rendered him
unhappy. Again, with a gush of pride and delight, she marked in the
features of her little girl, the same smile of beauty that often irradiated
Raymond's countenance. The sight of it soothed her. She thought of the
treasure she possessed in the affections of her lord; of his
accomplishments, surpassing those of his contemporaries, his genius, his
devotion to her.--Soon she thought, that all she possessed in the world,
except him, might well be spared, nay, given with delight, a propitiatory
offering, to secure the supreme good she retained in him. Soon she
imagined, that fate demanded this sacrifice from her, as a mark she was
devoted to Raymond, and that it must be made with cheerfulness. She figured
to herself their life in the Greek isle he had selected for their retreat;
her task of soothing him; her cares for the beauteous Clara, her rides in
his company, her dedication of herself to his consolation. The picture then
presented itself to her in such glowing colours, that she feared the
reverse, and a life of magnificence and power in London; where Raymond
would no longer be hers only, nor she the sole source of happiness to him.
So far as she merely was concerned, she began to hope for defeat; and it
was only on his account that her feelings vacillated, as she heard him
gallop into the court-yard of the inn. That he should come to her alone,
wetted by the storm, careless of every thing except speed, what else could
it mean, than that, vanquished and solitary, they were to take their way
from native England, the scene of shame, and hide themselves in the myrtle
groves of the Grecian isles?

In a moment she was in his arms. The knowledge of his success had become so
much a part of himself, that he forgot that it was necessary to impart it
to his companion. She only felt in his embrace a dear assurance that while
he possessed her, he would not despair. "This is kind," she cried; "this is
noble, my own beloved! O fear not disgrace or lowly fortune, while you have
your Perdita; fear not sorrow, while our child lives and smiles. Let us go
even where you will; the love that accompanies us will prevent our
regrets."

Locked in his embrace, she spoke thus, and cast back her head, seeking an
assent to her words in his eyes--they were sparkling with ineffable
delight. "Why, my little Lady Protectress," said he, playfully, "what is
this you say? And what pretty scheme have you woven of exile and obscurity,
while a brighter web, a gold-enwoven tissue, is that which, in truth, you
ought to contemplate?"

He kissed her brow--but the wayward girl, half sorry at his triumph,
agitated by swift change of thought, hid her face in his bosom and wept. He
comforted her; he instilled into her his own hopes and desires; and soon
her countenance beamed with sympathy. How very happy were they that night!
How full even to bursting was their sense of joy!

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