It was as I said, the nineteenth of October; the autumn was far advanced

and dreary. The wind howled; the half bare trees were despoiled of the

remainder of their summer ornament; the state of the air which induced the

decay of vegetation, was hostile to cheerfulness or hope. Raymond had been

exalted by the determination he had made; but with the declining day his

spirits declined. First he was to visit Evadne, and then to hasten to the

palace of the Protectorate. As he walked through the wretched streets in

the neighbourhood of the luckless Greek's abode, his heart smote him for

the whole course of his conduct towards her. First, his having entered into

any engagement that should permit her to remain in such a state of

degradation; and then, after a short wild dream, having left her to drear

solitude, anxious conjecture, and bitter, still--disappointed

expectation. What had she done the while, how supported his absence and

neglect? Light grew dim in these close streets, and when the well known

door was opened, the staircase was shrouded in perfect night. He groped his

way up, he entered the garret, he found Evadne stretched speechless, almost

lifeless on her wretched bed. He called for the people of the house, but

could learn nothing from them, except that they knew nothing. Her story was

plain to him, plain and distinct as the remorse and horror that darted

their fangs into him. When she found herself forsaken by him, she lost the

heart to pursue her usual avocations; pride forbade every application to

him; famine was welcomed as the kind porter to the gates of death, within

whose opening folds she should now, without sin, quickly repose. No

creature came near her, as her strength failed.

If she died, where could there be found on record a murderer, whose cruel

act might compare with his? What fiend more wanton in his mischief, what

damned soul more worthy of perdition! But he was not reserved for this

agony of self-reproach. He sent for medical assistance; the hours passed,

spun by suspense into ages; the darkness of the long autumnal night yielded

to day, before her life was secure. He had her then removed to a more

commodious dwelling, and hovered about her, again and again to assure

himself that she was safe.

In the midst of his greatest suspense and fear as to the event, he

remembered the festival given in his honour, by Perdita; in his honour

then, when misery and death were affixing indelible disgrace to his name,

honour to him whose crimes deserved a scaffold; this was the worst mockery.

Still Perdita would expect him; he wrote a few incoherent words on a scrap

of paper, testifying that he was well, and bade the woman of the house take

it to the palace, and deliver it into the hands of the wife of the Lord

Protector. The woman, who did not know him, contemptuously asked, how he

thought she should gain admittance, particularly on a festal night, to that

lady's presence? Raymond gave her his ring to ensure the respect of the

menials. Thus, while Perdita was entertaining her guests, and anxiously

awaiting the arrival of her lord, his ring was brought her; and she was

told that a poor woman had a note to deliver to her from its wearer.

The vanity of the old gossip was raised by her commission, which, after

all, she did not understand, since she had no suspicion, even now that

Evadne's visitor was Lord Raymond. Perdita dreaded a fall from his horse,

or some similar accident--till the woman's answers woke other fears. From

a feeling of cunning blindly exercised, the officious, if not malignant

messenger, did not speak of Evadne's illness; but she garrulously gave an

account of Raymond's frequent visits, adding to her narration such

circumstances, as, while they convinced Perdita of its truth, exaggerated

the unkindness and perfidy of Raymond. Worst of all, his absence now from

the festival, his message wholly unaccounted for, except by the disgraceful

hints of the woman, appeared the deadliest insult. Again she looked at the

ring, it was a small ruby, almost heart-shaped, which she had herself given

him. She looked at the hand-writing, which she could not mistake, and

repeated to herself the words--"Do not, I charge you, I entreat you,

permit your guests to wonder at my absence:" the while the old crone going

on with her talk, filled her ear with a strange medley of truth and

falsehood. At length Perdita dismissed her.

The poor girl returned to the assembly, where her presence had not been

missed. She glided into a recess somewhat obscured, and leaning against an

ornamental column there placed, tried to recover herself. Her faculties

were palsied. She gazed on some flowers that stood near in a carved vase:

that morning she had arranged them, they were rare and lovely plants; even

now all aghast as she was, she observed their brilliant colours and starry

shapes.--"Divine infoliations of the spirit of beauty," she exclaimed,

"Ye droop not, neither do ye mourn; the despair that clasps my heart, has

not spread contagion over you!--Why am I not a partner of your