me!” then, springing forwards, with the air of one who had a right to command, he claimed the place of deputy as his own.  He had bought it, he said, with danger, and paid for it with toil.  His ambition rested there; and, after an interval devoted to the interests of his country, was I to step in, and reap the profit?  Let them remember what London had been when he arrived:  the panic that prevailed brought famine, while every moral and legal tie was loosened.  He had restored order—­this had been a work which required perseverance, patience, and energy; and he had neither slept nor waked but for the good of his country.—­Would they dare wrong him thus?  Would they wrest his hard-earned reward from him, to bestow it on one, who, never having mingled in public life, would come a tyro to the craft, in which he was an adept.  He demanded the place of deputy as his right.  Ryland had shewn that he preferred him.  Never before had he, who was born even to the inheritance of the throne of England, never had he asked favour or honour from those now his equals, but who might have been his subjects.  Would they refuse him?  Could they thrust back from the path of distinction and laudable ambition, the heir of their ancient kings, and heap another disappointment on a fallen house.

No one had ever before heard Adrian allude to the rights of his ancestors.  None had ever before suspected, that power, or the suffrage of the many, could in any manner become dear to him.  He had begun his speech with vehemence; he ended with unassuming gentleness, making his appeal with the same humility, as if he had asked to be the first in wealth, honour, and power among Englishmen, and not, as was the truth, to be the foremost in the ranks of loathsome toils and inevitable death.  A murmur of approbation rose after his speech.  “Oh, do not listen to him,” I cried, “he speaks false—­false to himself,”—­I was interrupted:  and, silence being restored, we were ordered, as was the custom, to retire during the decision of the house.  I fancied that they hesitated, and that there was some hope for me—­I was mistaken—­hardly had we quitted the chamber, before Adrian was recalled, and installed in his office of Lord Deputy to the Protector.

We returned together to the palace.  “Why, Lionel,” said Adrian, “what did you intend? you could not hope to conquer, and yet you gave me the pain of a triumph over my dearest friend.”

“This is mockery,” I replied, “you devote yourself,—­you, the adored brother of Idris, the being, of all the world contains, dearest to our hearts—­you devote yourself to an early death.  I would have prevented this; my death would be a small evil—­or rather I should not die; while you cannot hope to escape.”

“As to the likelihood of escaping,” said Adrian, “ten years hence the cold stars may shine on the graves of all of us; but as to my peculiar liability to infection, I could easily prove, both logically and physically, that in the midst of contagion I have a better chance of life than you.