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!

CHAPTER VII.

Having seen our friend properly installed in his new office, we turned our eyes towards Windsor.  The nearness of this place to London was such, as to take away the idea of painful separation, when we quitted Raymond and Perdita.  We took leave of them in the Protectoral Palace.  It was pretty enough to see my sister enter as it were into the spirit of the drama, and endeavour to fill her station with becoming dignity.  Her internal pride and humility of manner were now more than ever at war.  Her