Little Clara accompanied us; the poor child did not well understand what was going forward.  She heard that we were bound for Greece, that she would see her father, and now, for the first time, she prattled of him to her mother.

On landing at Athens we found difficulties encrease upon us:  nor could the storied earth or balmy atmosphere inspire us with enthusiasm or pleasure, while the fate of Raymond was in jeopardy.  No man had ever excited so strong an interest in the public mind; this was apparent even among the phlegmatic English, from whom he had long been absent.  The Athenians had expected their hero to return in triumph; the women had taught their children to lisp his name joined to thanksgiving; his manly beauty, his courage, his devotion to their cause, made him appear in their eyes almost as one of the ancient deities of the soil descended from their native Olympus to defend them.  When they spoke of his probable death and certain captivity, tears streamed from their eyes; even as the women of Syria sorrowed for Adonis, did the wives and mothers of Greece lament our English Raymond—­Athens was a city of mourning.

All these shews of despair struck Perdita with affright.  With that sanguine but confused expectation, which desire engendered while she was at a distance from reality, she had formed an image in her mind of instantaneous change, when she should set her foot on Grecian shores.  She fancied that Raymond would already be free, and that her tender attentions would come to entirely obliterate even the memory of his mischance.  But his fate was still uncertain; she began to fear the worst, and to feel that her soul’s hope was cast on a chance that might prove a blank.  The wife and lovely child of Lord Raymond became objects of intense interest in Athens.  The gates of their abode were besieged, audible prayers were breathed for his restoration; all these circumstances added to the dismay and fears of Perdita.

My exertions were unremitted:  after a time I left Athens, and joined the army stationed at Kishan in Thrace.  Bribery, threats, and intrigue, soon discovered the secret that Raymond was alive, a prisoner, suffering the most rigorous confinement and wanton cruelties.  We put in movement every impulse of policy and money to redeem him from their hands.

The impatience of my sister’s disposition now returned on her, awakened by repentance, sharpened by remorse.  The very beauty of the Grecian climate, during the season of spring, added torture to her sensations.  The unexampled loveliness of the flower-clad earth—­the genial sunshine and grateful shade—­the melody of the birds—­the majesty of the woods—­ the splendour of the marble ruins—­the clear effulgence of the stars by night—­the combination of all that was exciting and voluptuous in this transcending land, by inspiring a quicker spirit of life and an added sensitiveness to every articulation of her frame, only gave edge to the poignancy of her grief.