About midnight I returned to the palace and sought Raymond; he was alone, and apparently composed; such composure, at least, was his as is inspired by a resolve to adhere to a certain line of conduct.  He heard my account of the self-dissolution of the army with calmness, and then said, “You know, Verney, my fixed determination not to quit this place, until in the light of day Stamboul is confessedly ours.  If the men I have about me shrink from following me, others, more courageous, are to be found.  Go you before break of day, bear these dispatches to Karazza, add to them your own entreaties that he send me his marines and naval force; if I can get but one regiment to second me, the rest would follow of course.  Let him send me this regiment.  I shall expect your return by to-morrow noon.”

Methought this was but a poor expedient; but I assured him of my obedience and zeal.  I quitted him to take a few hours rest.  With the breaking of morning I was accoutred for my ride.  I lingered awhile, desirous of taking leave of Perdita, and from my window observed the approach of the sun.  The golden splendour arose, and weary nature awoke to suffer yet another day of heat and thirsty decay.  No flowers lifted up their dew-laden cups to meet the dawn; the dry grass had withered on the plains; the burning fields of air were vacant of birds; the cicale alone, children of the sun, began their shrill and deafening song among the cypresses and olives.  I saw Raymond’s coal-black charger brought to the palace gate; a small company of officers arrived soon after; care and fear was painted on each cheek, and in each eye, unrefreshed by sleep.  I found Raymond and Perdita together.  He was watching the rising sun, while with one arm he encircled his beloved’s waist; she looked on him, the sun of her life, with earnest gaze of mingled anxiety and tenderness.  Raymond started angrily when he saw me.  “Here still?” he cried.  “Is this your promised zeal?”

“Pardon me,” I said, “but even as you speak, I am gone.”

“Nay, pardon me,” he replied; “I have no right to command or reproach; but my life hangs on your departure and speedy return.  Farewell!”

His voice had recovered its bland tone, but a dark cloud still hung on his features.  I would have delayed; I wished to recommend watchfulness to Perdita, but his presence restrained me.  I had no pretence for my hesitation; and on his repeating his farewell, I clasped his outstretched hand; it was cold and clammy.  “Take care of yourself, my dear Lord,” I said.

“Nay,” said Perdita, “that task shall be mine.  Return speedily, Lionel.”  With an air of absence he was playing with her auburn locks, while she leaned on him; twice I turned back, only to look again on this matchless pair.  At last, with slow and heavy steps, I had paced out of the hall, and sprung upon my horse.  At that moment Clara flew towards me; clasping my knee she cried, “Make haste back, uncle!  Dear uncle, I have such fearful dreams; I dare not tell my mother.  Do not be long away!” I assured her of my impatience to return, and then, with a small escort rode along the plain towards the tower of Marmora.