My thoughts were sad and solemn, yet not of unmingled pain.  The very excess of our misery carried a relief with it, giving sublimity and elevation to sorrow.  I felt that I carried with me those I best loved; I was pleased, after a long separation to rejoin Adrian; never again to part.  I felt that I quitted what I loved, not what loved me.  The castle walls, and long familiar trees, did not hear the parting sound of our carriage-wheels with regret.  And, while I felt Idris to be near, and heard the regular breathing of my children, I could not be unhappy.  Clara was greatly moved; with streaming eyes, suppressing her sobs, she leaned from the window, watching the last glimpse of her native Windsor.

Adrian welcomed us on our arrival.  He was all animation; you could no longer trace in his look of health, the suffering valetudinarian; from his smile and sprightly tones you could not guess that he was about to lead forth from their native country, the numbered remnant of the English nation, into the tenantless realms of the south, there to die, one by one, till the last man should remain in a voiceless, empty world.

Adrian was impatient for our departure, and had advanced far in his preparations.  His wisdom guided all.  His care was the soul, to move the luckless crowd, who relied wholly on him.  It was useless to provide many things, for we should find abundant provision in every town.  It was Adrian’s wish to prevent all labour; to bestow a festive appearance on this funeral train.  Our numbers amounted to not quite two thousand persons.  These were not all assembled in London, but each day witnessed the arrival of fresh numbers, and those who resided in the neighbouring towns, had received orders to assemble at one place, on the twentieth of November.  Carriages and horses were provided for all; captains and under officers chosen, and the whole assemblage wisely organized.  All obeyed the Lord Protector of dying England; all looked up to him.  His council was chosen, it consisted of about fifty persons.  Distinction and station were not the qualifications of their election.  We had no station among us, but that which benevolence and prudence gave; no distinction save between the living and the dead.  Although we were anxious to leave England before the depth of winter, yet we were detained.  Small parties had been dispatched to various parts of England, in search of stragglers; we would not go, until we had assured ourselves that in all human probability we did not leave behind a single human being.

On our arrival in London, we found that the aged Countess of Windsor was residing with her son in the palace of the Protectorate; we repaired to our accustomed abode near Hyde Park.  Idris now for the first time for many years saw her mother, anxious to assure herself that the childishness of old age did not mingle with unforgotten pride, to make this high-born dame still so inveterate against me.  Age and care had