The restoration of Idris was more problematical.  When I had been attacked by illness, her cheeks were sunk, her form emaciated; but now, the vessel, which had broken from the effects of extreme agitation, did not entirely heal, but was as a channel that drop by drop drew from her the ruddy stream that vivified her heart.  Her hollow eyes and worn countenance had a ghastly appearance; her cheek-bones, her open fair brow, the projection of the mouth, stood fearfully prominent; you might tell each bone in the thin anatomy of her frame.  Her hand hung powerless; each joint lay bare, so that the light penetrated through and through.  It was strange that life could exist in what was wasted and worn into a very type of death.

To take her from these heart-breaking scenes, to lead her to forget the world’s desolation in the variety of objects presented by travelling, and to nurse her failing strength in the mild climate towards which we had resolved to journey, was my last hope for her preservation.  The preparations for our departure, which had been suspended during my illness, were renewed.  I did not revive to doubtful convalescence; health spent her treasures upon me; as the tree in spring may feel from its wrinkled limbs the fresh green break forth, and the living sap rise and circulate, so did the renewed vigour of my frame, the cheerful current of my blood, the new-born elasticity of my limbs, influence my mind to cheerful endurance and pleasurable thoughts.  My body, late the heavy weight that bound me to the tomb, was exuberant with health; mere common exercises were insufficient for my reviving strength; methought I could emulate the speed of the race-horse, discern through the air objects at a blinding distance, hear the operations of nature in her mute abodes; my senses had become so refined and susceptible after my recovery from mortal disease.

Hope, among my other blessings, was not denied to me; and I did fondly trust that my unwearied attentions would restore my adored girl.  I was therefore eager to forward our preparations.  According to the plan first laid down, we were to have quitted London on the twenty-fifth of November; and, in pursuance of this scheme, two-thirds of our people—­thepeople—­ all that remained of England, had gone forward, and had already been some weeks in Paris.  First my illness, and subsequently that of Idris, had detained Adrian with his division, which consisted of three hundred persons, so that we now departed on the first of January, 2098.  It was my wish to keep Idris as distant as possible from the hurry and clamour of the crowd, and to hide from her those appearances that would remind her most forcibly of our real situation.  We separated ourselves to a great degree from Adrian, who was obliged to give his whole time to public business.  The Countess of Windsor travelled with her son.  Clara, Evelyn, and a female who acted as our attendant, were the only persons with whom we had contact.  We occupied a commodious carriage, our servant officiated as coachman.  A party of about twenty persons preceded us at a small distance.  They had it in charge to prepare our halting places and our nightly abode.  They had been selected for this service out of a great number that offered, on account of the superior sagacity of the man who had been appointed their leader.