from her the power of supporting herself, she said, “Lord Raymond will probably return.  Will you tell him that he must excuse me to-day, for I am not well.  I will see him to-morrow if he wishes it, and you also.  You had better return to London with him; you can there make the enquiries agreed upon, concerning the Earl of Windsor and visit me again to-morrow, before you proceed on your journey—­till then, farewell!”

She spoke falteringly, and concluded with a heavy sigh.  I gave my assent to her request; and she left me.  I felt as if, from the order of the systematic world, I had plunged into chaos, obscure, contrary, unintelligible.  That Raymond should marry Idris was more than ever intolerable; yet my passion, though a giant from its birth, was too strange, wild, and impracticable, for me to feel at once the misery I perceived in Perdita.  How should I act?  She had not confided in me; I could not demand an explanation from Raymond without the hazard of betraying what was perhaps her most treasured secret.  I would obtain the truth from her the following day—­in the mean time—­But, while I was occupied by multiplying reflections, Lord Raymond returned.  He asked for my sister; and I delivered her message.  After musing on it for a moment, he asked me if I were about to return to London, and if I would accompany him:  I consented.  He was full of thought, and remained silent during a considerable part of our ride; at length he said, “I must apologize to you for my abstraction; the truth is, Ryland’s motion comes on to-night, and I am considering my reply.”

Ryland was the leader of the popular party, a hard-headed man, and in his way eloquent; he had obtained leave to bring in a bill making it treason to endeavour to change the present state of the English government and the standing laws of the republic.  This attack was directed against Raymond and his machinations for the restoration of the monarchy.

Raymond asked me if I would accompany him to the House that evening.  I remembered my pursuit for intelligence concerning Adrian; and, knowing that my time would be fully occupied, I excused myself.  “Nay,” said my companion, “I can free you from your present impediment.  You are going to make enquiries concerning the Earl of Windsor.  I can answer them at once, he is at the Duke of Athol’s seat at Dunkeld.  On the first approach of his disorder, he travelled about from one place to another; until, arriving at that romantic seclusion he refused to quit it, and we made arrangements with the Duke for his continuing there.”

I was hurt by the careless tone with which he conveyed this information, and replied coldly:  “I am obliged to you for your intelligence, and will avail myself of it.”