“I can make but one defence,” replied Idris, “the same offered by my brother; see Lionel, converse with my shepherd-boy”—–­The Countess interrupted her indignantly—­“Yours!”—­she cried:  and then, smoothing her impassioned features to a disdainful smile, she continued—­“We will talk of this another time.  All I now ask, all your mother, Idris, requests is, that you will not see this upstart during the interval of one month.”

“I dare not comply,” said Idris, “it would pain him too much.  I have no right to play with his feelings, to accept his proffered love, and then sting him with neglect.”

“This is going too far,” her mother answered, with quivering lips, and eyes again instinct by anger.

“Nay, Madam,” said Adrian, “unless my sister consent never to see him again, it is surely an useless torment to separate them for a month.”

“Certainly,” replied the ex-queen, with bitter scorn, “his love, and her love, and both their childish flutterings, are to be put in fit comparison with my years of hope and anxiety, with the duties of the offspring of kings, with the high and dignified conduct which one of her descent ought to pursue.  But it is unworthy of me to argue and complain.  Perhaps you will have the goodness to promise me not to marry during that interval?”

This was asked only half ironically; and Idris wondered why her mother should extort from her a solemn vow not to do, what she had never dreamed of doing—­but the promise was required and given.

All went on cheerfully now; we met as usual, and talked without dread of our future plans.  The Countess was so gentle, and even beyond her wont, amiable with her children, that they began to entertain hopes of her ultimate consent.  She was too unlike them, too utterly alien to their tastes, for them to find delight in her society, or in the prospect of its continuance, but it gave them pleasure to see her conciliating and kind.  Once even, Adrian ventured to propose her receiving me.  She refused with a smile, reminding him that for the present his sister had promised to be patient.

One day, after the lapse of nearly a month, Adrian received a letter from a friend in London, requesting his immediate presence for the furtherance of some important object.  Guileless himself, Adrian feared no deceit.  I rode with him as far as Staines:  he was in high spirits; and, since I could not see Idris during his absence, he promised a speedy return.  His gaiety, which was extreme, had the strange effect of awakening in me contrary feelings; a presentiment of evil hung over me; I loitered on my return; I counted the hours that must elapse before I saw Idris again.  Wherefore should this be?  What evil might not happen in the mean time?  Might not her mother take advantage of Adrian’s absence to urge her beyond her sufferance, perhaps to entrap her?  I resolved, let what would befall, to see and converse with her the following day.  This determination soothed me.  To-morrow, loveliest and best, hope and joy of my life, to-morrow I will see thee—­Fool, to dream of a moment’s delay!