I went to rest.  At past midnight I was awaked by a violent knocking.  It was now deep winter; it had snowed, and was still snowing; the wind whistled in the leafless trees, despoiling them of the white flakes as they fell; its drear moaning, and the continued knocking, mingled wildly with my dreams—­ at length I was wide awake; hastily dressing myself, I hurried to discover the cause of this disturbance, and to open my door to the unexpected visitor.  Pale as the snow that showered about her, with clasped hands, Idris stood before me.  “Save me!” she exclaimed, and would have sunk to the ground had I not supported her.  In a moment however she revived, and, with energy, almost with violence, entreated me to saddle horses, to take her away, away to London—­to her brother—­at least to save her.  I had no horses—­she wrung her hands.  “What can I do?” she cried, “I am lost—­we are both for ever lost!  But come—­come with me, Lionel; here I must not stay,—­we can get a chaise at the nearest post-house; yet perhaps we have time! come, O come with me to save and protect me!”

When I heard her piteous demands, while with disordered dress, dishevelled hair, and aghast looks, she wrung her hands—­the idea shot across me is she also mad?—­“Sweet one,” and I folded her to my heart, “better repose than wander further;—­rest—­my beloved, I will make a fire—­you are chill.”

“Rest!” she cried, “repose! you rave, Lionel!  If you delay we are lost; come, I pray you, unless you would cast me off for ever.”

That Idris, the princely born, nursling of wealth and luxury, should have come through the tempestuous winter-night from her regal abode, and standing at my lowly door, conjure me to fly with her through darkness and storm—­was surely a dream—­again her plaintive tones, the sight of her loveliness assured me that it was no vision.  Looking timidly around, as if she feared to be overheard, she whispered:  “I have discovered—­to-morrow —­that is, to-day—­already the to-morrow is come—­before dawn, foreigners, Austrians, my mother’s hirelings, are to carry me off to Germany, to prison, to marriage—­to anything, except you and my brother —­take me away, or soon they will be here!”

I was frightened by her vehemence, and imagined some mistake in her incoherent tale; but I no longer hesitated to obey her.  She had come by herself from the Castle, three long miles, at midnight, through the heavy snow; we must reach Englefield Green, a mile and a half further, before we could obtain a chaise.  She told me, that she had kept up her strength and courage till her arrival at my cottage, and then both failed.  Now she could hardly walk.  Supporting her as I did, still she lagged:  and at the distance of half a mile, after many stoppages, shivering fits, and half faintings, she slipt from my supporting arm on the snow, and with a torrent of tears averred that she must be taken, for that she could not proceed.  I lifted her up in my arms; her light form rested