Did he think of this as we journeyed up to town?  I watched him, but could make but little of him.  He was particularly gay, playing with his child, and turning to sport every word that was uttered.  Perhaps he did this because he saw a cloud upon Perdita’s brow.  She tried to rouse herself, but her eyes every now and then filled with tears, and she looked wistfully on Raymond and her girl, as if fearful that some evil would betide them.  And so she felt.  A presentiment of ill hung over her.  She leaned from the window looking on the forest, and the turrets of the Castle, and as these became hid by intervening objects, she passionately exclaimed—­“Scenes of happiness! scenes sacred to devoted love, when shall I see you again! and when I see ye, shall I be still the beloved and joyous Perdita, or shall I, heart-broken and lost, wander among your groves, the ghost of what I am!”

“Why, silly one,” cried Raymond, “what is your little head pondering upon, that of a sudden you have become so sublimely dismal?  Cheer up, or I shall make you over to Idris, and call Adrian into the carriage, who, I see by his gesture, sympathizes with my good spirits.”

Adrian was on horseback; he rode up to the carriage, and his gaiety, in addition to that of Raymond, dispelled my sister’s melancholy.  We entered London in the evening, and went to our several abodes near Hyde Park.

The following morning Lord Raymond visited me early.  “I come to you,” he said, “only half assured that you will assist me in my project, but resolved to go through with it, whether you concur with me or not.  Promise me secrecy however; for if you will not contribute to my success, at least you must not baffle me.”

“Well, I promise.  And now—–­”

“And now, my dear fellow, for what are we come to London?  To be present at the election of a Protector, and to give our yea or nay for his shuffling Grace of——? or for that noisy Ryland?  Do you believe, Verney, that I brought you to town for that?  No, we will have a Protector of our own.  We will set up a candidate, and ensure his success.  We will nominate Adrian, and do our best to bestow on him the power to which he is entitled by his birth, and which he merits through his virtues.

“Do not answer; I know all your objections, and will reply to them in order.  First, Whether he will or will not consent to become a great man?  Leave the task of persuasion on that point to me; I do not ask you to assist me there.  Secondly, Whether he ought to exchange his employment of plucking blackberries, and nursing wounded partridges in the forest, for the command of a nation?  My dear Lionel, we are married men, and find employment sufficient in amusing our wives, and dancing our children.  But Adrian is alone, wifeless, childless, unoccupied.  I have long observed him.  He pines for want of some interest in life.  His heart, exhausted by his early sufferings, reposes like a new-healed limb,