gesture sell my nobility for life?  Had I a child, or any tie to bind me to existence, I might descend to this—­but, as it is—­the world has been to me a harsh step-mother; fain would I leave the abode she seems to grudge, and in the grave forget my pride, my struggles, my despair.  The time will soon come; grief and famine have already sapped the foundations of my being; a very short time, and I shall have passed away; unstained by the crime of self-destruction, unstung by the memory of degradation, my spirit will throw aside the miserable coil, and find such recompense as fortitude and resignation may deserve.  This may seem madness to you, yet you also have pride and resolution; do not then wonder that my pride is tameless, my resolution unalterable.”

Having thus finished her tale, and given such an account as she deemed fit, of the motives of her abstaining from all endeavour to obtain aid from her countrymen, Evadne paused; yet she seemed to have more to say, to which she was unable to give words.  In the mean time Raymond was eloquent.  His desire of restoring his lovely friend to her rank in society, and to her lost prosperity, animated him, and he poured forth with energy, all his wishes and intentions on that subject.  But he was checked; Evadne exacted a promise, that he should conceal from all her friends her existence in England.  “The relatives of the Earl of Windsor,” said she haughtily, “doubtless think that I injured him; perhaps the Earl himself would be the first to acquit me, but probably I do not deserve acquittal.  I acted then, as I ever must, from impulse.  This abode of penury may at least prove the disinterestedness of my conduct.  No matter:  I do not wish to plead my cause before any of them, not even before your Lordship, had you not first discovered me.  The tenor of my actions will prove that I had rather die, than be a mark for scorn—­behold the proud Evadne in her tatters! look on the beggar-princess!  There is aspic venom in the thought—­promise me that my secret shall not be violated by you.”

Raymond promised; but then a new discussion ensued.  Evadne required another engagement on his part, that he would not without her concurrence enter into any project for her benefit, nor himself offer relief.  “Do not degrade me in my own eyes,” she said; “poverty has long been my nurse; hard-visaged she is, but honest.  If dishonour, or what I conceive to be dishonour, come near me, I am lost.”  Raymond adduced many arguments and fervent persuasions to overcome her feeling, but she remained unconvinced; and, agitated by the discussion, she wildly and passionately made a solemn vow, to fly and hide herself where he never could discover her, where famine would soon bring death to conclude her woes, if he persisted in his to her disgracing offers.  She could support herself, she said.  And then she shewed him how, by executing various designs and paintings, she earned a pittance for her support.  Raymond yielded for the present.  He felt assured, after he had for awhile humoured her self-will, that in the end friendship and reason would gain the day.