of that worst of miseries, the sense of remorse.  This troubled state yielded by degrees, to sullen animosity, and depression of spirits.  His dependants, even his equals, if in his present post he had any, were startled to find anger, derision, and bitterness in one, before distinguished for suavity and benevolence of manner.  He transacted public business with distaste, and hastened from it to the solitude which was at once his bane and relief.  He mounted a fiery horse, that which had borne him forward to victory in Greece; he fatigued himself with deadening exercise, losing the pangs of a troubled mind in animal sensation.

He slowly recovered himself; yet, at last, as one might from the effects of poison, he lifted his head from above the vapours of fever and passion into the still atmosphere of calm reflection.  He meditated on what was best to be done.  He was first struck by the space of time that had elapsed, since madness, rather than any reasonable impulse, had regulated his actions.  A month had gone by, and during that time he had not seen Evadne.  Her power, which was linked to few of the enduring emotions of his heart, had greatly decayed.  He was no longer her slave—­no longer her lover:  he would never see her more, and by the completeness of his return, deserve the confidence of Perdita.

Yet, as he thus determined, fancy conjured up the miserable abode of the Greek girl.  An abode, which from noble and lofty principle, she had refused to exchange for one of greater luxury.  He thought of the splendour of her situation and appearance when he first knew her; he thought of her life at Constantinople, attended by every circumstance of oriental magnificence; of her present penury, her daily task of industry, her lorn state, her faded, famine-struck cheek.  Compassion swelled his breast; he would see her once again; he would devise some plan for restoring her to society, and the enjoyment of her rank; their separation would then follow, as a matter of course.

Again he thought, how during this long month, he had avoided Perdita, flying from her as from the stings of his own conscience.  But he was awake now; all this should be remedied; and future devotion erase the memory of this only blot on the serenity of their life.  He became cheerful, as he thought of this, and soberly and resolutely marked out the line of conduct he would adopt.  He remembered that he had promised Perdita to be present this very evening (the 19th of October, anniversary of his election as Protector) at a festival given in his honour.  Good augury should this festival be of the happiness of future years.  First, he would look in on Evadne; he would not stay; but he owed her some account, some compensation for his long and unannounced absence; and then to Perdita, to the forgotten world, to the duties of society, the splendour of rank, the enjoyment of power.