It was as I said, the nineteenth of October; the autumn was far advanced and dreary.  The wind howled; the half bare trees were despoiled of the remainder of their summer ornament; the state of the air which induced the decay of vegetation, was hostile to cheerfulness or hope.  Raymond had been exalted by the determination he had made; but with the declining day his spirits declined.  First he was to visit Evadne, and then to hasten to the palace of the Protectorate.  As he walked through the wretched streets in the neighbourhood of the luckless Greek’s abode, his heart smote him for the whole course of his conduct towards her.  First, his having entered into any engagement that should permit her to remain in such a state of degradation; and then, after a short wild dream, having left her to drear solitude, anxious conjecture, and bitter, still—­disappointed expectation.  What had she done the while, how supported his absence and neglect?  Light grew dim in these close streets, and when the well known door was opened, the staircase was shrouded in perfect night.  He groped his way up, he entered the garret, he found Evadne stretched speechless, almost lifeless on her wretched bed.  He called for the people of the house, but could learn nothing from them, except that they knew nothing.  Her story was plain to him, plain and distinct as the remorse and horror that darted their fangs into him.  When she found herself forsaken by him, she lost the heart to pursue her usual avocations; pride forbade every application to him; famine was welcomed as the kind porter to the gates of death, within whose opening folds she should now, without sin, quickly repose.  No creature came near her, as her strength failed.

If she died, where could there be found on record a murderer, whose cruel act might compare with his?  What fiend more wanton in his mischief, what damned soul more worthy of perdition!  But he was not reserved for this agony of self-reproach.  He sent for medical assistance; the hours passed, spun by suspense into ages; the darkness of the long autumnal night yielded to day, before her life was secure.  He had her then removed to a more commodious dwelling, and hovered about her, again and again to assure himself that she was safe.

In the midst of his greatest suspense and fear as to the event, he remembered the festival given in his honour, by Perdita; in his honour then, when misery and death were affixing indelible disgrace to his name, honour to him whose crimes deserved a scaffold; this was the worst mockery.  Still Perdita would expect him; he wrote a few incoherent words on a scrap of paper, testifying that he was well, and bade the woman of the house take it to the palace, and deliver it into the hands of the wife of the Lord Protector.  The woman, who did not know him, contemptuously asked, how he thought she should gain admittance, particularly on a festal night, to that lady’s presence?  Raymond gave her his ring to ensure the respect of the menials.  Thus, while Perdita was entertaining her guests, and anxiously awaiting the arrival of her lord, his ring was brought her; and she was told that a poor woman had a note to deliver to her from its wearer.