deafening song among the cypresses and olives. I saw Raymond’s coal-black charger brought to the palace gate; a small company of officers arrived soon after; care and fear was painted on each cheek, and in each eye, unrefreshed by sleep. I found Raymond and Perdita together. He was watching the rising sun, while with one arm he encircled his beloved’s waist; she looked on him, the sun of her life, with earnest gaze of mingled anxiety and tenderness. Raymond started angrily when he saw me. “Here still?” he cried. “Is this your promised zeal?”
“Pardon me,” I said, “but even as you speak, I am gone.”
“Nay, pardon me,” he replied; “I have no right to command or reproach; but my life hangs on your departure and speedy return. Farewell!”
His voice had recovered its bland tone, but a dark cloud still hung on his features. I would have delayed; I wished to recommend watchfulness to Perdita, but his presence restrained me. I had no pretence for my hesitation; and on his repeating his farewell, I clasped his outstretched hand; it was cold and clammy. “Take care of yourself, my dear Lord,” I said.