A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye,
Fair as a star when only one
Is shining in the sky.
Such a violet was sweet Perdita, trembling to entrust herself to the very air, cowering from observation, yet betrayed by her excellences; and repaying with a thousand graces the labour of those who sought her in her lonely bypath. Idris was as the star, set in single splendour in the dim anadem of balmy evening; ready to enlighten and delight the subject world, shielded herself from every taint by her unimagined distance from all that was not like herself akin to heaven.
I found this vision of beauty in Perdita’s alcove, in earnest conversation with its inmate. When my sister saw me, she rose, and taking my hand, said, “He is here, even at our wish; this is Lionel, my brother.” Idris arose also, and bent on me her eyes of celestial blue, and with grace peculiar said—“You hardly need an introduction; we have a picture, highly valued by my father, which declares at once your name. Verney, you will acknowledge this tie, and as my brother’s friend, I feel that I may trust you.”
Then, with lids humid with a tear and trembling voice, she continued—“Dear friends, do not think it strange that now, visiting you for the first time, I ask your assistance, and confide my wishes and fears to you. To you alone do I dare speak; I have heard you commended by impartial spectators; you are my brother’s friends, therefore you must be mine. What can I say? if you refuse to aid me, I am lost indeed!” She cast up her eyes, while wonder held her auditors mute; then, as if carried away by her feelings, she cried—“My brother! beloved, ill-fated Adrian! how speak of your misfortunes? Doubtless you have both heard the current tale; perhaps believe the slander; but he is not mad! Were an angel from the foot of God’s throne to assert it, never, never would I believe it. He is wronged, betrayed, imprisoned—save him! Verney, you must do this; seek him out in whatever part of the island he is immured; find him, rescue him from his persecutors, restore him to himself, to me—on the wide earth I have none to love but only him!”
Her earnest appeal, so sweetly and passionately expressed, filled me with wonder and sympathy; and, when she added, with thrilling voice and look, “Do you consent to undertake this enterprise?” I vowed, with energy and truth, to devote myself in life and death to the restoration and welfare of Adrian. We then conversed on the plan I should pursue, and discussed the probable means of discovering his residence. While we were in earnest discourse, Lord Raymond entered unannounced: I saw Perdita tremble and grow deadly pale, and the cheeks of Idris glow with purest blushes. He must have been astonished at our conclave, disturbed by it I should have thought; but nothing of this appeared; he saluted my companions, and addressed me with a cordial greeting. Idris appeared suspended for a moment, and then with extreme sweetness, she said, “Lord Raymond, I confide in your goodness and honour.”
Smiling haughtily, he bent his head, and replied, with emphasis, “Do you indeed confide, Lady Idris?”
She endeavoured to read his thought, and then answered with dignity, “As you please. It is certainly best not to compromise oneself by any concealment.”
“Pardon me,” he replied, “if I have offended. Whether you trust me or not, rely on my doing my utmost to further your wishes, whatever they may be.”
Idris smiled her thanks, and rose to take leave. Lord Raymond requested permission to accompany her to Windsor Castle, to which she consented, and they quitted the cottage together. My sister and I were left—truly like two fools, who fancied that they had obtained a golden treasure, till daylight showed it to be lead—two silly, luckless flies, who had played in sunbeams and were caught in a spider’s web. I leaned against the casement, and watched those two glorious creatures, till they disappeared in the forest-glades; and then I turned. Perdita had not moved; her eyes fixed on the ground, her cheeks pale, her very lips white, motionless and rigid, every feature stamped by woe, she sat. Half frightened, I would have taken her hand; but she shudderingly withdrew it, and strove to collect herself. I entreated her to speak to me: “Not now,” she replied, “nor do you speak to me, my dear Lionel; you can say nothing, for you know nothing. I will see you tomorrow; in the meantime, adieu!” She rose, and walked from the room; but pausing at the door, and leaning against it, as if her over-busy thoughts had taken from her the power of supporting herself, she said, “Lord Raymond will probably return. Will you tell him that he must excuse me today, for I am not well. I will see him tomorrow if he wishes it, and you also. You had better return to London with him; you can there make the enquiries agreed upon, concerning the Earl of Windsor and visit me again tomorrow, before you proceed on your journey—till then, farewell!”
She spoke falteringly, and concluded with a heavy sigh. I gave my assent to her request; and she left me. I felt as if, from the order of the systematic world, I had plunged into chaos, obscure, contrary, unintelligible. That Raymond should marry Idris was more than ever intolerable; yet
