elves Arcadian
shepherds, to please the fancy of the moment--so was I content, more for
Perdita's sake than my own, to take on me the character of one of the great
ones of the earth; to lead her behind the scenes of grandeur, to vary her
life with a short act of magnificence and power. This was to be the colour;
love and confidence the substance of our existence. But we must live, and
not act our lives; pursuing the shadow, I lost the reality--now I
renounce both.

"Adrian, I am about to return to Greece, to become again a soldier, perhaps
a conqueror. Will you accompany me? You will behold new scenes; see a new
people; witness the mighty struggle there going forward between
civilization and barbarism; behold, and perhaps direct the efforts of a
young and vigorous population, for liberty and order. Come with me. I have
expected you. I waited for this moment; all is prepared;--will you
accompany me?"

"I will," replied Adrian. "Immediately?"

"To-morrow if you will."

"Reflect!" I cried.

"Wherefore?" asked Raymond--"My dear fellow, I have done nothing else
than reflect on this step the live-long summer; and be assured that Adrian
has condensed an age of reflection into this little moment. Do not talk of
reflection; from this moment I abjure it; this is my only happy moment
during a long interval of time. I must go, Lionel--the Gods will it; and
I must. Do not endeavour to deprive me of my companion, the out-cast's
friend.

"One word more concerning unkind, unjust Perdita. For a time, I thought
that, by watching a complying moment, fostering the still warm ashes, I
might relume in her the flame of love. It is more cold within her, than a
fire left by gypsies in winter-time, the spent embers crowned by a pyramid
of snow. Then, in endeavouring to do violence to my own disposition, I made
all worse than before. Still I think, that time, and even absence, may
restore her to me. Remember, that I love her still, that my dearest hope is
that she will again be mine. I know, though she does not, how false the
veil is which she has spread over the reality--do not endeavour to rend
this deceptive covering, but by degrees withdraw it. Present her with a
mirror, in which she may know herself; and, when she is an adept in that
necessary but difficult science, she will wonder at her present mistake,
and hasten to restore to me, what is by right mine, her forgiveness, her
kind thoughts, her love."

CHAPTER X.

AFTER t