hese events, it was long before we were able to attain any degree of
composure. A moral tempest had wrecked our richly freighted vessel, and we,
remnants of the diminished crew, were aghast at the losses and changes
which we had undergone. Idris passionately loved her brother, and could ill
brook an absence whose duration was uncertain; his society was dear and
necessary to me--I had followed up my chosen literary occupations with
delight under his tutorship and assistance; his mild philosophy, unerring
reason, and enthusiastic friendship were the best ingredient, the exalted
spirit of our circle; even the children bitterly regretted the loss of
their kind playfellow. Deeper grief oppressed Perdita. In spite of
resentment, by day and night she figured to herself the toils and dangers
of the wanderers. Raymond absent, struggling with difficulties, lost to the
power and rank of the Protectorate, exposed to the perils of war, became an
object of anxious interest; not that she felt any inclination to recall
him, if recall must imply a return to their former union. Such return she
felt to be impossible; and while she believed it to be thus, and with
anguish regretted that so it should be, she continued angry and impatient
with him, who occasioned her misery. These perplexities and regrets caused
her to bathe her pillow with nightly tears, and to reduce her in person and
in mind to the shadow of what she had been. She sought solitude, and
avoided us when in gaiety and unrestrained affection we met in a family
circle. Lonely musings, interminable wanderings, and solemn music were her
only pastimes. She neglected even her child; shutting her heart against all
tenderness, she grew reserved towards me, her first and fast friend.

I could not see her thus lost, without exerting myself to remedy the evil
--remediless I knew, if I could not in the end bring her to reconcile
herself to Raymond. Before he went I used every argument, every persuasion
to induce her to stop his journey. She answered the one with a gush of
tears--telling me that to be persuaded--life and the goods of life were
a cheap exchange. It was not will that she wanted, but the capacity; again
and again she declared, it were as easy to enchain the sea, to put reins on
the wind's viewless courses, as for her to take truth for falsehood, deceit
for honesty, heartless communion for sincere, confiding love. She answered
my reasonings more briefly, declaring with disdain,