er irradiated
her fair countenance; sometimes she forced one, and then gushing tears
would flow, and the sea of grief close above these wrecks of past
happiness. Still while I was near her, she could not be in utter despair--
she fully confided herself to me--she did not seem to fear my death, or
revert to its possibility; to my guardianship she consigned the full
freight of her anxieties, reposing on my love, as a wind-nipped fawn by the
side of a doe, as a wounded nestling under its mother's wing, as a tiny,
shattered boat, quivering still, beneath some protecting willow-tree. While
I, not proudly as in days of joy, yet tenderly, and with glad consciousness
of the comfort I afforded, drew my trembling girl close to my heart, and
tried to ward every painful thought or rough circumstance from her
sensitive nature.

One other incident occurred at the end of this summer. The Countess of
Windsor, Ex-Queen of England, returned from Germany. She had at the
beginning of the season quitted the vacant city of Vienna; and, unable to
tame her haughty mind to anything like submission, she had delayed at
Hamburgh, and, when at last she came to London, many weeks elapsed before
she gave Adrian notice of her arrival. In spite of her coldness and long
absence, he welcomed her with sensibility, displaying such affection as
sought to heal the wounds of pride and sorrow, and was repulsed only by her
total apparent want of sympathy. Idris heard of her mother's return with
pleasure. Her own maternal feelings were so ardent, that she imagined her
parent must now, in this waste world, have lost pride and harshness, and
would receive with delight her filial attentions. The first check to her
duteous demonstrations was a formal intimation from the fallen majesty of
England, that I was in no manner to be intruded upon her. She consented,
she said, to forgive her daughter, and acknowledge her grandchildren;
larger concessions must not be expected.

To me this proceeding appeared (if so light a term may be permitted)
extremely whimsical. Now that the race of man had lost in fact all
distinction of rank, this pride was doubly fatuitous; now that we felt a
kindred, fraternal nature with all who bore the stamp of humanity, this
angry reminiscence of times for ever gone, was worse than foolish. Idris
was too much taken up by her own dreadful fears, to be angry, hardly
grieved; for she judged that insensibility must be the source of this
continued ra