any outward manifestation of its
disturbance, till it should break on the remote shore towards which I
rapidly advanced:--"It is true that I am sick," I said, "and your
society, my Idris is my only medicine; come, and sit beside me."

She made me lie down on the couch, and, drawing a low ottoman near, sat
close to my pillow, pressing my burning hands in her cold palms. She
yielded to my feverish restlessness, and let me talk, and talked to me, on
subjects strange indeed to beings, who thus looked the last, and heard the
last, of what they loved alone in the world. We talked of times gone by; of
the happy period of our early love; of Raymond, Perdita, and Evadne. We
talked of what might arise on this desert earth, if, two or three being
saved, it were slowly re-peopled.--We talked of what was beyond the tomb;
and, man in his human shape being nearly extinct, we felt with certainty of
faith, that other spirits, other minds, other perceptive beings, sightless
to us, must people with thought and love this beauteous and imperishable
universe.

We talked--I know not how long--but, in the morning I awoke from a
painful heavy slumber; the pale cheek of Idris rested on my pillow; the
large orbs of her eyes half raised the lids, and shewed the deep blue
lights beneath; her lips were unclosed, and the slight murmurs they formed
told that, even while asleep, she suffered. "If she were dead," I thought,
"what difference? now that form is the temple of a residing deity; those
eyes are the windows of her soul; all grace, love, and intelligence are
throned on that lovely bosom--were she dead, where would this mind, the
dearer half of mine, be? For quickly the fair proportion of this edifice
would be more defaced, than are the sand-choked ruins of the desert temples
of Palmyra."

CHAPTER III.

IDRIS stirred and awoke; alas! she awoke to misery. She saw the signs of
disease on my countenance, and wondered how she could permit the long night
to pass without her having sought, not cure, that was impossible, but
alleviation to my sufferings. She called Adrian; my couch was quickly
surrounded by friends and assistants, and such medicines as were judged
fitting were administered. It was the peculiar and dreadful distinction of
our visitation, that none who had been attacked by the pestilence had
recovered. The first symptom of the disease was the death-warrant, which in
no single instance had been followed by pardon or reprieve. N