. I gave Lucy in charge to
the Countess's attendant, and then sought repose from my various struggles
and impatient regrets. For a few moments the events of the day floated in
disastrous pageant through my brain, till sleep bathed it in forgetfulness;
when morning dawned and I awoke, it seemed as if my slumber had endured for
years.

My companions had not shared my oblivion. Clara's swollen eyes shewed that
she has passed the night in weeping. The Countess looked haggard and wan.
Her firm spirit had not found relief in tears, and she suffered the more
from all the painful retrospect and agonizing regret that now occupied her.
We departed from Windsor, as soon as the burial rites had been performed
for Lucy's mother, and, urged on by an impatient desire to change the
scene, went forward towards Dover with speed, our escort having gone before
to provide horses; finding them either in the warm stables they
instinctively sought during the cold weather, or standing shivering in the
bleak fields ready to surrender their liberty in exchange for offered
corn.

During our ride the Countess recounted to me the extraordinary
circumstances which had brought her so strangely to my side in the chancel
of St. George's chapel. When last she had taken leave of Idris, as she
looked anxiously on her faded person and pallid countenance, she had
suddenly been visited by a conviction that she saw her for the last time.
It was hard to part with her while under the dominion of this sentiment,
and for the last time she endeavoured to persuade her daughter to commit
herself to her nursing, permitting me to join Adrian. Idris mildly refused,
and thus they separated. The idea that they should never again meet grew on
the Countess's mind, and haunted her perpetually; a thousand times she had
resolved to turn back and join us, and was again and again restrained by
the pride and anger of which she was the slave. Proud of heart as she was,
she bathed her pillow with nightly tears, and through the day was subdued
by nervous agitation and expectation of the dreaded event, which she was
wholly incapable of curbing. She confessed that at this period her hatred
of me knew no bounds, since she considered me as the sole obstacle to the
fulfilment of her dearest wish, that of attending upon her daughter in her
last moments. She desired to express her fears to her son, and to seek
consolation from his sympathy with, or courage from his rejection of, her
augur