stung to madness. He heartily despised himself, he was angry with Perdita,

and the idea of Evadne was attended by all that was hideous and cruel. His

passions, always his masters, acquired fresh strength, from the long sleep

in which love had cradled them, the clinging weight of destiny bent him

down; he was goaded, tortured, fiercely impatient of that worst of

miseries, the sense of remorse. This troubled state yielded by degrees, to

sullen animosity, and depression of spirits. His dependants, even his

equals, if in his present post he had any, were startled to find anger,

derision, and bitterness in one, before distinguished for suavity and

benevolence of manner. He transacted public business with distaste, and

hastened from it to the solitude which was at once his bane and relief. He

mounted a fiery horse, that which had borne him forward to victory in

Greece; he fatigued himself with deadening exercise, losing the pangs of a

troubled mind in animal sensation.

He slowly recovered himself; yet, at last, as one might from the effects of

poison, he lifted his head from above the vapours of fever and passion into

the still atmosphere of calm reflection. He meditated on what was best to

be done. He was first struck by the space of time that had elapsed, since

madness, rather than any reasonable impulse, had regulated his actions. A

month had gone by, and during that time he had not seen Evadne. Her power,

which was linked to few of the enduring emotions of his heart, had greatly

decayed. He was no longer her slave--no longer her lover: he would never

see her more, and by the completeness of his return, deserve the confidence

of Perdita.

167

The Last Man