honour to him whose crimes deserved a scaffold; this was the worst mockery.

Still Perdita would expect him; he wrote a few incoherent words on a scrap

of paper, testifying that he was well, and bade the woman of the house take

it to the palace, and deliver it into the hands of the wife of the Lord

Protector. The woman, who did not know him, contemptuously asked, how he

thought she should gain admittance, particularly on a festal night, to that

lady's presence? Raymond gave her his ring to ensure the respect of the

menials. Thus, while Perdita was entertaining her guests, and anxiously

awaiting the arrival of her lord, his ring was brought her; and she was

told that a poor woman had a note to deliver to her from its wearer.

The vanity of the old gossip was raised by her commission, which, after

all, she did not understand, since she had no suspicion, even now that

Evadne's visitor was Lord Raymond. Perdita dreaded a fall from his horse,

or some similar accident--till the woman's answers woke other fears. From

a feeling of cunning blindly exercised, the officious, if not malignant

messenger, did not speak of Evadne's illness; but she garrulously gave an

account of Raymond's frequent visits, adding to her narration such

circumstances, as, while they convinced Perdita of its truth, exaggerated

the unkindness and perfidy of Raymond. Worst of all, his absence now from

the festival, his message wholly unaccounted for, except by the disgraceful

hints of the woman, appeared the deadliest insult. Again she looked at the

ring, it was a small ruby, almost heart-shaped, which she had herself given

him. She looked at the hand-writing, which she could not mistake, and

repeated to herself the words--"Do not, I charge you, I entreat you,

permit your guests to wonder at my absence:" the while the old crone going

174

The Last Man