CHAPTER VII.

I DID proceed to Windsor, but not with the intention of remaining there. I

went but to obtain the consent of Idris, and then to return and take my

station beside my unequalled friend; to share his labours, and save him, if

so it must be, at the expence of my life. Yet I dreaded to witness the

anguish which my resolve might excite in Idris. I had vowed to my own heart

never to shadow her countenance even with transient grief, and should I

prove recreant at the hour of greatest need? I had begun my journey with

anxious haste; now I desired to draw it out through the course of days and

months. I longed to avoid the necessity of action; I strove to escape from

thought--vainly--futurity, like a dark image in a phantasmagoria, came

nearer and more near, till it clasped the whole earth in its shadow.

A slight circumstance induced me to alter my usual route, and to return

home by Egham and Bishopgate. I alighted at Perdita's ancient abode, her

cottage; and, sending forward the carriage, determined to walk across the

park to the castle. This spot, dedicated to sweetest recollections, the

deserted house and neglected garden were well adapted to nurse my

melancholy. In our happiest days, Perdita had adorned her cottage with

every aid art might bring, to that which nature had selected to favour. In

the same spirit of exaggeration she had, on the event of her separation

from Raymond, caused it to be entirely neglected. It was now in ruin: the

deer had climbed the broken palings, and reposed among the flowers; grass

grew on the threshold, and the swinging lattice creaking to the wind, gave

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The Last Man