 Volume 3, Chapter 3 of The Last Man. Idris stirred and awoke alas. She awoke to misery. She saw the signs of disease on my continents 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. No gleam of hope, therefore, cheered my friends. While fever-producing torpor, heavy pains, sitting like lead on my limbs and making my breast heave were upon me, I continued insensible to everything but pain, and at last even to that. I awoke on the fourth morning as from a dreamless sleep, an irritating sense of thirst, and when I strove to speak or move, an entire dereliction of power was all I felt. For three days and nights Idris had not moved from my side. She administered to all my wants and never slept nor rested. She did not hope, and therefore she neither endeavored to read the physician's continents, nor to watch for symptoms of recovery. All her thought was to attend on me to the last, and then to lie down and die beside me. On the third night, animation was suspended, to the eye and touch of all, I was dead. With earnest prayer, almost with force, Adrian tried to draw Idris from me. He exhausted every adoration, her child's welfare and his own. She shook her head and wiped a stealing tear from her sunk cheek but would not yield. She entreated to be allowed to watch me that one night only, with such affliction and meek earnestness, that she gained her point, and sat silent and motionless, except when stung by intolerable remembrance, she kissed my closed eyes and pallid lips, and pressed my stiffening hands to her beating heart. At dead of night, when though it was midwinter, the cock crowed at three o'clock, as herald of the morning change, while hanging over me and morning and silent, bitter thought for the loss of all of love towards her that had been enshrined in my heart. Her dishevelled hair hung over her face, and the long tresses fell on the bed. She saw one ringlet in motion, and the scattered hair slightly stirred, as by a breath. It is not so, she thought, for he will never breathe more. Several times the same thing occurred, and she only marked it by the same reflection, till the whole ringlet waved back, and she thought she saw my breast heave. Her first emotion was deadly fear. Cold dew stood on her brow. My eyes half opened, and reassured she would have exclaimed, He lives! But the words were choked by a spasm, and she fell with a groan on the floor. Adrian was in the chamber. After long watching, he had unwillingly fallen into asleep. He started up, and beheld his sister senseless on the earth, weltering in a stream of blood that gushed from her mouth. Increasing signs of life in me, in some degree explained her state. The surprise, the burst of joy, the revulsion of every sentiment, had been too much for her frame, worn by long months of care, late shattered by every species of woe and toil. She was now in far greater danger than I. The wheels and springs of my life once again set in motion, acquired elasticity from their short suspension. For a long time, no one believed that I should indeed continue to live. During the reign of the plague upon earth, not one person attacked by the grim disease had recovered. My restoration was looked on as a deception. Every moment it was expected that the evil symptoms would recur with redoubled violence, until confirmed convalescence, absence of all fever or pain, and increasing strength, brought slow conviction that I had recovered from the plague. The restoration of Idris was more problematical. When I had been attacked by illness, her cheeks were sunk, her form emaciated. But now the vessel, which had broken from the effects of extreme agitation, did not entirely heal, but was as a channel that drop by drop drew from her the ruddy stream that vivified her heart. Her hollow eyes and worn continents had a ghastly appearance. Her cheekbones, her open fair brow, the projection of the mouth, stood fearfully prominent. You might tell each bone in the thin anatomy of her frame. Her hand hung powerless, each joint lay bare, so that the light penetrated through and through. It was strange that life could exist in what was wasted and worn into a very type of death. To take her from these heartbreaking scenes, to lead her to forget the world's desolation and the variety of objects presented by traveling, and to nurse her failing strength in the mild climate towards which we had resolved to journey, was my last hope for her preservation. The preparations for our departure, which had been suspended during my illness, were renewed. I did not revive to doubtful convalescence. Health spent her treasures upon me, as the tree in spring may feel from its wrinkled limbs the fresh green break forth, and the living sap rise and circulate. So did the renewed vigor of my frame, the cheerful current of my blood, the newborn elasticity of my limbs, influence my mind to cheerful endurance and pleasurable thoughts. My body, late the heavy weight that bound me to the tomb, was exuberant with health. Mere common exercises were insufficient for my reviving strength. Me thought I could emulate the speed of the racehorse, discern through the air objects at a blinding distance. Hear the operations of nature in her mute abodes. My senses had become so refined and susceptible after my recovery from mortal disease. Hope, among my other blessings, was not denied to me, and I did fondly trust that my unwary detentions would restore my adored girl. I was therefore eager to forward our preparations. According to the plan first laid down, we were to have quitted London on the 25th of November, and in pursuance of this scheme two-thirds of our people. The people, all that remained of England, had gone forward and had already been some weeks in Paris. First my illness, and subsequently that of Idris, had detained Adrian with his division, which consisted of 300 persons, so that now we departed on the 1st of January, 2098. It was my wish to keep Idris as distant as possible from the hurry and clamour of the crowd, and to hide from her those appearances that would remind her most forcibly of our real situation. We separated ourselves to a great degree from Adrian, who was obliged to give his whole time to public business. The Countess of Windsor travelled with her son. Clara, Evelyn, and a female who acted as our attendant were the only persons with whom we had contact. We occupied a commodious carriage, our servant officiated as coachman. A party of about 20 persons preceded us at a small distance. They had it in charge to prepare our halting places and our nightly abode. They had been selected for this service out of a great number that offered, on account of their superior sagacity of the man who had been appointed their leader. Immediately on our departure I was delighted to find a change in Idris, which I fondly hoped prognosticated the happiest results. All the cheerfulness and gentle gaiety natural to her revived. She was weak and this alteration was rather displayed in looks and voice than in acts, but it was permanent and real. My recovery from the plague and confirmed health instilled into her a firm belief that I was now secure from this dread enemy. She told me that she was sure she would recover, that she had a presentiment, that the tide of calamity which deluged our unhappy race had now turned, that the remnant would be preserved and among them the dear objects of her tender affection, and that in some selected spot we should wear out our lives together in pleasant society. Do not let my state of feebleness deceive you, she said. I feel that I am better. There is a quick life within me and a spirit of anticipation that assures me that I shall continue long to make a part of this world. I shall throw off this degrading weakness of body, which infects even my mind with debility, and I shall enter again on the performance of my duties. I was sorry to leave Windsor, but now I am weaned from this local attachment. I am content to remove to a mild climate, which will complete my recovery. Trust me, dearest, I shall never leave you, nor my brother, nor these dear children. My firm determination to remain with you to the last, and to continue to contribute to your happiness and welfare, would keep me alive even if grim death were nearer at hand than he really is. I was only half reassured by these expressions. I could not believe that the over-quick flow of her blood was a sign of health, or that her burning cheeks denoted convalescence. But I had no fears of an immediate catastrophe. Nay, I persuaded myself that she would ultimately recover, and thus cheerfulness reigned in our little society. Idris conversed with animation on a thousand topics. Her chief desire was to lead our thoughts from melancholy reflections, so she drew charming pictures of a tranquil solitude, of a beauteous retreat, of the simple manners of our little tribe, and of the patriarchal brotherhood of love, which would survive the ruins of the populous nations which had lately existed. We shut out from our thoughts the present, and withdrew our eyes from the dreary landscape we traversed. Winter reigned in all its gloom. The leafless trees lay without motion against the done sky. The forms of frost, mimicking the foliage of summer, strewed the ground. The paths were overgrown. The unplowed cornfields were patched with grass and weeds. The sheep congregated at the threshold of the cottage. The horned ox thrust his head from the window. The wind was bleak, and frequent sleet or snow storms added to the melancholy appearance when tree nature assumed. We arrived at Rochester, and an accident caused us to be detained there a day. During that time a circumstance occurred that changed our plans, and which, alas, in its result changed the eternal course of events, turning me from the pleasant new sprung hope I enjoyed to an obscure and gloomy desert. But I must give some little explanation before I proceed with the final cause of our temporary alteration of plan, and refer again to those times when man walked the earth fearless, before plague had become queen of the world. There resided a family in the neighborhood of Windsor of very humble pretensions, but which had been an object of interest to us on account of one of the persons of whom it was composed. The family of the Claytons had known better days, but after a series of reverses the father died of bankrupt, and the mother heartbroken, and the confirmed invalid retired with her five children to a little cottage between Eaton and Salt Hill. The eldest of these children, who was thirteen years old, seemed at once from the influence of adversity to acquire the sagacity and principle belonging to a more mature age. Her mother grew worse and worse in health, but Lucy attended on her, and was as a tender parent to her younger brothers and sisters, and in the meantime showed herself so good-humored, social, and benevolent that she was beloved by all as well as honored in her little neighborhood. Lucy was besides extremely pretty, so when she grew to be sixteen it was to be supposed, not withstanding her poverty, that she should have admirers. One of these was the son of a country curate. He was a generous, frankhearted youth with an ardent love of knowledge and no mean acquirements. Though Lucy was untaught, her mother's conversation and manners gave her a taste for refinements superior to her present situation. She loved the youth even without knowing it, except that in any difficulty she naturally turned to him for aid and awoke with a lighter heart every Sunday, because she knew that she would be met and accompanied by him in her evening walk with her sisters. She had another admirer, one of the head waiters at the Inn at Salt Hill. He also was not without pretensions to urbane superiority, such as he learned from gentlemen's servants and waiting maids, who initiating him in all the slang of high life below stairs rendered his arrogant temper ten times more intrusive. Lucy did not disclaim him, she was incapable of that feeling, but she was sorry when she saw him approach and quietly resisted all his endeavors to establish an intimacy. The fellow soon discovered that his rival was preferred to him, and this changed what was at first a chance admiration into a passion whose mainsprings were envy and a base desire to deprive his competitor of the advantage he enjoyed over himself. Poor Lucy's sad story was but a common one. Her lover's father died, and he was left destitute. He accepted the offer of a gentleman to go to India with him, feeling secure that he should soon acquire an independence and return to claim the hand of his beloved. He became involved in the war carried on there, was taken prisoner, and years elapsed before tidings of his existence were received in his native land. In the meantime disastrous poverty came on Lucy. Her little cottage, which stood looking from its trellis covered with woodbine and jasmine, was burnt down, and the whole of their little property was included in the destruction. Wither but take them. By what exertion of industry could Lucy procure them another abode? Her mother, nearly bed rid, could not survive any extreme of famine-strick poverty. At this time her other admirer stepped forward and renewed his offer of marriage. He had saved money and was going to set up a little inn at Thatchette. There was nothing alluring to Lucy in this offer except the home it secured to her mother, and she felt more sure of this since she was struck by the apparent generosity which occasioned the present offer. She accepted it, thus sacrificing herself for the comfort and welfare of her parent. It was some years after her marriage that we became acquainted with her. The accident of a storm caused us to take refuge in the inn where we witnessed the brutal and quarrelsome behavior of her husband and her patient endurance. Her lot was not a fortunate one. Her first lover had returned with the hope of making her his own and met her by accident for the first time as the mistress of his country inn, and the wife of another. He withdrew despairingly to foreign parts. Nothing went well with him. At last he enlisted and came back again wounded and sick, and yet Lucy was debarred from nursing him. Her husband's brutal disposition was aggravated by his yielding to the many temptations held out by his situation and the consequent disarrangement of his affairs. Fortunately, she had no children, but her heart was bound up in her brothers and sisters, and these his avarice and ill temper soon drove from the house. They were dispersed about the country, earning their livelihood with toil and care. He even showed an inclination to get rid of her mother, but Lucy was firm here. She had sacrificed herself for her. She had lived for her. She would not part with her. If the mother went, she would also go beg bread for her, die with her, but never desert her. The presence of Lucy was too necessary in keeping up the order of the house and in preventing the whole establishment from going to wreck for him to permit her to leave him. He yielded the point, but in all accesses of anger or in his drunken fits he recurred to the old topic and stung poor Lucy's heart by opprobrious epithets bestowed on her parent. A passion, however, if it be wholly pure, entire, and reciprocal, brings with it its own solace. Lucy was truly and from the depth of heart devoted to her mother. The soul in she proposed to herself in life was the comfort and preservation of this parent. Though she grieved for the result, yet she did not repent of her marriage, even when her lover returned to bestow competence on her. Three years had intervened, and how in their penniless state could her mother have existed during this time? This excellent woman was worthy of her child's devotion. A perfect confidence and friendship existed between them. Besides, she was by no means illiterate, and Lucy, whose mind had been in some degree cultivated by her former lover, now found in her the only person who could understand and depreciate her. Thus, though suffering, she was by no means desolate, and when during fine summer days she led her mother into the flowery and shady lanes near their abode, a gleam of unmixed joy enlightened her continents. She saw that her parent was happy, and she knew that this happiness was of her soul creating. Meanwhile, her husband's affairs grew more and more involved, ruin was near at hand, and she was about to lose the fruit of all of her labors, when pestilence came to change the aspect of the world. Her husband reaped benefit from the universal misery, but as the disaster increased, the spirit of lawlessness seized him. He deserted his home to revel in the luxuries promised him in London, and found there a grave. Her former lover had been one of the first victims of the disease, but Lucy continued to live for and in her mother. Her courage only failed when she dreaded peril for her parent, or feared that death might prevent her from performing those duties to which she was unalterably devoted. When we had quitted Windsor for London as the previous step to our final immigration, we visited Lucy and arranged with her the plan of her own and her mother's removal. Lucy was sorry at the necessity which forced her to quit her native lanes in village and to drag an infirm parent from her comforts at home to the homeless waste of depopulated earth, but she was too well disciplined by adversity and of too sweet a temper to indulge in repinings at what was inevitable. Subsequent circumstances, my illness and that of Idris, drove her from our remembrance, and we called her to mind at last only to conclude that she made one of the few who came from Windsor to join the immigrants, and that she was already in Paris. When we arrived at Rochester, therefore, we were surprised to receive, by a man just come from Slough, a letter from this exemplary sufferer. His account was that journeying from his home and passing through Datchett, he was surprised to see smoke issue from the chimney of the inn, and supposing that he should find comrades for his journey assembled there, he'd knocked and was admitted. There was no one in the house but Lucy and her mother, the latter had been deprived of the use of her limbs by an attack of rheumatism, and so one by one all the remaining inhabitants of the country set forward, leaving them alone. Lucy entreated the man to stay with her, in a week or two her mother would be better, and they would then set out, but they must perish if they were left thus helpless and forlorn. The man said that his wife and children were already among the immigrants, and it was therefore, according to his notion, impossible for him to remain. Lucy, as a last resource, gave him a letter for Idris, to be delivered to her wherever he should meet us. This commission at least he fulfilled, and Idris received with the motion the following letter. Honored Lady, I am sure that you will remember and pity me, and I dare hope that you will assist me. What other hope have I? Pardon my manner of writing, I am so bewildered. A month ago my dear mother was deprived of the use of her limbs. She is already better, and in another month would I am sure be able to travel, and the way you were so kind as to say you would arrange for us. But now everybody is gone, everybody. As they went away each said that perhaps my mother would be better before we were quite deserted. But three days ago I went to Samuel Woods, who on account of his newborn child, remained to the last, and there being a large family of them, I thought I could persuade them to wait a little longer for us, but I found the house deserted. I have not seen a soul sense till this good man came. What will become of us? My mother does not know our state, she is so ill that I have hidden it from her. Will you not send someone to us? I am sure we must perish miserably as we are. If I were to try to move my mother now she would die on the road, and if when she gets better I were able. I cannot guess how to find out the roads, and get on so many miles to the sea. You would all be in France and the great ocean would be between us, which is so terrible even to sailors. What would it be to me a woman who never saw it? We should be imprisoned by it in this country, all, all alone, with no help. Better die where we are. I can hardly write. I cannot stop my tears. It is not for myself. I could put my trust in God and let the worst come. I think I could bear it if I were alone. But my mother, my sick, my dear, dear mother who never since I was born spoke a harsh word to me, who has been patient in my sufferings. Pity her, dear lady. She must die a miserable death if you do not pity her. People speak carelessly of her because she is old and infirm, as if we must not all, if we are spared, become so. And then when the younger old themselves they will think that they ought to be taken care of. It is very silly of me to write in this way to you, but when I hear her trying not to groan and see her look smiling on me to comfort me, when I know she is in pain and when I think she does not know the worst, but she soon must, and then she will not complain. But I shall sit guessing at all that she is dwelling upon, of famine and misery. I feel as if my heart must break and I do not know what I say or do. My mother, mother for whom I have borne much, God preserve you from this fate. Preserve her, lady, and he will bless you. And I, poor miserable creature as I am, will thank you and pray for you while I live. Your unhappy and dutyful servant, December 30th, 2097, Lucy Martin. This letter deeply affected Idris, and she instantly proposed that we should return to Thatchett to assist Lucy and her mother. I said that I would without delay set out for that place, but entreated her to join her brother and there await my return with the children. But Idris was in high spirits and full of hope. She declared that she could not consent even to a temporary separation from me, but that there was no need of this. The motion of the carriage did her good and the distance was too trifling to be considered. We could dispatch messengers to Adrian to inform him of our deviation from the original plan. She spoke with vivacity and drew a picture after her own dear heart of the pleasure we should bestow upon Lucy, and declared if I went she must accompany me, and that she should very much dislike to entrust the charge of rescuing them to others who might fulfill it with coldness or inhumanity. Lucy's life had been one act of devotion and virtue, let her now reap the small reward of finding her excellence appreciated, and her necessity assisted by those whom she respected and honored. These and many other arguments were urged with gentle pertinacity and the ardor of a wish to do all the good in her power, by her whose simple expression of a desire and slightest request had ever been a law with me. I, of course, consented the moment that I saw that she had set her heart upon this step. We sent half our attendant troop on to Adrian, and with the other half our carriage took a retrograde course back to Windsor. I wonder now how I could be so blind and senseless as thus to risk the safety of Idris, for if I had eyes surely I could see the sure, though deceitful advance of death in her burning cheek and increasing weakness. But she said she was better, and I believed her. Extinction could not be near a being whose vivacity and intelligence hourly increased, and whose frame was endowed with an intense, and I fondly thought, a strong and permanent spirit of life, who, after a great disaster, has not looked back with wonder at his inconceivable obtuseness of understanding, that could not perceive the many minute threads with which fate weaves the inextricable net of our destinies, until he is enmeshed completely in it. The crossroads which we now entered upon were even in a worse state than the long neglected highways, and the inconvenience seemed to menace the perishing frame of Idris with destruction. Passing through Dartford, we arrived at Hampton on the second day. Even in this short interval my beloved companion grew sensibly worse in health, though her spirits were still light, and she cheered my growing anxiety with gay sallies, sometimes the thought pierced my brain. Is she dying? As I saw her fair, fleshless hand rest on mine, or observed the feebleness with which she performed the accustomed acts of life, I drove away the idea as if it had been suggested by insanity, but it occurred again and again, only to be dispelled by the continued liveliness of her manner. About midday, after quitting Hampton, our carriage broke down. The shock caused Idris to faint, but on her reviving no other ill consequence ensued. Our party of attendance had as usual gone on before us, and our coachmen went in search of another vehicle, our former one being rendered by this accident unfit for service. The only place near us was a poor village in which he found a kind of caravan, able to hold four people, but it was clumsy and ill-hung. Besides this he found a very excellent cabriolet. Our plan was soon arranged. I would drive Idris in the latter, while the children were conveyed by the servant in the former, but these arrangements cost time. We had agreed to proceed that night to Windsor, and thither our purveyors had gone. We should find considerable difficulty in getting accommodation before we reached this place. After all, the distance was only 10 miles. My horse was a good one. I would go forward at a good pace with Idris, leaving the children to follow at a rate more consonant to the uses of their cumbersome machine. Evening closed in quickly, far more quickly than I was prepared to expect. At the going down of the sun it began to snow heavily. I attempted in vain to defend my beloved companion from the storm. The winds drove the snow in our faces, and it lay so high on the ground that we made but small away, while the night was so dark, that but for the white covering on the ground we should not have been able to see a yard before us. We had left our accompanying caravan far behind us, and now I perceived that the storm had made me unconsciously deviate from my intended route. I had gone some miles out of my way. My knowledge of the country enabled me to regain the right road, but instead of going at first agreed upon by a crossroad through Stanwell and Tadachit, I was obliged to take the way of Egum and Bishopgate. It was certain, therefore, that I should not be rejoined by the other vehicle, that I should not meet a single fellow creature till he arrived at Windsor. The back of our carriage was drawn up, and I hung a pellet before it, thus to curtain the beloved sufferer from the pelting sleet. She leaned on my shoulder, growing every moment more languid and feeble. At first she replied to my words of cheer with affectionate thanks, but by degrees she sunk into silence. Her head lay heavily upon me. I only knew that she lived by her irregular breathing and frequent sighs. For a moment I resolved to stop and opposing the back of the cabriolet to the force of the tempest to expect mourning as well as I might. But the wind was bleak and piercing, while the occasional shutterings of my poor idris and the intense cold I felt myself demonstrated that this would be a dangerous experiment. At length me thought she slept, a fatal sleep, induced by frost. At this moment I saw the heavy outline of a cottage traced on the dark horizon close to us. Dearest love, I said, support yourself but one moment and we shall have shelter. Let us stop here that I may open the door of this blessed dwelling. As I spoke my heart was transported and my senses swam with excessive delight and thankfulness. I placed the head of idris against the carriage and, leaping out, scrambled through the snow to the cottage, whose door was open. I had apparatus about me for procuring light and that showed me a comfortable room with a pile of wood in one corner and no appearance of disorder, except that the door having been left partly open, the snow drifting in had blocked up the threshold. I returned to the carriage and the sudden change from light to darkness had first blinded me. When I recovered my sight, eternal God of this lawless world, oh supreme death, I will not disturb thy silent reign or mar my tail with fruitless exclamations of horror. I saw Idris, who had fallen from the seat to the bottom of the carriage. Her head, its long hair pendant, with one arm hung over the side. Struck by a spasm of horror, I lifted her up. Her heart was pulseless, her faded lips unfanned by the slightest breath. I carried her into the cottage. I placed her on the bed. Lighting a fire, I chafed her stiffening limbs for two long hours I sought to restore departed life, and when hope was as dead as my beloved, I closed with trembling hands her glazed eyes. I did not doubt what I should now do. In the confusion attendant on my illness, the task of interring our darling Alfred had devolved on his grandmother, the ex-queen, and she, true to her ruling passion, had caused him to be carried to Windsor and buried in the family vault in St. George's Chapel. I must proceed to Windsor to calm the anxiety of Clara, who would wait anxiously for us. Yet I would feign, spare her the heartbreaking spectacle of Idris, brought in by me lifeless from the journey. So first I would place my beloved beside her child in the vault, and then seek the poor children who would be expecting me. I lighted the lamps of my carriage. I wrapped her in furrows and placed her along the seat, then taking the reins made the horses go forward. We proceeded through the snow which lay in masses impeding the way, while the descending flakes driving against me with redoubled fury blinded me. The pain, occasioned by the angry elements, and the cold iron of the shafts of frost which buffeted me, and entered my aching flesh, were a relief to me, blunting my mental suffering. The horses staggered on, and the reins hung loosely in my hands. I often thought I would lay my head close to the sweet cold face of my lost angel, and thus resign myself to conquering torpor. Yet I must not leave her prey to the fowls of the air, but in pursuance of my determination place her in the tomb of her forefathers, where a merciful God might permit me to rest also. The road we passed through Egham was familiar to me, but the wind and snow caused the horses to drag their load slowly and heavily. Suddenly the wind veered from southwest to west, and then again to northwest. A samson with tug-and-strain stirred from their bases the columns that supported the Philistine temple, so did the gale shake the dense vapors propped on the horizon, while the massy dome of clouds fell to the south, disclosing through their scattered web the clear imperian, and the little stars which were set at an immeasurable distance in the crystalline fields, showered their small rays on the glittering snow. Even the horses were cheered and moved on with renovated strength. We entered the forest at Bishopgate, and at the end of the long walk I saw the castle, the proud keep of Windsor rising in the majesty of proportion, girt with the double belt of its kindred and coval towers. I looked with reverence on a structure, ancient almost as the rock on which it stood, a boat of kings, theme of admiration for the wise. With greater reverence and tearful affection, I beheld it as the asylum of the long lease of love I had enjoyed there, with the perishable unmatchable treasure of dust, which now lay cold beside me. Now indeed I could have yielded to all the softness of my nature, and wept, and womanlike have uttered bitter planks, while the familiar trees, the herds of living deer, the sword oft pressed by her fairy feet, one by one with sad association presented themselves. The white gate at the end of the long walk was wide open, and I rode up the empty town through the first gate of the feudal tower. And now St. George's Chapel, with blackened fretted sides, was right before me. I halted at its door which was open. I entered and placed my lighted lamp on the altar. Then I returned, and with tender caution I bore Idris up the aisle into the chancel, and laid her softly down on the carpet which covered the step leading to the communion table. The banners of the knights of the garter and their half-drawn swords were hung in vain in blazonry above the stalls. The banner of her family hung there, still surmounted by its regal crown. Farewell to the glory and heraldry of England. I turned from such vanity with a slight feeling of wonder at how mankind could have ever been interested in such things. I bent over the lifeless corpse of my beloved, and while looking on her uncovered face, the features already contracted by the rigidity of death, I felt as if all the visible universe had grown as soulless, inane, and comfortless as the clay-cold image beneath me. I felt for a moment the intolerable sense of struggle within, and detestation for the laws which govern the world. To the calm still visible on the face of my dead love recalled me to a more soothing tone of mind, and I proceeded to fulfill the last office that can now be paid her. For her I could not lament, so much I envied her enjoyment of the sad immunities of the grave. The vault had been lately opened to place our Alfred therein. The ceremony customary in these later days had been cursorily performed, and the pavement of the chapel, which was its entrance, having been removed, had not been replaced. I descended the steps and walked through the long passage to the large vault which contained the kindred dust of my Idris. I distinguished the small coffin of my babe. With hasty, trembling hands I constructed a beer beside it, spreading it with the furs and endian shawls which had wrapped Idris in her journey thither. I lighted the glimmering lamp which flickered in this damp abode of the dead, then I bore my lost one to her last bed, decently composing her limbs and covering them with a mantle, veiling all except her face, which remained lovely and placid. She appeared to rest like one overwearyed, her beauteous eyes steeped in sweet slumber. Yet so it was not, she was dead. How intensely I then longed to lie down beside her, to gaze till death should gather me to the same repose. But death does not come at the bidding of the miserable. I had lately recovered from mortal illness, and my blood had never flowed with such an even current, nor had my limbs ever been so instinct with quick life as now. I felt that my death must be voluntary. Yet what more natural than famine, as I watched in this chamber of mortality, placed in a world of the dead beside the lost hope of my life. Meanwhile as I looked on her, the features which bore a sisterly resemblance to Adrien, brought my thoughts back again to the living, to this dear friend, to Clara and to Evelyn, who were probably now in Windsor, waiting anxiously for our arrival. Me thought I heard a noise, a step in the far chapel, which was re-echoed by its vaulted roof, and borne to me through the hollow passages. Had Clara seen my carriage pass up the town, and did she seek me here? I must save her at least from the horrible scene the vault presented. I sprung up the steps, and then saw a female figure bent with age, and clad in long morning robes, advanced through the dusky chapel, supported by a slender cane, yet tottering even with the support. She heard me, and looked up. The lamp I held illuminated my figure, and the moonbeams, struggling through the painted glass, fell upon her face, wrinkled in gaunt, yet with a piercing eye and commanding brow. I recognized the countess of Windsor, with the hollow voice she asked. Where is the princess? I pointed to the torn-up pavement. She walked to the spot and looked down into the palpable darkness, for the vault was too distant for the rays of the small lamp I had left there to be discernable. Your light, she said. I gave it her, and she regarded the now visible, but precipitous steps as if calculating her capacity to descend. Instinctively I made a silent offer of my assistance. She motioned me away, with a look of scorn, saying in a harsh voice as she pointed downwards. There at least I may have her undisturbed. She walked deliberately down, while I overcome, miserable beyond words or tears or groans, threw myself on the pavement near. The stiffening form of Idris was before me. The death struck continents, hushed in eternal repose beneath. That was to me the end of all. The day before I had figured to myself various adventures and communion with my friends in after-time. Now I had leapt the interval and reached the utmost edge in born-of-life. Thus wrapped in gloom, enclosed, walled up, vaulted over by the omnipotent present, I was startled by the sound of feet on the steps of the tomb, and I remembered her whom I had utterly forgotten, my angry visitant. Her tall form slowly rose upwards from the vault, a living statue, instinct with hate and human, passionate strife. She seemed to me as having reached the pavement of the aisle. She stood motionless, seeking with her eyes alone some desired object. Till perceiving me close to her, she placed her wrinkled hand on my arm, exclaiming with tremulous accents. Lionel Verney, my son. This name applied at such a moment by my angel's mother, instilled into me more respect than I had ever before felt for this disdainful lady. I bowed my head and kissed her shriveled hand, undremarking that she trembled violently, supported her to the end of the chancel, where she sat on the steps that led to the regal stall. She suffered herself to be led, and still holding my hand, she leaned her head back against the stall, while the moonbeams, tinged with various colors by the painted glass, fell on her glistening eyes. Aware of her weakness, again calling to mind her long cherished dignity, she dashed the tears away, yet they fell fast as she said for excuse. She is so beautiful and placid, even in death. No harsh feeling ever clouded her serene brow. How did I treat her, wounding her gentle heart with savage coldness? I had no compassion on her in past years. Does she forgive me now? Little, little does it boot to talk of repentance and forgiveness to the dead. Had I during her life once consulted her gentle wishes, and curbed my rugged nature to do her pleasure, I should not feel thus. Idris and her mother were unlike in person. The dark hair, deep set black eyes, and prominent features of the ex-queen were in entire contrast to the golden tresses, the full blue orbs in the soft lines and contour of her daughter's consonants. Yet in later days, illness had taken from my poor girl the full outline of her face and reduced it to the inflexible shape of the bone beneath. In the form of her brow and her oval chin, there was to be found a resemblance to her mother. Nay, in some moods their gestures were not unlike, nor having lived so long together was this wonderful. There is a magic power in resemblance. When one we love dies, we hope to see them in another state, and half expect that the agency of mind will inform its new garb and imitation of its decayed earthly vesture. But these are ideas of the mind only. We know that the instrument is shivered. The sensible image lies in miserable fragments, dissolved to dusty nothingness. A look, a gesture, or a fashioning of the limb similar to the dead in a living person, touches a thrilling chord, whose sacred harmony is felt in the heart's dearest recess. Strangely moved, prostrate before this spectral image and enslaved by the force of blood manifested in likeness of look and movement, I remain trembling in the presence of the harsh, proud, and till now unloved mother of Idris. Poor mistaken woman, in her tenderest mood before she had cherished the idea that a word, a look of reconciliation from her, would be received with joy and repay long years of severity. Now that the time was gone for the exercise of such power, she fell at once upon the thorny truth of things, and felt that neither smile nor caress could penetrate to the unconscious state, or influence the happiness of her who lay in the vault beneath. This conviction, together with remembrance of soft replies to bitter speeches, of gentle looks repaying angry glances, the perception of the falsehood, paltriness and futility of her cherished dreams of birth and power, the overpowering knowledge that love and life were the true emperors of our mortal state, all as a tide rose and filled her soul with stormy and bewildering confusion. It fell to my lot to come as the influential power to allay the fierce tossing of these tumultuous waves. I spoke to her, I led her to reflect how happy Idris had really been, and how her virtues and numerous excellencies had found scope and estimation in her past career. I praised her the idol of my heart's dear worship, the admired type of feminine perfection. With ardent and overflowing eloquence, I relieved my heart from its berth and awoke to the sense of a new pleasure in life as I poured forth the funeral eulogy. Then I referred to Adrienne, her loved brother, and to her surviving child. I declared, which I had before almost forgotten, what my duties were with regard to these valued portions of herself, and bade the melancholy repentant mother reflect how she could best expiate unkindness towards the dead by redoubled love of the survivors. Consoling her, my own sorrows were assuaged, my sincerity won her entire conviction. She turned to me, the hard inflexible, persecuting woman, turned with the mild expression of face, and said, if our beloved angel sees us now, it will delight her to find that I do you even tardy justice. You are worthy of her, and from my heart I am glad that you won her away from me. Pardon my son, the many wrongs I have done you. Forget my bitter words and unkind treatment. Take me and govern me as you will. I seized the docile moment to propose our departure from the church. First she said, let us replace the pavement above the vault. We drew near to it. Shall we look on her again? I asked. I cannot, she replied, and I pray you neither do you. We need not torture ourselves by gazing on the soulless body, while her living spirit is buried quick in our hearts, and her surpassing loveliness is so deeply carved there that sleeping or waking she must ever be present to us. For a few moments we bent in solemn silence over the open vault. I consecrated my future life to the embalming of her dear memory. I vowed to serve her brother and her child till death. The convulsive sob of my companion made me break off my internal horizons. I next dragged the stones over the entrance of the tomb and closed the gulf that contained the life of my life. Then supporting my decrepit fellow mourner, we slowly left the chapel. I felt as I stepped into the open air as if I had quitted and happy nest of repose for a dreary wilderness, a tortuous path, a bitter joyless hopeless pilgrimage. End of Volume 3, Chapter 3 of The Last Man by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, read by Nicodemus. Volume 3, Chapter 4 of The Last Man. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Nicodemus. Volume 3, Chapter 4 of The Last Man by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. Our escort had been directed to prepare our abode for the night at the inn, opposite the ascent to the castle. We could not again visit the halls and familiar chambers of our home on a mere visit. We had already left for ever the glades of Windsor, and all of Coppus, flowery hedgerow, and murmuring stream, which gave shape and intensity to the love of our country, and the almost superstitious attachment with which we regarded native England. It had been our intention to have called at Lucy's dwelling in Datchit, and to have reassured her with promises of aid and protection before we repaired to our quarters for the night. Now as the Countess of Windsor and I turned down the steep hill that led from the castle, we saw the children who had just stopped in their caravan at the inn door. They had passed through Datchit without halting. I dreaded to meet them and to be the bearer of my tragic story, so while they were still occupied in the hurry of arrival, I suddenly left them, and through the snow and clear moonlight air, hastened along the well-known road to Datchit. Well-known indeed it was. Each cottage stood on its accustomed site. Each tree wore its familiar appearance. Habit had graven uniracibly on my memory, every turn and change of object on the road. At a short distance beyond the little park was an elm half blown down by a storm, some ten years ago, and still with leafless snow laden branches, it stretched across the pathway, which wound through a meadow beside a shallow brook whose brawling was silenced by frost. That style, that white gate, that hollow oak tree, which doubtless once belonged to the forest, in which now showed in the moonlight its gaping rent, to whose fanciful appearance tricked out by the dusk into a resemblance of the human form the children had given the name of Falstaff. All these objects were as well known to me as the cold hearth of my deserted home, and every moss-grown wall and plot of orchard ground, alike as twin lambs are to each other in a stranger's eye, yet to my accustomed gaze, bore differences, distinction, and a name. England remained, though England was dead. It was the ghost of merry England that I beheld. Under those greenwood shade, passing generations had sported in security and ease. To this painful recognition of familiar places was added a feeling experienced by all, understood by none, a feeling as if in some state less visionary than a dream, and some past real existence I had seen all I saw with precisely the same feelings as I now beheld them, as if all my sensations were a duplex mirror of a former revelation. To get rid of this oppressive sense, I strove to imagine change in this tranquil spot. This augmented my mood by causing me to bestow more attention on the objects which occasioned me pain. I reached thatchette and Lucy's humble abode, once noisy with Saturday night revelers, or trim and neat on Sunday morning, it had borne testimony to the labors and orderly habits of the housewife. The snow lay high about the door, as if it had remained unclosed for many days. What scene of death hath Roscoeus now to act? I muttered to myself as I looked at the dark casements. First I thought I saw a light in one of them, but it proved to be merely the refraction of the moonbeams, while the only sound was the crackling branches as the breeze word the snowflakes from them. The moon sailed high and unclouded in the interminable ether, while the shadow of the cottage lay back on the garden behind. I entered this by the open wicket and anxiously examined each window. At length I detected a ray of light struggling through a closed shutter in one of the upper rooms. It was a novel feeling alas to look at any house and say there dwells its usual inmate. The door of the house was merely on the latch, so I entered and descended the moon with its staircase. The door of the inhabited room was a jar. Looking in, I saw Lucy sitting as at work at the table on which the light stood. The implements of needlework were about her, but her hand had fallen on her lap, and her eyes fixed on the ground, showed by their vacancy that her thoughts wandered. Traces of care and watching had diminished her former attractions, but her simple dress and cap, her desponding attitude, and the single candle that casted light upon her gave for a moment a picturesque grouping to the whole. A fearful reality recalled me from the thought, a figure lay stretched on the bed, covered by a sheet. Her mother was dead, and Lucy, apart from all the world, deserted and alone, watched beside the corpse during the weary night. I entered the room, and my unexpected appearance at first drew a scream from the lone survivor of a dead nation, but she recognized me and recovered herself, with the quick exercise of self-control habitual to her. Did you not expect me? I asked in that low voice, which the presence of the dead makes us as it were instinctively assumed. You are very good, replied she, to have come yourself. I can never thank you sufficiently, but it is too late. Too late, cried I, what do you mean? It is not too late to take you from this deserted place and conduct you to my own loss, which I had forgotten as I spoke, now made me turn away, while choking grief impeded my speech. I threw open the window, and looked on the cold, waning, ghastly, misshaped circle on high, and the chill, white earth beneath. Did the spirit of sweet Idris sail along the moon-frozen crystal air? No, no, a more genial atmosphere, a lovelier habitation, was surely hers. I indulged in this meditation for a moment, and then again addressed the mourner, who stood leaning against the bed with the expression of resigned despair, of complete misery, and the patient's sufferance of it, which is far more touching than any of the insane ravings or wild gesticulation of untamed sorrow. I desired to draw her from this spot, but she opposed my wish. That class of persons whose imagination and sensibility have never been taken out of the narrow circle immediately in view, if they possess these qualities to any extent, are apt to pour their influence into the very realities which appear to destroy them. And to cling to these with double tenacity, from not being able to comprehend anything beyond. Thus Lucy, in desert England, in a dead world, wished to fulfill the usual ceremonies of the dead, such as were customary to the English country people, when death was a rare visitant, and gave us time to receive his dreaded usurpation with pomp and circumstance, going forth in procession to deliver the keys of the tomb into his conquering hand. She had already, alone as she was, accomplished some of these, and the work on which I found her employed was her mother's shroud. My heart sickened at such detail of woe, which a female can endure, but which is more painful to the masculine spirit than deadly a struggle, or throws of unutterable but transient agony. This must not be, I told her, and then, as further inducement, I communicated to her my recent loss, and gave her the idea that she must come with me, to take charge of the orphaned children, whom the death of Idris had deprived of her mother's care. Lucy never resisted the call of a duty, so she yielded, and closing the casements and doors with care, she accompanied me back to Windsor. As we went, she communicated to me the occasion of her mother's death. Either by some mischance she had got sight of Lucy's letter to Idris, or she had overheard her conversation with the countrymen who bore it. However it might be, she obtained a knowledge of the appalling situation of herself and her daughter. Her aged frame could not sustain the anxiety and horror this discovery instilled. She concealed her knowledge from Lucy, but brooded over it through sleepless nights, till fever and delirium, swift forerunners of death, disclosed the secret. Her life, which had long been hovering on its extinction, now yielded it once to the united effects of misery and sickness, and that same morning she had died. After the tumultuous emotions of the day, I was glad to find on my arrival at the inn that my companions had retired to rest. 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 showed that she has passed the night in weeping. The Countess looked haggard and won. 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 endeavored 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 fulfillment 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 auguries. On the first day of her arrival at Dover, she walked with him on the sea beach, and with the timidity characteristic of passionate and exaggerated feeling, was by degrees bringing the conversation to the desired point, when she could communicate her fears to him. When the messenger who bore my letter announcing our temporary return to Windsor came writing down to them, he gave some oral account of how he had left us, and added that notwithstanding the cheerfulness and good courage of Lady Idris, he was afraid that she would hardly reach Windsor alive. True, said the Countess, your fears are just, she is about to expire. As she spoke, her eyes were fixed on a tomb-like hollow of the cliff, and she saw she averred the same to me with solemnity, Idris pacing slowly towards the cave. She was turned from her, her head was bent down, her white dress was such as she was accustomed to wear, except that a thin crepe-like veil covered her golden tresses, and concealed her as a dim, transparent mist. She looked dejected, as docilely yielding to a commanding power. She submissively entered, and was lost in the dark recess. Where I subject to visionary moods, said the venerable Lady, as she continued her narrative, I might doubt my eyes and condemn my credulity, but reality is the world I live in, and what I saw I doubt not had existence beyond myself. From that moment I could not rest. It was worth my existence to see her once again before she died. I knew that I should not accomplish this, yet I must endeavor. I immediately departed for Windsor, and though I was assured that we traveled speedily, it seemed to me that our progress was snail-like, and that delays were created solely for my annoyance. Still, I accused you, and heaped on your head the fiery ashes of my burning impatience. It was no disappointment, though an agonizing pang when you pointed to her last abode, and words would ill-express the abhorrence I that moment felt towards you, the triumphant impediment to my dearest wishes. I saw her, an anger and hate and injustice, died at her beer, giving place at their departure to a remorse, great God that I should feel it, which must last while memory and feeling endure. To medicine such remorse, to prevent awakening love and newborn mildness from producing the same bitter fruit that hate and harshness had done, I devoted all my endeavors to soothe the venerable penitent. Our party was a melancholy one. Each was possessed by regret for what was remedy-less, for the absence of his mother shadowed even the infant gaiety of Evelyn. Added to this was the prospect of the uncertain future. Before the final accomplishment of any great voluntary change, the mind vacillates, now soothing itself by fervent expectation, now recoiling from obstacles which seem never to have presented themselves before with so frightful an aspect. An involuntary tremor ran through me when I thought that in another day we might have crossed the watery barrier and have set forward on that hopeless, interminable, sad wandering, which but a short time before I regarded as the only relief to sorrow that our situation afforded. Our approach to Dover was announced by the loud roaring of the Wintery Sea. They were born miles inland by the sound laden blast, and by their unaccustomed uproar imparted a feeling of insecurity and peril to our stable abode. At first we hardly permitted ourselves to think that any unusual eruption of nature caused this tremendous war of air and water, but rather fancy that we merely listened to what we had heard a thousand times before, when we had watched the flocks of fleece-crowned waves driven by the winds come to lament and die on the barren sands and pointed rocks. But we found upon advancing farther that Dover was overflowed. Many of the houses were overthrown by surges which filled the streets, and with hideous brawling sometimes retreated leaving the pavement of the town bare till again hurried forward by the influx of ocean they returned with thunder sound to their usurped station. Hardly less disturbed than the tempestuous world of waters was the assembly of human beings, that from the cliff fearfully watched its ravings. On the morning of the arrival of the immigrants under the conduct of Adrian the sea had been serene and glassy. The slight ripples refracted the sunbeams which shed their radiance through the clear blue frosty air. This placid appearance of nature was hailed as a good augury for the voyage. On the chief immediately repaired to the harbor to examine two steamboats which were moored there. On the following midnight when all were at rest a frightful storm of wind and clattering rain and hail first disturbed them on the voice of one shrieking in the streets that the sleepers must awake or they would be drowned. And when they rushed out half clothed to discover the meaning of this alarm they found that the tide rising above every mark was rushing into the town. They ascended the cliff but the darkness permitted only the white crest of waves to be seen while the roaring wind mingled its howlings in dire accord with the wild surges. The awful hour of night the utter inexperience of many who had never seen the sea before the wailing of women and the cries of children added to the horror of the tumult. All the following day the same scene continued. When the tide ebbed the town was left dry but on its flow it rose even higher than on the preceding night. The vast ships that lay rotting in the roads were whirled from their anchorage and driven and jammed against the cliff. The vessels in the harbor were flung on land like seaweed and there battered to pieces by the breakers. The waves dashed against the cliff which if any place it had been before loosened now gave way and the affrighted crowd saw vast fragments of the near earth fall with crash and roar into the deep. This site operated differently on different persons. The greater part thought it a judgment of God to prevent or punish our immigration from our native land. Many were doubly eager to quit a nook of ground now become their prison which appeared unable to resist the inroads of oceans giant waves. When we arrived at Dover after a fatiguing day's journey we all required rest and sleep but the scene acting around us soon drove away such ideas. We were drawn along with the greater part of our companions to the edge of the cliff there to listen to and make a thousand conjectures. A fog narrowed our horizon to about a quarter of a mile and the misty veil cold and dense enveloped sky and sea in equal obscurity. What added to our inquiitude was the circumstance that two-thirds of our original number were now waiting for us in Paris and clinging as we now did most painfully to any addition to our melancholy remnant. This division with the tameless impassable ocean between struck us with a fright. At length after loitering for several hours on the cliff we retired to Dover Castle whose roof sheltered all who breathed the English air and sought the sleep necessary to restore strength and courage to our worn frames and languid spirits. Early in the morning Adrian brought me the welcome intelligence that the wind had changed. It had been southwest was now northeast. The sky was stripped bare of clouds by the increasing gale while the tide at its ebb seceded entirely from the town. The change of wind rather increased the fury of the sea but it altered its late dusky hue to a bright green and in spite of its unmitigated clamour its more cheerful appearance instilled hope and pleasure. All day we watched the ranging of the mountainous waves and toward sunset a desire to decipher the promise for the morrow at its setting made us all gather with one accord on the edge of the cliff. When the mighty luminary approached within a few degrees of the tempest-tossed horizon suddenly a wonder three other suns alike burning and brilliant rushed from various quarters of the heavens toward the great orb they whirled round it. The glare of light was intense to our dazzled eyes the sun itself seemed to join in the dance while the sea burned like a furnace like all the suvious a light with flowing lava beneath. The horses broke loose from their stalls in terror a herd of cattle panic struck raced down to the brink of the cliff and blinded by light plunged down with frightful yells in the waves below the time occupied by the apparition of these meteors was comparatively short suddenly the three mocked suns united in one and plunged into the sea a few seconds afterwards a deafening watery sound came up with the awful peel from the spot where they had disappeared meanwhile the sun disencumbered from his strange satellites paced with its accustomed majesty towards its western home when we dared not trust our eyes late dazzled but it seemed that the sea rose to meet it it mounted higher and higher till the fiery globe was obscured and the wall of water still ascended the horizon it appeared as if suddenly the motion of earth was revealed to us as if no longer we were ruled by ancient laws but were turned adrift in an unknown region of space many cried aloud that these were no meteors but globes of burning matter which had set fire to the earth and caused the vast cauldron at our feet to bubble up with its measureless waves the day of judgment was come they have heard and a few moments would transport us before the awful countenance of the omnipotent judge while those less given to visionary terrors declared that two conflicting gales had occasioned the last phenomenon in support of this opinion they pointed out the fact that the east wind died away while the rushing of the coming west mingled its wild howl with the roar of the advancing waters would the cliff resist this new battery was not the giant wave far higher than the precipice would not our little island be deluged with its approach the crowd of spectators fled they were dispersed over the fields stopping now and then and looking back in terror a sublime sense of awe calm the swift pulsations of my heart i awaited the approach of the destruction menaced with that solemn resignation which an unavoidable necessity instills the ocean every moment assumed a more terrific aspect while the twilight was dimmed by the rack which the west wind spread over the sky by slow degrees however as the wave advanced it took a more mild appearance some undercurrent of air or obstruction in the bed of waters checked its progress and it sank gradually while the surface of the sea became uniformly higher as it dissolved into it this change took from us the fear of an immediate catastrophe although we were still anxious as to the final result we continued during the whole night to watch the fury of the sea and the pace of the driving clouds through whose openings the rare stars rushed impetuously the thunder of conflicting elements deprived us of all power to sleep this endured ceaselessly for three days and nights the stoutest hearts quailed before the savage enmity of nature provisions began to fail us though every day foraging parties were dispersed to the nearer towns in vain we schooled ourselves into the belief that there was nothing out of the common order of nature in the strife we witnessed our disastrous and overwhelming destiny turned the best of us to cowards death had haunted us through the course of many months even to the narrow strip of time on which we now stood narrow indeed and buffeted by storms was our footway overhanging the great sea of calamity as an unsheltered northern shore is shaken by the wintry wave and frequent storms forevermore while from the west the loud winds rave or from the east or mountains whore the struck and tottering sandbank lave it required more than human energy to bear up against the menaces of destruction that everywhere surrounded us after the lapse of three days the gale died away the seagull sailed upon the calm bosom of the windless atmosphere and the last yellow leaf on the topmost branch of the oak hung without motion the sea no longer broke with fury but a swell setting in steadily for sure with long sweep and sullen burst replaced the roar of the breakers yet we derived hope from the change and we did not doubt that after the interval of a few days the sea would resume its tranquility the sunset of the fourth day favored this idea it was clear and golden as we gazed on the purple sea radiant beneath we were attracted by a novel spectacle a dark spec as it neared visibly a boat rode on the top of the waves every now and then lost in the steep valleys between we marked its course with eager questionings and when we saw that it evidently made for sure we descended to the only practicable landing place and hoisted a signal to direct them by the help of glasses we distinguished her crew it consisted of nine men englishmen belonging in truth to the two divisions of our people who had preceded us and had been for several weeks at paris as countrymen was want to meet countrymen in distant lands did we greet our visitors on their landing without stretched hands and glad some welcome they were slow to reciprocate our congratulations they looked angry and resentful not less than the chafed sea which they had traversed with imminent peril though apparently more displeased with each other than with us it was strange to see these human beings who appeared to be given forth by the earth like rare and inestimable plants full of towering passion and the spirit of angry contest their first demand was to be conducted to the lord protector of england so they called adrian though he had long discarded the empty title as a bitter mockery of the shadow to which the protectorship was now reduced they were speedily led to dover castle from whose keep adrian had watched the movements of the boat he received them with the interest and wonder so strange a visitation created and the confusion occasioned by their angry demands for precedence it was long before we could discover the secret meaning of this strange scene by degrees from the furious declamations of one the fierce interruptions of another and the bitter scoffs of a third we found that they were deputies from our colony at paris for three parties they're formed who each with angry rivalry tried to attain a superiority over the other two these deputies had been dispatched by them to adrian who had been selected arbiter and they had journeyed from paris to calais to the vacant towns and desolate country indulging the wild violent hatred against each other and now they pleaded their several causes with unmitigated party spirit by examining the deputies apart and after much investigation we learned the true state of things at paris since parliament had elected him rylan's deputy all the surviving english had submitted to adrian he was our captain to lead us from our native soil to unknown lands our law giver and our preserver on the first arrangement of our scheme of immigration no continued separation of our members was contemplated and the command of the whole body of gradual ascent of power had its apex in the earl of winzer but unforeseen circumstances changed our plans for us and occasioned the greater part of our numbers to be divided for the space of nearly two months from the supreme chief they had gone over in two distinct bodies and on their arrival at paris dissension arose between them they had found paris a desert when first the plague had appeared the return of travelers and merchants and communications by letter informed us regularly of the ravages made by disease on the continent but with the increased mortality this intercourse declined and ceased even in england itself communication from one part of the island to the other became slow and rare no vessel stemmed the flood that divided calais from dover or if some melancholy voyager wishing to assure himself of the life or death of his relatives put from the french shore to return among us often the greedy ocean swallowed his little craft or after a day or two he was infected by the disorder and died before he could tell the tale of the desolation of france we were therefore to a great degree ignorant of a state of things on the continent and were not without some vague hope of finding numerous companions in its wide track but the same causes that had so fearfully diminished the english nation had had even greater scope for mischief in the sisterland france was a blank during the long line of road from calais to paris not one human being was found in paris there were a few perhaps a hundred who resigned to their coming fate flitted about the streets of the capital and assembled to converse of past times with that vivacity and even gaiety that seldom deserts the individuals of this nation the english took uncontested possession of paris its high houses and narrow streets were lifeless a few pale figures were to be distinguished at the accustomed resort at the tulliaries they wondered where for the islanders should approach their ill-fated city for in the excess of wretchedness the sufferers always imagine that their part of the calamity is the bitterest as when enduring intense pain we would exchange the particular torture we ride under for any other which should visit a different part of the frame they listened to the account the immigrants gave of their motives for leaving their native land with the shrug almost of disdain returned they said return to your island who see breezes and division from the continent give some promise of health if pestilence among you has slain its hundreds with us it has slain its thousands are you not even now more numerous than we are a year ago you would have found only the sick burying the dead now we are happier for the pang of struggle has passed away and the few you find here are patiently waiting the final blow but you who are not content to die breathe no longer the air of france or soon you'll only be a part of her soil thus by menaces of the sword they would have driven back those who had escaped from fire but the peril left behind was deemed imminent by my countrymen that before them doubtful and distant and soon other feelings arose to obliterate fear or to replace it by passions that ought to have had no place among a brotherhood of unhappy survivors of the expiring world the more numerous divisions of immigrants which arrived first at paris assumed a superiority of rank and power the second party asserted their independence a third was formed by a sectarian a self-erected prophet who while he attributed all power and rule to god strove to get the real command of his comrades into his own hands this third division consisted of fewest individuals but their purpose was more one their obedience to their leader more entire their fortitude and courage more unyielding and active during the whole progress of the plague the teachers of religion were in possession of great power a power of good if rightly directed or of incalculable mischief if fanaticism or intolerance guided their efforts in the present instance a worse feeling than either of these actuated the leader he was an imposter in the most determined sense of the term a man who had in early life lost through the indulgence of vicious propensities all sense of rectitude or self-esteem and who when ambition was awakened in him gave himself up to its influence unbridled by any scruple his father had been a methodist preacher an enthusiastic man with simple intentions but whose pernicious doctrines of election and special grace had contributed to destroy all conscientious feeling in his son during the progress of the pestilence he had entered upon various schemes by which to acquire adherence and power adrian had discovered and defeated these attempts but adrian was absent the wolf assumed the shepherd's garb and the flock admitted the deception he had formed a party during the few weeks he had been in paris whose zealously propagated the creed of his divine mission and believed that safety and salvation were to be afforded only to those who put their trust in him when once the spirit of dissension had arisen the most frivolous causes gave it activity the first party on arriving at paris had taken possession of the tuleries chance and friendly feeling had induced the second to lodge near them a contest arose concerning the distribution of the pillage the chiefs of the first division demanded that the whole should be placed at their disposal with this assumption the opposite party refused to comply when next the latter went to forage the gates of paris were shut on them after overcoming this difficulty they marched in a body to the tuleries they found that their enemies had been already expelled thence by the elect as the fanatical party designated themselves who refused to admit any into the palace who did not first abjure obedience to all except god and his delegate on earth their chief such was the beginning of the strife which at length proceeded so far that the three divisions armed met in the plas vendon each resolved to subdue by force the resistance of its adversaries they assembled their muskets were loaded and even pointed at the breasts of their so-called enemies one word had been sufficient and there the last of mankind would have burdened their souls with the crime of murder and dipped their hands in each other's blood a sense of shame a recollection that not only their cause but the existence of the whole human race was at stake entered the breast of the leader of the more numerous party he was aware that if the ranks were thinned no other recruits could fill them up that each man was a priceless gem and a kingly crown which if destroyed the earth's deep entrails could yield no paragon he was a young man and had been hurried on by presumption on the notion of his high rank and superiority to all other pretenders now he repented his work he felt that all the blood about to be shed would be on his head with sudden impulse therefore he spurred his horse between the bands and having fixed a white handkerchief on the point of his uplifted sword thus demanded parley the opposite leaders obeyed the signal he spoke with warmth he reminded them of the oath all the chiefs had taken to submit to the lord protector he declared their present meeting to be an act of treason and mutiny he allowed that he had been hurried away by passion but that a cooler moment had arrived and he proposed that each party should send deputies to the Earl of Windsor inviting his interference and offering submission to his decision his offer was accepted so far that each leader consented to command a retreat and moreover agreed that after the approbation of their several parties had been consulted they should meet that night on some neutral spot to ratify the truth at the meeting of the chiefs this plan was finally concluded upon the leader of the fanatics indeed refused to admit the arbitration of adrian he sent ambassadors rather than deputies to assert his claim not plead his cause the truth was to continue until the first of february when the bands were again to assemble on the Place Vendon it was of the utmost consequence therefore that adrian should arrive in paris by that day since an hare might turn the scale and peace scared away by intestine broils might only return to watch by the silent dead it was now the 28th of january every vessel stationed near dover had been beaten to pieces and destroyed by the furious storms i have commemorated our journey however would admit of no delay that very night adrian and i and 12 others either friends or attendants put off from the english shore in the boat that had brought over the deputies we all took our turn at the or and the immediate occasion of our departure affording us abundant matter for conjecture and discourse prevented the feeling that we left our native country the popular england for the last time to enter deeply into the minds of the greater part of our number it was a serene starlight night on the dark line of the english coast continued for some time visible at intervals as we rose on the broad back of the waves i exerted myself with my long oar to give swift impulse to our skiff and while the water splashed with melancholy sound against its sides i looked with sad affection on this last glimpse of seagirt england and strained my eyes not too soon to lose sight of the casolated cliff which rose to protect the land of heroism and beauty from the inroads of ocean that turbulent as i had lately seen it required such cyclopean walls for its repulsion a solitary seagull winged its flight over our heads to seek its nest in a cleft of the precipice yes thou shalt revisit the land of thy birth i thought as i looked invidiously on the airy voyager but we shall never more tomb of idris farewell grave in which my heart lies sepulcher farewell forever we were twelve hours at sea and the heavy swell obliged us to exert all our strength at length by mere dent of rowing we reached the french coast the stars faded on the gray morning cast a dim veil over the silver horns of the waning moon the sun rose broad and red from the sea as we walked over the sands to calais our first care was to procure horses and although we read by our night of watching in toil some of our party immediately went in quest of these in the wide fields of the unenclosed and now barren plain around calais we divided ourselves like seamen into watches and some reposed while others prepared the morning's repass our foragers returned at noon with only six horses on these adrian and i and four others proceeded on our journey towards the great city which its inhabitants had fondly named the capital of the civilized world our horses had become through their long holiday almost wild and we crossed a plain round calais with impetuous speed from the height near burloin i turned again to look on england nature had cast a misty pall over her her cliff was hidden there was spread the watery barrier that divided us never again to be crossed she lay on the ocean plain in the great pool a swan's nest ruined the nest alas the swans of albion had passed away forever an uninhabited rock in the wide pacific which had remained since the creation uninhabited unnamed unmarked would be of as much account in the world's future history as desert england our journey was impeded by a thousand obstacles as our horses grew tired we had to seek for others and ours were wasted while we exhausted our artifices to allure some of these enfranchised slaves of man to resume the yoke or as we went from stable to stable through the towns hoping to find some who had not forgotten the shelter of their native stalls our ill success in procuring them obliged us continually to leave some one of our companions behind and on the first of february adrian and i entered paris wholly unaccompanied the serene morning had dawned when we arrived at st. dinis and the sun was high when the clamour of voices in the clash as we feared of weapons guided us to where our countrymen had assembled on the plas vendone we passed a knot of frenchmen who were talking earnestly of the madness of the insular invaders and then coming by a sudden turn upon the plas we saw the sun glitter and drawn swords and fixed bayonets while yells and clamors rent the air it was a scene of unaccustomed confusion in these days of depopulation roused by fancy drongs and insulting scoffs the opposite parties had rushed to attack each other while the elect drawn up apart seemed to wait an opportunity to fall with better advantage on their foes when they should have mutually weakened each other a merciful power interposed and no blood was shed for while the insane mob were in the very act of attack the females wives mothers and daughters rushed between they seized the bridles they embraced the knees of the horsemen and hung on the necks or in weaponed arms of their enraged relatives the shrill female scream was mingled with the manly shout and formed the wild clamour that welcomed us on our arrival our voices could not be heard in the tumult adrian however was eminent for the white charger he rode spurring him he dashed into the midst of the throng he was recognized and a loud cry raised for england and the protector the late adversaries warmed to affection at the sight of him joined in heedless confusion and surrounded him the women kissed his hands and the edges of his garments nay his horse received tribute of their embraces some wept their welcome he appeared an angel of peace descending among them and the only danger was that his mortal nature would be demonstrated by his suffocation from the kindness of his friends his voice was at length heard and obeyed the crowd fell back the chiefs alone rallied round him i had seen lord raymond ride through his lines his look of victory and majestic mean obtained the respect and obedience of all such was not the appearance or influence of adrian his slight figure his fervent look his gesture more of deprecation than rule were proofs that love unmingled with fear gave him dominion over the hearts of a multitude who knew that he never flinched from danger nor was actuated by other motives than care for the general welfare no distinction was now visible between the two parties late ready to shed each other's blood for though neither would submit to the other they both yielded ready obedience to the Earl of Windsor one party however remained cut off from the rest which did not sympathize in the joy exhibited on adrian's arrival or imbibe the spirit of peace which felt like a dew upon the softened hearts of their countrymen at the head of this assembly was a ponderous dark looking man whose malign eye surveyed with gloating delight the stern looks of his followers they had hitherto been inactive but now perceiving themselves to be forgotten in the universal jubilee they advanced with threatening gestures our friends had as it were in wanton contention attacked each other they wanted but to be told that their cause was one for it to become so their mutual anger had been a fire of straw compared to the slow burning hatred they both entertained for these seceders who seized a portion of the world to come there to entrench and encapsulate themselves and to issue with fearful sally and appalling denunciations on the mere common children of the earth the first advance of the little army of the elect reawakened their rage they grasped their arms and waited but their leader's signal to commence the attack when the clear tones of adrian's voice were heard commanding them to fall back with confused murmur and hurried retreat as the wave ebbs clamorously from the sands it lately covered our friends obeyed adrian rode singly into the space between the opposing bands he approached the hostile leader as requesting him to imitate his example but his look was not obeyed and the chief advanced followed by his whole troop there were many women among them who seemed more eager and resolute than their male companions they pressed round their leader as if to shield him while they loudly bestowed on him every sacred denomination and epithet of worship adrian met them halfway they halted what he said do you seek do you require anything of us that we refuse to give and that you are forced to acquire by arms and warfare his questions were answered by a general cry in which the words election sin and red right arm of god could alone be heard adrian looked expressly at their leader saying can you not silence your followers mine you perceive obey me the fellow answered by a scowl and then perhaps fearful that his people should become auditors of the debate he expected to ensue he commanded them to fall back and advanced by himself what i again ask said adrian do you require of us repentance replied the man whose sinister brow gathered clouds as he spoke obedience to the will of the most high made manifest to these his elected people do we not all die through your sins oh generation of unbelief and have we not a right to demand of your repentance and obedience and if we refuse them what then his opponent inquired mildly beware cried the man god hears you and will smite your stony heart and his wrath his poisoned arrows fly his dogs of death are unleashed we will not perish unrevenged and mighty will our avenger be when he descends in visible majesty and scatters destruction among you my good fellow said adrian with quiet scorn i wish that you were ignorant only and i think it would be no difficult task to prove to you that you speak of what you do not understand on the present occasion however it is enough for me to know that you seek nothing of us and heaven is our witness we seek nothing of you i should be sorry to embitter by strife the few days that we any of us may have here to live when there he pointed downwards we shall not be able to contend while here we need not go home or stay pray to your god in your own mode your friends may do the like my horizons consist in peace and good will in resignation and hope farewell he bowed slightly to the angry disputant who was about to reply and turning his horse down ruse st honor called on his friends to follow him he rode slowly to give time to all to join him at the barrier and then issued his orders that those who yielded obedience to him should rendezvous at bersailles in the meantime he remained within the walls of paris until he had secured the safe retreat of all in about a fortnight the remainder of the immigrants arrived from england they all repaired to bersailles apartments were prepared for the family of the protector and the grand trianon and there after the excitement of these events we were posed amidst the luxuries of the departed bourbons end of volume three chapter four of the last man by mary