End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
Methought this was but a poor expedient; but I assured him of my
obedience and zeal. I quitted him to take a few hours rest. With the
breaking of morning I was accoutred for my ride. I lingered awhile,
desirous of taking leave of Perdita, and from my window observed the
approach of the sun. The golden splendour arose, and weary nature awoke
to suffer yet another day of heat and thirsty decay. No flowers lifted
up their dew-laden cups to meet the dawn; the dry grass had withered on
the plains; the burning fields of air were vacant of birds; the cicale
alone, children of the sun, began their shrill and deafening song among
the cypresses and olives. I saw Raymond’s coal-black charger brought to
the palace gate; a small company of officers arrived soon after; care
and fear was painted on each cheek, and in each eye, unrefreshed by
sleep. I found Raymond and Perdita together. He was watching the rising
sun, while with one arm he encircled his beloved’s waist; she looked on
him, the sun of her life, with earnest gaze of mingled anxiety and
tenderness. Raymond started angrily when he saw me. “Here still?” he
cried. “Is this your promised zeal?”
“Pardon me,” I said, “but even as you speak, I am gone.”
“Nay, pardon me,” he replied; “I have no right to command or reproach;
but my life hangs on your departure and speedy return. Farewell!”
His voice had recovered its bland tone, but a dark cloud still hung on
his features. I would have delayed; I wished to recommend watchfulness
to Perdita, but his presence restrained me. I had no pretence for my
hesitation; and on his repeating his farewell, I clasped his
outstretched hand; it was cold and clammy. “Take care of yourself, my
dear Lord,” I said.
“Nay,” said Perdita, “that task shall be mine. Return speedily,
Lionel.” With an air of absence he was playing with her auburn locks,
while she leaned on him; twice I turned back, only to look again on
this matchless pair. At last, with slow and heavy steps, I had paced
out of the hall, and sprung upon my horse. At that moment Clara flew
towards me; clasping my knee she cried, “Make haste back, uncle! Dear
uncle, I have such fearful dreams; I dare not tell my mother. Do not be
long away!” I assured her of my impatience to return, and then, with a
small escort rode along the plain towards the tower of Marmora.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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