End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
Ryland was the leader of the popular party, a hard-headed man, and in
his way eloquent; he had obtained leave to bring in a bill making it
treason to endeavour to change the present state of the English
government and the standing laws of the republic. This attack was
directed against Raymond and his machinations for the restoration of
the monarchy.
Raymond asked me if I would accompany him to the House that evening. I
remembered my pursuit for intelligence concerning Adrian; and, knowing
that my time would be fully occupied, I excused myself. “Nay,” said my
companion, “I can free you from your present impediment. You are going
to make enquiries concerning the Earl of Windsor. I can answer them at
once, he is at the Duke of Athol’s seat at Dunkeld. On the first
approach of his disorder, he travelled about from one place to another;
until, arriving at that romantic seclusion he refused to quit it, and
we made arrangements with the Duke for his continuing there.”
I was hurt by the careless tone with which he conveyed this
information, and replied coldly: “I am obliged to you for your
intelligence, and will avail myself of it.”
“You shall, Verney,” said he, “and if you continue of the same mind, I
will facilitate your views. But first witness, I beseech you, the
result of this night’s contest, and the triumph I am about to achieve,
if I may so call it, while I fear that victory is to me defeat. What
can I do? My dearest hopes appear to be near their fulfilment. The
ex-queen gives me Idris; Adrian is totally unfitted to succeed to the
earldom, and that earldom in my hands becomes a kingdom. By the
reigning God it is true; the paltry earldom of Windsor shall no longer
content him, who will inherit the rights which must for ever appertain
to the person who possesses it. The Countess can never forget that she
has been a queen, and she disdains to leave a diminished inheritance to
her children; her power and my wit will rebuild the throne, and this
brow will be clasped by a kingly diadem.—I can do this—I can marry
Idris.”—-
He stopped abruptly, his countenance darkened, and its expression
changed again and again under the influence of internal passion. I
asked, “Does Lady Idris love you?”
“What a question,” replied he laughing. “She will of course, as I shall
her, when we are married.”
“You begin late,” said I, ironically, “marriage is usually considered
the grave, and not the cradle of love. So you are about to love her,
but do not already?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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