End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
Raymond recognized her; and his manner changed from polite beneficence
to the warmest protestations of kindness and sympathy. The sight of
her, in her present situation, passed like an arrow into his soul. He
sat by her, he took her hand, and said a thousand things which breathed
the deepest spirit of compassion and affection. Evadne did not answer;
her large dark eyes were cast down, at length a tear glimmered on the
lashes. “Thus,” she cried, “kindness can do, what no want, no misery
ever effected; I weep.” She shed indeed many tears; her head sunk
unconsciously on the shoulder of Raymond; he held her hand: he kissed
her sunken tear-stained cheek. He told her, that her sufferings were
now over: no one possessed the art of consoling like Raymond; he did
not reason or declaim, but his look shone with sympathy; he brought
pleasant images before the sufferer; his caresses excited no distrust,
for they arose purely from the feeling which leads a mother to kiss her
wounded child; a desire to demonstrate in every possible way the truth
of his feelings, and the keenness of his wish to pour balm into the
lacerated mind of the unfortunate. As Evadne regained her composure,
his manner became even gay; he sported with the idea of her poverty.
Something told him that it was not its real evils that lay heavily at
her heart, but the debasement and disgrace attendant on it; as he
talked, he divested it of these; sometimes speaking of her fortitude
with energetic praise; then, alluding to her past state, he called her
his Princess in disguise. He made her warm offers of service; she was
too much occupied by more engrossing thoughts, either to accept or
reject them; at length he left her, making a promise to repeat his
visit the next day. He returned home, full of mingled feelings, of pain
excited by Evadne’s wretchedness, and pleasure at the prospect of
relieving it. Some motive for which he did not account, even to
himself, prevented him from relating his adventure to Perdita.
The next day he threw such disguise over his person as a cloak
afforded, and revisited Evadne. As he went, he bought a basket of
costly fruits, such as were natives of her own country, and throwing
over these various beautiful flowers, bore it himself to the miserable
garret of his friend. “Behold,” cried he, as he entered, “what bird’s
food I have brought for my sparrow on the house-top.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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