ion may deserve.
This may seem madness to you, yet you also have pride and resolution; do
not then wonder that my pride is tameless, my resolution unalterable."

Having thus finished her tale, and given such an account as she deemed fit,
of the motives of her abstaining from all endeavour to obtain aid from her
countrymen, Evadne paused; yet she seemed to have more to say, to which she
was unable to give words. In the mean time Raymond was eloquent. His desire
of restoring his lovely friend to her rank in society, and to her lost
prosperity, animated him, and he poured forth with energy, all his wishes
and intentions on that subject. But he was checked; Evadne exacted a
promise, that he should conceal from all her friends her existence in
England. "The relatives of the Earl of Windsor," said she haughtily,
"doubtless think that I injured him; perhaps the Earl himself would be the
first to acquit me, but probably I do not deserve acquittal. I acted then,
as I ever must, from impulse. This abode of penury may at least prove the
disinterestedness of my conduct. No matter: I do not wish to plead my cause
before any of them, not even before your Lordship, had you not first
discovered me. The tenor of my actions will prove that I had rather die,
than be a mark for scorn--behold the proud Evadne in her tatters! look on
the beggar-princess! There is aspic venom in the thought--promise me that
my secret shall not be violated by you."

Raymond promised; but then a new discussion ensued. Evadne required another
engagement on his part, that he would not without her concurrence enter
into any project for her benefit, nor himself offer relief. "Do not degrade
me in my own eyes," she said; "poverty has long been my nurse; hard-visaged
she is, but honest. If dishonour, or what I conceive to be dishonour, come
near me, I am lost." Raymond adduced many arguments and fervent persuasions
to overcome her feeling, but she remained unconvinced; and, agitated by the
discussion, she wildly and passionately made a solemn vow, to fly and hide
herself where he never could discover her, where famine would soon bring
death to conclude her woes, if he persisted in his to her disgracing
offers. She could support herself, she said. And then she shewed him how,
by executing various designs and paintings, she earned a pittance for her
support. Raymond yielded for the present. He felt assured, after he had for
awhile humoured her self-will, that in the end