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ravado； and were dashed against a tree and sunk with blasphemies on their lips。 An old nobleman—for such his furred gown and golden chain proclaimed him—went down not far from where Orlando stood； calling vengeance upon the Irish rebels； who； he cried with his last breath； had plotted this devilry。 Many perished clasping some silver pot or other treasure to their breasts； and at least a score of poor wretches were drowned by their own cupidity； hurling themselves from the bank into the flood rather than let a gold goblet escape them； or see before their eyes the disappearance of some furred gown。 For furniture； valuables； possessions of all sorts were carried away on the icebergs。 Among other strange sights was to be seen a cat suckling its young； a table laid sumptuously for a supper of twenty； a couple in bed； together with an extraordinary number of cooking utensils。
Dazed and astounded； Orlando could do nothing for some time but watch the appalling race of waters as it hurled itself past him。 At last； seeming to recollect himself； he clapped spurs to his horse and galloped hard along the river bank in the direction of the sea。 Rounding a bend of the river； he came opposite that reach where； not two days ago； the ships of the Ambassadors had seemed immovably frozen。 Hastily； he made count of them all； the French； the Spanish； the Austrian； the Turk。 All still floated； though the French had broken loose from her moorings； and the Turkish vessel had taken a great rent in her side and was fast filling with water。 But the Russian ship was nowhere to be seen。 For one moment Orlando thought it must have foundered； but； raising himself in his stirrups and shading his eyes； which had the sight of a hawk’s； he could just make out the shape of a ship on the horizon。 The black eagles were flying from the mast head。 The ship of the Muscovite Embassy was standing out to sea。
Flinging himself from his horse； he made； in his rage； as if he would breast the flood。 Standing knee–deep in water he hurled at the faithless woman all the insults that have ever been the lot of her sex。 Faithless； mutable； fickle； he called her； devil； adulteress； deceiver； and the swirling waters took his words； and tossed at his feet a broken pot and a little straw。
CHAPTER 2。
The biographer is now faced with a difficulty which it is better perhaps to confess than to gloss over。 Up to this point in telling the story of Orlando’s life； documents； both private and historical； have made it possible to fulfil the first duty of a biographer； which is to plod； without looking to right or left； in the indelible footprints of truth； unenticed by flowers； regardless of shade； on and on methodically till we fall plump into the grave and write finis on the tombstone above our heads。 But now we e to an episode which lies right across our path； so that there is no ignoring it。 Yet it is dark； mysterious； and undocumented； so that there is no explaining it。 Volumes might be written in interpretation of it； whole religious systems founded upon the signification of it。 Our simple duty is to state the facts as far as they are known； and so let the reader make of them what he may。
In the summer of that disastrous winter which saw the frost； the flood； the deaths of many thousands； and the plete downfall of Orlando’s hopes—for he was exiled from Court； in deep disgrace with the most powerful nobles of his time； the Irish house of Desmond was justly enraged； the King had already trouble enough with the Irish not to relish this further addition—in that summer Orlando retired to his great house in the country and there lived in plete solitude。 One June morning—it was Saturday the 18th—he failed to rise at his usual hour； and when his groom went to call him he was found fast asleep。 Nor could he be awakened。 He lay as if in a trance； without perceptible breathing； and though dogs were set to bark under his window； cymbals； drums； bones beaten perpetually in his room； a gorse bush put under his pillow； and mustard plasters applied to his feet； still he did not wake； take food； or show any sign of life for seven whole days。 On the seventh day he woke at his usual time （a quarter before eight； precisely） and turned the whole posse of caterwauling wives and village soothsayers out of his room； which was natural enough； but what was strange was that he showed no consciousness of any such trance； but dressed himself and sent for his horse as if he had woken from a single night’s slumber。 Yet some change； it was suspected； must have taken place in the chambers of his brain； for though he was perfectly rational and seemed graver and more sedate in his ways than before； he appeared to have an imperfect recollection of his past life。 He would listen when people spoke of the great frost or the skating or the carnival； but he never gave any sign； except by passing his hand across his brow as if to wipe away some cloud； of having witnessed them himself。 When the events of the past six months were discussed； he seemed not so much distressed as puzzled； as if he were troubled by confused memories of some time long gone or were trying to recall stories told him by another。 It was observed that if Russia was mentioned or Princesses or ships； he would fall into a gloom of an uneasy kind and get up and look out of the window or call one of the dogs to him； or take a knife and carve a piece of cedar wood。 But the doctors were hardly wiser then than they are now； and after prescribing rest and exercise； starvation and nourishment； society and solitude； that he should lie in bed all day and ride forty miles between lunch and dinner； together with the usual sedatives and irritants； diversified； as the fancy took them； with possets of newt’s slobber on rising； and draughts of peacock’s gall on going to bed； they left him to himself； and gave it as their opinion that he had been asleep for a week。
But if sleep it was； of what nature； we can scarcely refrain from asking； are such sleeps as these？ Are they remedial measures—trances in which the most galling memories； events that seem likely to cripple life for ever； are brushed with a dark wing which rubs their harshnes