entered; and the Princess prepared for her favourite a long
narrative of dark labyrinths and costly rooms, and of the different

impressions which the varieties of the way had made upon her. But
when they came to their train, they found every one silent and

dejected: the men discovered shame and fear in their countenances,
and the women were weeping in their tents.

What had happened they did not try to conjecture, but immediately
inquired. "You had scarcely entered into the Pyramid," said one of

the attendants, "when a troop of Arabs rushed upon us: we were too
few to resist them, and too slow to escape. They were about to

search the tents, set us on our camels, and drive us along before
them, when the approach of some Turkish horsemen put them to

flight: but they seized the Lady Pekuah with her two maids, and
carried them away: the Turks are now pursuing them by our

instigation, but I fear they will not be able to overtake them."
The Princess was overpowered with surprise and grief. Rasselas, in

the first heat of his resentment, ordered his servants to follow
him, and prepared to pursue the robbers with his sabre in his hand.

"Sir," said Imlac, "what can you hope from violence or valour? The
Arabs are mounted on horses trained to battle and retreat; we have

only beasts of burden. By leaving our present station we may lose
the Princess, but cannot hope to regain Pekuah."

In a short time the Turks returned, having not been able to reach
the enemy. The Princess burst out into new lamentations, and

Rasselas could scarcely forbear to reproach them with cowardice;
but Imlac was of opinion that the escape of the Arabs was no

addition to their misfortune, for perhaps they would have killed
their captives rather than have resigned them.

CHAPTER XXXIV - THEY RETURN TO CAIRO WITHOUT PEKUAH.
THERE was nothing to be hoped from longer stay. They returned to

Cairo, repenting of their curiosity, censuring the negligence of
the government, lamenting their own rashness, which had neglected

to procure a guard, imagining many expedients by which the loss of
Pekuah might have been prevented, and resolving to do something for

her recovery, though none could find anything proper to be done.
Nekayah retired" target="_blank" title="a.退休的；通职的">retired to her chamber, where her women attempted to

comfort her by telling her that all had their troubles, and that
Lady Pekuah had enjoyed much happiness in the world for a long

time, and might reasonably expect a change of fortune. They hoped
that some good would befall her wheresoever she was, and that their

mistress would find another friend who might supply her place.
The Princess made them no answer; and they continued the form of

condolence, not much grieved in their hearts that the favourite was
lost.

Next day the Prince presented to the Bassa a memorial of the wrong
which he had suffered, and a petition for redress. The Bassa

threatened to punish the robbers, but did not attempt to catch
them; nor indeed could any account or description be given by which

he might direct the pursuit.
It soon appeared that nothing would be done by authority.

Governors being accustomed to hear of more crimes than they can
punish, and more wrongs than they can redress, set themselves at

ease by indiscriminate negligence, and presently forget the request
when they lose sight of the petitioner.

Imlac then endeavoured to gain some intelligence by private agents.
He found many who pretended to an exact knowledge of all the haunts

of the Arabs, and to regular correspondence with their chiefs, and
who readilyundertook the recovery of Pekuah. Of these, some were

furnished with money for their journey, and came back no more; some
were liberally paid for accounts which a few days discovered to be

false. But the Princess would not suffer any means, however
improbable, to be left untried. While she was doing something, she

kept her hope alive. As one expedient failed, another was
suggested; when one messenger returned unsuccessful, another was

despatched to a different quarter.
Two months had now passed, and of Pekuah nothing had been heard;

the hopes which they had endeavoured to raise in each other grew
more languid; and the Princess, when she saw nothing more to be

tried, sunk down inconsolable in hopeless dejection. A thousand
times she reproached herself with the easy compliance by which she

permitted her favourite to stay behind her. "Had not my fondness,"
said she, "lessened my authority, Pekuah had not dared to talk of

her terrors. She ought to have feared me more than spectres. A
severe look would have overpowered her; a peremptory command would

have compelled obedience. Why did foolish indulgenceprevail upon
me? Why did I not speak, and refuse to hear?"

"Great Princess," said Imlac, "do not reproach yourself for your
virtue, or consider that as blameable by which evil has

accidentally been caused. Your tenderness for the timidity of
Pekuah was generous and kind. When we act according to our duty,

we commit the events to Him by whose laws our actions are governed,
and who will suffer none to be finally punished for obedience.

When, in prospect of some good, whether natural or moral, we break
the rules prescribed us, we withdraw from the direction of superior

wisdom, and take all consequences upon ourselves. Man cannot so
far know the connection of causes and events as that he may venture

to do wrong in order to do right. When we pursue our end by lawful
means, we may always console our miscarriage by the hope of future

recompense. When we consult only our own policy, and attempt to
find a nearer way to good by over-leaping the settled boundaries of

right and wrong, we cannot be happy even by success, because we
cannot escape the consciousness of our fault; but if we miscarry,

the disappointment is irremediably embittered. How comfortless is
the sorrow of him who feels at once the pangs of guilt and the

vexation of calamity which guilt has brought upon him!
"Consider, Princess, what would have been your condition if the

Lady Pekuah had entreated to accompany you, and, being compelled to
stay in the tents, had been carried away; or how would you have

borne the thought if you had forced her into the Pyramid, and she
had died before you in agonies of terror?"

"Had either happened," said Nekayah, "I could not have endured life
till now; I should have been tortured to madness by the remembrance

of such cruelty, or must have pined away in abhorrence of myself."
"This, at least," said Imlac, "is the present reward of virtuous

conduct, that no unluckyconsequence can oblige us to repent it."
CHAPTER XXXV - THE PRINCESS LANGUISHES FOR WANT OF PEKUAH.

NEKAYAH, being thus reconciled to herself, found that no evil is
insupportable but that which is accompanied with consciousness of

wrong. She was from that time delivered from the violence of
tempestuous sorrow, and sunk into silent pensiveness and gloomy

tranquillity. She sat from morning to evening recollecting all
that had been done or said by her Pekuah, treasured up with care

every trifle on which Pekuah had set an accidental value, and which
might recall to mind any little incident or careless conversation.

The sentiments of her whom she now expected to see no more were
treasured in her memory as rules of life, and she deliberated to no

other end than to conjecture on any occasion what would have been
the opinion and counsel of Pekuah.

The women by whom she was attended knew nothing of her real
condition, and therefore she could not talk to them but with

caution and reserve. She began to remit her curiosity, having no
great desire to collect notions which she had no convenience of

uttering. Rasselas endeavoured first to comfort and afterwards to
divert her; he hired musicians, to whom she seemed to listen, but

did not hear them; and procured masters to instruct her in various
arts, whose lectures, when they visited her again, were again to be

repeated. She had lost her taste of pleasure and her ambition of
excellence; and her mind, though forced into short excursions,

always recurred to the image of her friend.
Imlac was every morning earnestly enjoined to renew his inquiries,

and was asked every night whether he had yet heard of Pekuah; till,
not being able to return the Princess the answer that she desired,

he was less and less willing to come into her presence. She
observed his backwardness, and commanded him to attend her. "You

are not," said she, "to confoundimpatience with resentment, or to
suppose that I charge you with negligence because I repine at your

unsuccessfulness. I do not much wonder at your absence. I know
that the unhappy are never pleasing, and that all naturally avoid

the contagion of misery. To hear complaints is wearisome alike to
the wretched and the happy; for who would cloud by adventitious

grief the short gleams of gaiety which life allows us, or who that
is struggling under his own evils will add to them the miseries of