“I will not, my Imogen, I will never desert you. One fate shall attend us both. And if you are called to calamity, to torture, and to death, Edwin will not be supine and inactive.” “Oh, now,” cried she, her eyes moistened with rapture, “I recognize my noble and gallant swain. Come then, and let us fly. If we must encounter peril and disaster, what avails it to suspend the trial for a few niggard hours? This, my friend, my guardian,—this is the time—Now the master dragon sleeps—Roderic is now unconscious and distant—and I fear him too much to apprehend any thing from a meaner adversary—Let us fly—let us escape—let our speed outstrip the rapid winds!”
During their conversation, the heavens had been covered with clouds, and the rain descended with violence. But the change had not been noticed by Imogen. “Well then, my fair one, we will depart. What though the wind whistles along the heath, and the rain patters among the elms? We will defy their fury. Let us go! But, ah, my Imogen, look there! The hinds are flying across the plain for shelter; and see! two of them approach to the clump of trees directly before us on the outside of the garden. No, shepherdess, it is in vain that we resolve, and in vain that we struggle: we cannot escape.”
The mind of Imogen was now wrought up to the extremest distress. Her heart was wrung with anguish. She was ready to charge the immortals with conspiring against her, had not her piety forbad it. She saw the reality of what Roderic stated, and yet she was ready to charge him with raising eternal obstacles. She cast upon him a look of despair and agony. But she did not read in the countenance of the imaginary shepherd congenial sentiments. “Methinks,” said she, with a voice full of reproachful blandishment, and inimitable sweetness, “methinks it is not with the tenderness of sympathy, that you tell me we must desist. Sure it is only the mist of tears through which I behold you, that makes me see the suppressed emotion of pleasure in your countenance. No, it is not in the heart of Edwin to harbour for a moment the sentiments of barbarity and insult—But if we cannot now escape—if the dangers to which we must submit may be diminished by delay—indeed, Edwin, something must be attempted—at least let us now fix upon a plan, and determine what to do. Let not delay relax the spirit of enterprise, or shake the firmness of our purpose.”