Full text of "Glenarvon"

See other formats

<0Wat/.^ 


/^•/^j 


/        /£  &x-^    SSl-  CI^^l- 


1  IBRAHY 

OF   THL 
UN  IVLR^SITY 
OF    ILLINOIS 


leu 
v.  2. 


The  person  charging  this  material  is  re- 
sponsible for  its  return  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 

Theft,  mutilation,  and  underlining  of  books 
are  reasons  for  disciplinary  action  and  may 
result   in   dismissal   from   the  University. 

UNIVERSITY    OF     ILLINOIS    LIBRARY    AT    URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


1AR !  9  f 


SEP  2 

Mot 


,Z0  .  9G 

m 


GLMAiiT  Oil  , 


y? 


'VD'LSi. 


*& 


■  rtw  tZ, 


/,,  vio 


^/tfotr-M*  m& 


!,()>'!)  0>^9 


PUBULSHEB    1-v    II^RV    COIJRUKH 


GLENARVON. 


IN    THREE    VOLUMES. 


VOL.  II. 


Les  passions  sont  les  vents  qui  enflent  les  voiles  du  vais- 
seau:  elles  le  submergent  quelquefois,  mais  sans  elles  il  ne 
pourroit  voguer.  Tout  est  dangereux  ici-bas,  et  tout  est 
necessaire. 


®\)itt>    @ti(tton. 


LONDON. 

PRIN1ED  FOR  HENRY  COLBURN,  CONDUIT  STREET. 

1816. 


London  :  Printed  Dy  Schulze  and  Dean. 
13,  Poland  Street. 


GLENARVON 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  the  morning  Calantha  beheld  crowds 
of  discontented  catholics  who  thronged 
the  outer  courts  waiting  to  see  her  father. 
Petitions  for  redress  were  thrown  in  at 
the  windows ;  and  whilst  they  were  at 
breakfast,  Sir  Everard  entering*  without 
even  waiting  to  see  who  was  present, 
asked  eagerly  if  the.  Duke  were  at  home : 
he,  at  the  same  moment  gave  a  huge  paper 
closely  written,  into  the  hands  of  one  of 
the  servants,  desiring  it  to  be  instantly 
delivered  to  the  Duke;  "  and  tell  him, 
sir,"  vociferated  the  doctor,  "  it  is  my 
case  written  out  clear,  as  he  commanded 
— that  which  I  had  the  honour  to  present 
to  him  t'other  day,  when  he  had  not  lei- 
sure to  look  upon  it:"  then  turning  round, 
Vol.  II,  B 


"Z  GLENARVON, 

and  seeing  Calantha,  "  By  my  soul/'  he 
exclaimed,  "if  here  ain't  my  own  dear 
Lady  Calantha;  and  God  be  praised  Ma- 
dam, you  are  come  amongst  us ;  for  the 
devil  and  all  is  broke  loose  since  you've 
been  away.  Let's  look  at  you :  well,  and 
you  are  as  tall  and  handsome  as  ever ;  but 
I — Oh!  Lady  Calantha  Delaval,  begging 
your  pardon,  what  a  miserable  wretch  am 
I  become.  Lord  help  me,  and  deliver 
me.  Lord  help  us  all,  in  unmerited  af- 
fliction." 

Calantha  had  not  heard  of  SirEverard's 
misfortunes;  and  was  really  afraid  to  ask 
him  what  had  occurred.  He  held  her 
hand,  and  wept  so  audibly,  that  she  al- 
ready saw  some  of  those  present  turning 
away,  least  they  should  not  be  able  to 
conceal  their  laughter :  his  strange  gestures 
were  indeed  a  hard  trial.  "  Be  pacified, 
calm  yourself  my  good  Doctor,"  said  Mrs. 
Seymour,  giving  him  a  chair:  "  Heaven 
forfend,"  said  Sir  Everard:  "  Nature, 
Madam }  will  have  a  vent.   I  am  the  most 


©LENARVON.  O 

miserable  man  alive :  I  am  undone,  you 
well  know ;  but  Lord !  this  dear  child 
knows  little  if  any  thing  about  it.  Oh ! 
I  am  a  mere  nothing  now  in  the  uni- 
verse/' Gondimar,  with  a  smile,  assured 
Sir  Everard  that  could  never  be  the  case, 
whilst  he  retained,  unimpaired,  that  full 
rotundity  of  form.  "  Sir,  are  you  here?0 
cried  the  Doctor  fiercely:  "  but  it  is  of 
small  importance.  I  am  no  longer  the 
soft  phlegmatic  being  you  left  me.  lam 
a  wild  beast,  Sir — a  dangerous  animal.— 
Away  with  your  scoffs.— I  will  fight,  Sir 
— murder,  Sir — aye,  and  smile  whilst  I 
murder/ ■ 

There  was  something  in  these  words 
which  turned  Lady  Margaret's  cheeks  to 
a  deadly  pale ;  but  the  Doctor,  who  had 
sought  for  forcible  expressions  alone, 
without  the  least  heeding  the  application, 
continued  to  storm  and  to  rage.  "  Fm  a 
man,"  he  cried,  "  accustomed  to  suffer- 
ings and  to  insult.  Would  you  credit  it 
dear  Lady  Calantha:  can  you  comprehend 
b  2 


4  GLENARVON. 

itj? — that  lawless  gang — those  licentioui 
democrats — those  rebellious  libertines, 
have  imposed  on  the  inordinate  folly  of 
my  wife  and  daughters,  who,  struck  mad, 
like  Agave  in  the  orgies  of  Bacchus,  are 
running  wild  about  the  country,  their 
hair  dishevelled,  their  heads  ornamented 
with  green  cockades,  and  Lady  St.  Clare, 
to  the  shame  of  her  sex  and  me,  the  pro- 
perty of  a  recruiting  serjeant,  employed 
by  one  of  that  nest  of  serpents  at  the  ab- 
bey, to  delude  others,  and  all  I  believe, 
occasioned  by  that  arch  fiend,  Glenar- 
von." 

"  Oh!"  cried  Gerald  Mac  Allain,  who 
was  in  attendance  at  the  breakfast  table, 
"  saving  your  honour's  pardon  the  young 
Lord  of  Glenarvon  has  been  the  cause  of 
my  two  brave  boys  being  saved  from  the 
gallows.  I  will  rather  lose  my  life,  than 
stand  to  hear  him  called  an  arch  fiend." 
"  He  is  one,  old  Gerald,  whether  you  or 
I  call  him  so  or  no.  Witness  how,  the 
other  night,  he  set  the  rabble  with  their 


GLENARVON 


torches  to  burning  Mr.  O'Flarney's  barns* 
and  stealing  his  sheep  and  oxen  and  all 
his  goods/'  "  Och  it's  my  belief  the 
Rector  of  Belfont,  when  he  comes,  will 
speak  a  word  for  him  thoft,"  returned 
Gerald  Mac  Allai  n ;  "  for,  save  the  presence 
of  the  Duke,  who  is  not  here  to  hear  me, 
he  has  been  our  guard  and  defence  all  the 
while  his  grace's  honour  has  been  out  of 
the  kingdom."  "  Curses  light  upon  him 
and  his  gang,"  cried  Sir  Everard,  furi- 
ously. Are  not  Miss  Laura  and  Miss  Jes- 
sica after  him  at  this  very  time,  and  my 
pretty  niece,  my  young,  my  dear  Elinor, 
and  Lady  St.  Clare,  more  crazy  than  all, 
is  not  she  following  him  about  as  if  he 
were  some  god  ?" 

"  The  whole  country  are  after  him," 
cried  Gerald  Mac  Allain,  enthusiastically: 
"  Tis  a  rage,  a  fashion."  "  Tis  a  phren- 
zy,"  returned  the  Doctor, — "  a  pestilence 
which  has  fallen  on  the  land,  and  all  it  is 
my  belief,  because  the  stripling  has  not 
one  christian  principle,  or  habit  in  him: 


6  GLENARVON. 

he  is  a  heathen/'  "  If  it  is  the  young 
Glenarvon,"  said  Gondimar,  approaching 
the  irritated  Doctor,  "  he  is  my  friend." 
"  Do  not  I  beseech  you,  bring  any  of 
your  knock  me  down  arguments  to  me, 
Sir.  His  being  your  friend,  only  gives 
in  my  opinion*"  a  blacker  shade  to  his 
character,  "  Sir,  I  hate  personal  at- 
tacks." "  A  blow  tbat  hits,  Count,  and 
a  cap  that  fits,  are  sure  to  make  the 
sufferer  look  foolish,  excessively  foolish : 
I  never  believed  in  baseness  and 
malignity  till  I  knew  the  Count  Gondi- 
mar." "  Nor  I  in  arrogance  and  stupi- 
dity, till  I  knew  Sir  Everard."  "  Count, 
you  are  the  object  of  my  astonishment." 
"  And  you,  Sir,  of  my  derision."  "  Ita- 
lian, I  despise  you."  "  I  should  only  feel 
mortified,  if  Sir  Everard  did  otherwise." 
"  The  contempt,  Sir,  of  the  meanest, 
cannot  be  a  matter  of  triumph."  "  It  is 
a  mark  of  wisdom,  to  be  proud  of  the 
scorn  of  fools."  Passion  makes  me 
mad."      "  Sir,  you   were  that  before." 


GLENERVON.  7 

"  I  shall  forget  myself."      "  I  wish  you 
would  permit  me  to  do  so/' 

"  A  truce  to  these  quarrels,  good 
doctor/'  said  the  Duke,  who  had  entered 
the  room  during  the  latter  part  of  the  dis- 
cussion. "  I  have  been  reading  some 
papers  of  a  very  serious  nature;  and  1 
am  sorry  to  say  it  appears  from  them 
that  Sir  Everard  has  very  great  cause  for 
his  present  irritation  of  mind:  he  is  an 
aggrieved  man.  This  Lord  Glenarvon, 
or  whatever  the  young  gentleman  styles 
himself,  has  acted  in  a  manner  not  only 
unjustifiable,  but  such  as  I  am  afraid  will 
ultimately  lead  to  his  entire  ruin.  Count 
Gondimar,  I  have  often  heard  you  speak 
of  this  unfortunate  young  man,  with 
more  than  common  interest.  Could  not 
you  make  use  of  your  friendship  and  in- 
timacy with  him,  to  warn  him  of  the  dan- 
ger of  his  present  conduct,  and  lead  him 
from  the  society  of  his  worthless  associ- 
ates. He  seems  to  be  acting  under  the 
influence  of  a  mad  infatuation. "  Gondimar 
b  4 


8  GLENARVON. 

assured  the  Duke  that  he  had  no  sort  of 
influence  with  the  young  Lord.     "  Read 
these  papers,  at  your  leisure/'  said  the 
Duke:    "  they  are  statements,  you  will 
find,  of  a  number  of  outrages  committed 
by  himself  and  his  followers,  on  people 
highly  respectable  and  utterly  defence- 
less.    For  the  common  follies  of  youth, 
there  is  much  excuse ;   but  nothing  can 
palliate  repeated  acts  of  licentious  wick- 
edness and  unprovoked  cruelty.     I  am 
inclined  to    believe  these  accounts  are 
much  exaggerated ;  but  the  list  of  griev- 
ances is  large ;  and  the  petitioners  for  re- 
dress are  many  of  them  my  most  worthy 
and  long-tried  servants,   at  the  head  of 
whom  O'Flarney's  name  is  to  be  found." 
"  No,  my  Lord, — mine  is  at  the  head 
of  the  list,"  cried  the  doctor;    "  and  in 
every  other  part  of  it,  no  injuries  can  be 
equal  to  mine.  What  are  barns,  pigs,  fire- 
arms,  compared   to  a  father's  wrongs — 
a  husband's  injuries.     Ah,  consider  my 
case  first.  Restore  Miss  St.  Clare,  and  I  will 


GLENARVON*  9 

be  pacified.  Why  do  I  raise  laughter 
by  my  cry  ?  It  is  my  niece,  my  favourite 
child,  who  has  been  taken  from  me/' 
44  Pray  explain  to  me  seriously,  Sir," 
said  Lady  Augusta,  approaching  the  doc- 
tor, with  much  appearance  of  interest, 
41  how  came  your  family  to  fall  into  the 
unfortunate  situation  to  which  you  al- 
lude?" "  How  came  they,"  said  the 
Count?  can  you  ask,  when  you  see  Sir 
Everardatthe  head  of  it?"  "  Madam," 
said  the  Doctor  with  equal  solemnity, 
"  this  momentous  crisis  has  been  ap- 
proaching some  time.  St.  Clara,  as  we 
called  her,  my  most  lovely  and  interest- 
ing Elinor's  affections  have  long  been 
seduced.  We  all  knew,  lamented  and 
concealed  the  circumstance.  The  old 
lady's  conduct,  however,  was  quite  an 
unexpected  blow.  But  since  they  took  to 
their  nocturnal  rambles  to  St.  Mary's,  St. 
Alvin's,  and  all  the  saints  around,  their 
sanctity  has  not  been  much  mended  that 

b  & 


10  GLENARVON. 

I  see,  and  their  wits  are  fairly  overset. 
My  own  disgrace  I  can  easily  support: 
but  oh  my  Elinor ! 

"  What  nocturnal  meetings  have  taken 
place  at  St.  Mary's  and  St.  Alvin's?"  said 
Lady  Trelawney,  with  a  face  of  eager  cu- 
riosity. "  The  discontented  flock  toge- 
ther in  shoals,"  said  the  Doctor,  indig- 
nantly, "  till  by  their  machinations,  they 
will  overturn  the  State.  At  Bel  font,  op- 
posite my  very  window, — aye,  even  in 
that  great  square  house  which  Mr.  Ochal- 
lavan  built,  on  purpose  to  obstruct  Lady 
St.  Clare's  view,  have  they  not  set  up  a 
library?  The  Lord  help  me.  And  was  it 
not  there  I  first  saw  that  accursed  pamphlet 
Lord  Glenarvon  wrote ;  which  rhapsody 
did  not  I  myself  immediately  answer? 
Lady  Calantha,  strange  things  have  oc- 
curred since  your  departure.  General 
Kennedy,  commander  of  the  district, 
cannot  keep  his  men.  Cattle  walk  out 
of  the  paddocks  of  themselves:  women, 
children,  pigs,  wander  after  Glenarvon; 


GLENARVON.  1 I 

and  Miss  Elinor,  forgetful  of  her  old 
father,  my  dear  mad  brother,  her  aunt, 
her  religion,  and  all  else,  to  the  scandal 
of  every  one  in  their  senses,  heads  the 
rabble.  They  have  meetings  under 
ground,  and  over  ground ;  out  at  sea,  and 
in  the  caverns:  no  one  can  stop  the 
infection :  the  poison  is  inthe  fountain  of 
life ;  and  our  very  persons  and  estates  are 
no  longer  in  safety.  You  know  not, 
you  cannot  know,  what  work  we  have  had 
since  you  last  left  us,"  Sir  Everard 
paused,  and  then  taking  a  couple  of 
pamphlets  from  his  pocket,  entreated 
Galantha  to  peruse  them.  "  Cast  your 
eye  over  these,"  he  said :  "  I  wrote  them 
in  haste ;  they  are  mere  sketches  of  my 
sentiments;  but  lam  going  to  publish. 
Oh !  when  you  see  what  I  am  now  going 
to  publish.  It  is  intituled  a  refutation  of 
all  that  has  or  may  be  said  by  the  dis- 
affected, in  or  out  of  the  kingdom. 


12  GLENARVON, 


CHAPTER  II 


The  party  at  the  castle  had  postponed 
their  visit  to  St.  Alvin  Priory  till  the  feast 
of  St.  Kathereen  and  St.  Mary,  which 
in  that  neighbourhood  was  always  cele- 
brated with  much  observance.  A  fair 
was  held  upon  the  downs  in  honour 
of  these  two  martyrs.  The  rocks  near 
which  the  ruins  of  the  convent  stood* 
were  called  the  Black  Sisters,  and  it  was 
there  and  in  the  Wizard's  Glen,  which 
stretched  from  the  top  to  the  foot  of  the 
mountain,  that  the  meetings  of  the  dis- 
contented had  been  held.  The  day  proved 
fair  ;  and  at  an  early  hour  the  carriages 
and  horses  were  in  attendance.  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour and  many  others  declined  being  of 
the  party  ;  but  Lady  Margaret  took  Gon- 
dimar's  arm  with  a  smile  of  good  hu- 
mour, which  she  could  at  times  put  on, 


©LENARTON.  13 

Buchanan  drove  Calantha  in  his  barouch. 
Sir  Everard  rode  by  Calantha's  side  on  a 
lowly  white  palfrey,  as  if  to  protect  her. 
Lady  Mandeville  was  with  her  ;  and  Lady 
Trelawney  took  Sophia*and  Lady  Augusta 
Selwyn  in  her  carriage.  The  rest  of  the 
gentlemen  were  some  on  horseback  and 
some  in  curricles. 

The  whole  country  smiled  around. 
There  were  ringers,  and  pipers,  and  hur- 
lers  upon  the  down .  The  cliff,  towards 
the  sea,  was  covered  with  booths  and 
tents.  Flocks,  herds  and  horses  had 
been  brought  from  far  for  sale,  orna- 
mented with  ribbands  ;  green  being  the 
favourite  colour.  Scarcely  ever  was  wit- 
nessed a  scene  more  gay.  This,  and  the 
vessels  laden  with  fish,  crow  ding  into  the 
harbour  below,  and  the  high  mountains 
beyond,  struck  even  the  Italian,  whose 
eyes  had  been  accustomed  to  all  that 
nature  can  produce  of  picturesque  and 
majestic.  The  beauty  of  the  girls,  with 
their  long  blue  mantles  thrown  aside 


14  GLENARVON. 

from  their  shoulders,  their  dark  hair  fas- 
tened behind  with  a  knot  of  ribband,  was 
the  subject  of  discussion.  Comparisons 
of  the  difference  of  form  between  one 
nation  and  another  arose.  All  descended 
from  their  carriages  and  horses.  Lady 
Mandeville  repeated  poetry  ;  Gondimar 
became  sentimental  ;  Buchanan  looked 
at  the  horses,  enquired  their  prices,  and 
soon  joined  the  hurlers,  in  whose  combat 
he  grew  so  much  interested,  that  no  one 
could  draw  him  from  thence  until  the 
moment  when  they  left  the  fair,  where 
they  remained  till  they  were  all  much 
fatigued. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at  so  im- 
mensely }"  cried  Lady  Augusta  Selwyn, 
approaching  Lord  Trewlawney,  who  was 
nearly  enclosed  in  a  circle  of  some  hun- 
dreds. The  moment  Lady  Augusta  ap- 
proached, with  a  courtesy  seldom  seen 
but  in  Ireland,  the  crowd  made  way  for 
her.  "  I  am  listening,"  he  said,  "  to  a 
preacher-— a  most  capital  preacher,  whom 


GLENARVON.  15 

they  call  Cowdel  O'Kelly.  Only  observe 
him  :  what  a  rogue  it  is,  with  that  hypo- 
critic  mildness  of  manner,  that  strait 
black  hair,  that  presbyterian  stiffness 
and  simplicity. "  "  Bat  what  is  he  say- 
ing ?"  enquired  Lady  Augusta.  The 
preacher,  standing  upon  a  cart,  was  de- 
livering an  exhortation  in  a  very  emphatic 
manner,  to  a  vast  concourse  of  attentive 
hearers.  The  presence  of  the  party  from 
the  Castle  had  no  effect  upon  him  :  he 
was  inveighing  against  the  insolence  of 
his  superiors  in  rank,  and  pleading  in 
favour  of  the  rights  of  man. 

When  he  had  concluded  his  discourse, 
the  crowd  dispersed,  some  laughing  at 
him,  and  some  edified  by  his  dis- 
course. O'Kelly  looked  after  them  : — 
"  That  is  the  way  of  the  world/'  he  said : 
"  it  gets  all  it  can  from  a  man,  and  then  it 
leaves  him  ;  but  all  that  is,  is  for  the  best ; 
therefore,  amen,  your  honours;  so  be  it/* 
Lord  TreJawney  laughed  to  an  excess. 
"  Yourname," hesaid,"Itake it,itisCow- 


16  GLENARYON. 

del  O'Kelly."    •«  If  you  take  it  to  be  my 
name,  your  honour  can't  be  any  ways 
wrong  in  calling  me  by  it ;  but  I   call 
myself  citizen  Wailman."     "  And  why 
the  devil,   my  honest  friend,  do  you  call 
yourself  so?"     "  To  please  myself,   and 
trick  my  master."     "  And  pray  who  is 
your  master?"     "   When   I  know   that 
Til  let  you  know."  "  What !    not  know 
your    master  ?"     "  Why    what    master 
knows  his  servant  ?   There's  nothing  ex- 
traordinary in  that,  my  Lord."     "  But 
pray,  my  good  citizen  Wailman,  where 
do  you  live,  and  where  does  your  master 
live  ?"  "  I  live  where  I  can,  your  honour; 
and  as  to  my  master,  every  one  knows  he 
lives  under  ground,  in  the  family  vault." 
"  Is  he  dead  then*  or  what  can  he  be 
doing  under  ground  ?"  said  Lady   Tre- 
lawney.     "  Looking  for  friends,  Miss,  1 
believe  ;  for  he  has  none,  that  I  see,  above 
board."     "  I  am  sure  this  is  a  rebel  in 
disguise,"    whispered    lady  Trelawney. 
Her  Lord  laughed. 


SLENARVOtf.  Mi 

A  beautiful  little  boy  now  pushing  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  plainly  pro- 
nounced the  words,  "  O'Kelly,  come 
home  ;  I  am  very  tired/'  The  man,  has- 
tily descending  from  the  cart,  called  him 
his  young  prince  —  his  treasure  ;  and 
lifted  him  up  in  his  arms.  "  He  is  about 
the  same  age  as  Harry  Mowbrey,"  said 
Calantha,  "  and  very  like  him."  What 
is  your  name,  my  pretty  child  ?"  "  Clare 
of  Costolly,"  said  the  boy ;  "and  it  should 
by  rights  be  Lord  Clare — should  it  not, 
O'Kelly  ?"  As  he  spoke,  he  smiled  and 
put  his  little  rosy  hands  to  O'Kelly's 
mouth,  who  kissed  them,  and  making  a 
slight  bow  would  have  retired.  "  What, 
are  you  going  ?  will  you  not  stay  a  mo- 
ment ?"  "I  fear  I  intrude  too  much  on 
your  honour's  time."  "  Not  in  the  least — 
not  in  the  least,  good  Mister  Wailman  ; 
pray  stay  a  little  longer."  "  Why,  fair 
and  honest,  if  I  don't  intrude  too  much 
on  your  time,  my  Lord,  you  do  on  mine  ; 
and  so  your  servant." 


18  GLENARVON. 

V  I  really  believe  he  belongs  to  the 
abbey,"  said  Lady  Trelawney,  who  had 
re-entered  jier  barouche,  and  was  driving 
with  the  rest. of  the  party  towards  St. 
Alvju  -Priory.  -".See  how  he  steals  along 
by  the  cliff in  ,the  same  direction  we  are, 
going."  "It  was  a  lovely  child,"  said  Lady 
Augusta,  "  but  to  be  sure  no  more  like 
Harry  ;  only  Lady  Avondale  is  always  in 
the  seventh  heaven  of  romance."  "  Look, 
pray  look,"  interrupted  Frances  :  "  I  as- 
sure you  that  is  Sir  Everard  St.  Clare's 
wife,  and  Lauriana  and  Jessica  are  with 
her.  I  am  certain  of  it,"  she  continued, 
throwing  herself  nearly  out  of  the  car- 
riage to  gaze  upon  them.  Lord  Trelaw- 
ney was  extremely  diverted.  "  And 
there  is  the  recruiting  serjeant :  only  ob- 
serve the  manner  in  which  they  are 
habited."  The  two  unhappy  girls,  drest 
in  the  most  flaunting  attire,  singing  in 
chorus  the  song  of  liberty,  both  covered 
with  green  ribbands,  were  walking  in 
company  with  a  vast  number  of  young 


GLENARVON.  19 

men,  most  of  them  intoxicated,  and  all 
talking  and  laughing  loudly.  Calantha 
begged  Buchanan  to  stop  the  carriage, 
that  she  also  might  see  them  pass :  which 
they  did,  marching  to  the  sound  of  the 
drum  and  fife  :  but  her  heart  sickened 
when  she  saw  the  beautiful  recluse  of 
Glenaa  amongst  them.  Elinor  came 
near  :  she  raised  her  full  black  eye,  and 
gazed  with  fearless  effrontery  upon  Ca- 
lantha. 

It  was  the  same  face  she  had  seen  a 
few  years  back  at  the  convent :  but  alas, 
how  changed ; — the  rich  and  vivid  crim- 
son of  her  cheek,  the  deep  dark  brown 
of  the  wild  ringlets  which  waved  above 
her  brow,  the  bold  masculine  manners 
and  dress  she  had  assumed,  contrasted 
strongly  with  the  slender  beauty  of  her 
upright  form.  She  was  clrest  in  uniform, 
and  walked  by  the  side  of  a  young  man, 
whose  pale  and  thoughtful  countenance 
struck  every  one.  Elinor  appeared  des- 
perate and  utterly  hardened  :    her  pre- 


20  GLENARVON. 

sence  inspired  Calantha  with  a  mixed 
feeling  of  horror  and  commiseration, 
which  Lady  St.  Clare's  ludicrous  figure, 
and  Jessica  and  Lauriana's  huge  and 
clumsy  personages  turned  into  disgust. 

"  Oh  did  you  behold  her  ? — did  you 
see  my  poor  deluded  Elinor  ?"  cried  Sir 
Everard,  riding  up  to  Calantha,  as  she 
still  gazed  from  the  open  carriage  upon 
the  procession:  "  did  you  see  my  unfor- 
tunate girls  ?"  "  I  did,  indeed,"  said 
Lady  Avondale,  the  tears  springing  into 
her  eyes:  "  I  saw  them  and  stopped;  for 
it  occurred  to  me,  that,  perhaps,  I  might 
speak  to  them — might  yet  save  them." 
"  And  would  you  have  condescended 
so  much  ?  Oh  !  this  is  more  than  I 
dared  to  ask  or  hope."  Saying  which, 
the  Doctor  w$pt,  as  was  his  custom, 
and  Buchanan  laughed.  "  You  are  so 
good,"  continued  he,  "  you  were  in  tears 
when  you  saw  your  former  playmates 
disgracing  themselves,  and  their  sex  ; 
but  in  the  rest  of  the  carriages  I  heard 


GLENARVON.  21 

nothing  but  jesting  and  loud  laughter. 
And  oh !  would  you  credit  it,  can  you 
believe  it,  Lady  St.  Clare  had  the  auda- 
city to  drop  me  a  courtesy  as  she  passed." 
"  Was  the  tall  young  man,  who  was 
walking  by   the  side  of  Elinor,   Cyrel 
Linden  ?"     "  It  was  the  same,"  cried  the 
Doctor — "gone  mad  like  the  rest,  though 
they  tell  me  it  is  all  for  the  love  of  Miss 
Alice  ;    and  that  since   her   loss,   he  is 
grown  desperate,    and    cares  not  what 
becomes  of  him.      They'll   be  hang'd, 
however  ;  that  is  one  consolation — Lady 
St.  Clare,  as  well  as  the  rest.     Indeed," 
cried  he,  drawing  closer,  "  I  am  credibly 
informed  that  the  officers  of  justice  have 
an  eye  upon  them,  and  wait  only  for  fur 
ther  evidence  of  their  treasonable  prac- 
tices, before  they  secure  them."  During 
this  discourse,  the  carriage  drove  slowly 
up  the  hill;    but  soon  proceeding  at  a 
brisker  pace,  the  Doctor  was  obliged  to 
draw  in  his  steed  and  retire.     The  party 
now  entered  the  park. 


22  GLENARTON, 


CHAPTER   III. 


Belfont  Abbey  and  St.  Alvin's  ruined 
Priory  appeared  in  view.  The  ivy 
climbed  around  the  turret ;  and  the  grass 
grew  upon  the  paved  courts,  where  deso- 
lation and  long  neglect  prevailed.  At  a 
distance  from  the  convent,  a  ruin,  a  lone- 
ly pile  stood  upon  the  cliff  in  solitary 
grandeur.  Not  a  tree,  nor  any  appearance 
of  cultivation  was  seen  around  :  barren 
moors,  the  distant  mountains,  and  the 
vast  ocean,  every  where  filled  the  eye. 
The  servants  rang  at  the  bell  of  the  outer 
gate  :  it  resounded  through  the  vaulted 
passages  with  a  long  repeated  echo. — 
A  boy  immediately  answered  the  sum- 
mons ;  and  with  a  look  of  stupid  asto- 
nishment, waited  in  expectation  of  their 
commands. 

Buchanan  enquired  of  the  boy,  if  they 


GLENARVON.  23 

might  see  the  Priory.  "I  suppose  so/'  was 
his  reply.  And  without  further  preamble, 
they  alighted.  "  It  must  be  rather  me- 
lancholy to  live  here  during  the  winter 
months,"  said  Calantha  to  the  boy,  as 
she  passed  him.  "  And  summer  too," 
he  answered.  "  We  are  told,"  said 
Frances,  "  that  this  Priory  is  haunted  by 
ghosts :  have  you  ever  seen  any  i"  He 
shook  his  head.  "  I  hears  them  some- 
times, an*  please  your  honour,"  he  said  ; 
but  I  never  meddles  with  them,  so  they 
never  comes  after  me  as  I  see."  Are  you 
going  to  shew  us  the  house  ?"  cried  Sir 
Everard  advancing ;  or,  if  not,  why  do 
you  keep  us  waiting  in  this  dark  passage? 
go  on ;  we  are  in  haste."  The  boy,  pro- 
ceeding towards  an  inner  apartment, 
knocked  at  the  door,  calling  to.  the 
housekeeper,  and  telling  her  that  there 
was  company  below  who  wished  to  take 
the  round  of  the  castle.  The  old  dame 
courtesying  low,  in  a  mysterious  manner, 


24  GLENARYON. 

led  the  way :  the  boy  immediately  re- 
treated. 

Calantha  was  much  tired  ;  her  spirits 
had  undergone  a  severe  shock  ;  and  the 
sight  of  Linden  and  St.  Clara,  as  she  wai 
still  called,  made  an  impression  upon  her 
she  scarcely  could  account  for.  The 
gaiety  of  the  dresses,  the  fineness  of  the 
evening,  the  chorus  of  voices  laughing  and 
singing  as  they  marched  along,  indifferent 
apparently  to  their  future  fate — perhaps, 
hardened  and  insensible  to  it — all  made 
an  impression  which  it  is  impossible  the 
description  of  the  scene  can  give  ;  but 
long  it  dwelt  in  her  remembrance.  Un- 
used to  check  herself  in  any  feeling,  she 
insisted  upon  remaining  in  front  of  the 
Castle,  whilst  the  rest  of  the  party  ex- 
plored its  secret  mysteries  and  recesses. 
"I  am  sure  you  are  frightened/'  said  Lord 
Trelawney ;  "  but  perhaps  you  will  have 
more  cause  than  we :  it  looks  very  gloomy 
without,  as  well  as  within. " 

They  went,  and  she  remained  upon  the 


GLENAHYON.  25 

cliff,  watching  the  calm  sea,  and  the  boats 
at  a  distance,  as  they  passed  and  repassed 
from  the  fair .  ."And  can  a  few  short  years 
thus  harden  the  heart  ?"  she  exclaimed, 
"was  St.  Clara  innocent,  happy,  virtuous? 
Can  one  moment  of  error  thus  have  changed 
her  ?  Oh !  it  is  not  possible.  Long  before 
the  opportunity  for  evil  presented  itself, 
her  uncontrouled  passions  must  have 
misled  her,  and  her  imagination,  wild 
and  lawless,  must  have  depraved  her 
heart.  Alice  was  innocent :  he  who  first 
seduced  her  from  peace,  deceived  her ; 
but  St.  Clara  was  not  of  this  character, 
1  understand — I  think  I  understand  the 
feelings  which  impelled  her  to  evil.  Her 
image  haunts  me :  I  tremble  with  appre- 
hension. Something  within  seems  to 
warn  me,  and  to  say  that,  if  1  wander 
from  virtue,  like  her,  nothing  will  check 
my  course,  all  the  barriers,  that  others 
fear  to  overstep,  are  nothing  before  me. 
God  preserve  me  from  sin !  the  sight  of 
St.  Clara  fills  me  with  alarm.  Avondale, 
Vol.  II.  C 


26  GLENARVON. 

where  art  thou  ?  save  me.  My  course  is 
but  just  begun  :  who  knows  whither  the 
path  I  follow  leads  ?  my  will — my  un- 
governed  will,  has  been  hitherto,  my 
only  law." 

Upon  the  air  at  that  moment  she  heard 
the  soft  notes  of  a  flute.  She  listened 
attentively: — it  ceased.  There  are  times 
when  the  spirit  is  troubled;  when  the 
mind,  after  the  tumult  of  dissipated  and 
active  life,  requires  rest  and  seeks  to  be 
alone.  Then  thoughts  crowd  in  upon  us 
so  fast,  that  we  hardly  know  how  to  bear 
them  ;  conscience  reflects  upon  every 
former  action ;  and  the  heart  within 
trembles,  as  if  in  dread  of  approaching 
evil.  The  scene  around  was  calculated 
to  inspire  every  serious  reflection.  The 
awful  majesty  of  the  ruined  building,  ill 
accorded  with  the  loud  laugh  and  the 
jests  of  the  merry  party  now  entering  its 
walls.  Once  those  walls  had  been,  per- 
haps, inhabited  by  beings  as  thoughtless 
and  gay;   Where  were   they  now  ?    had 


©LENARVON.  27 

they  any  memory  of  the  past  ?  knowledge 
of  the  present  ?  or  are  they  cold,  silent, 
and  insensible  as  those  deserted  scenes  ? 
how  perishable  is  human  happiness !  what 
recollection  has  the  mind  of  any  former 
state  ?  in  the  eye  of  a  creator  can  a  mite, 
scarcely  visible,  be  worth  either  solicitude 
or  anger?  "Vain  the  presumptuous  hope," 
said  Calantha  to  herself.  "  Our  actions 
are  unobserved  by  any  but  ourselves  ;  let 
us  enjoy  what  we  can  whilst  we  are  here; 
death  only  returns  us  to  the  dust  from 
whence  we  sprung;  all  hopes,  all  interests, 
all  occupations,  are  vain  :  to  forget  is  the 
first  great  science  ;  and  to  enjoy,  the  only 
real  object  of  life.  What  happiness  is 
there  here  below,  but  in  love." 

So  reasoned  the  unhappy  victim  of  a 
false  judgment  and  strong  passion.  I 
was  blest ;  I  am  so  no  more.  The  world 
is  a  wilderness  to  me;  and  all  that  is 
in  it,  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit. 
Whilst  yet  indulging  these  fallacious 
opinions — whilst  gazing  on  the  western 
c2 


28  GLENARVON. 

turret,  and  watching  the  shadows  as  they 
varied  on  the  walls,  she  again  heard  the 
soft  notes  of  music.     It  seemed  like  the 
strains  of  other  times,  awakening  in  the 
heart  remembrances     of    some    former 
state  long  passed  and  changed.     Hope, 
love  and  fond  regret,  answered  alternately 
to  the  call.     It  was  in  the  season  of  the 
year  when  the  flowers  bloomed  :  it  was 
on  a  spot  immortalized  in  ancient  story, 
for  deeds  of  prowess  and  of  fame.     Ca- 
lantha  turned  her  eyes  upwards  and  be- 
held the   blue  vault  of  heaven  without 
a  cloud,      The  sea  was  of  that  glassy 
transparency— thatshiningbrightness,the 
air  of  that  serene  calm  that,  had  it  been 
during  the  winter  months,  some  might 
have  thought  the  halcyon  was  watching 
upon  her  nest,  and  breathing  her  soft  and 
melancholy  minstrelsy  through  the  air. 

She  endeavoured  to  rouse  herself. 
She  felt  as  if  in  a  dream,  and,  hastily 
advancing  to  the  spot  from  whence  the 
sounds  proceeded,  she   there  beheld  a 


GLENARVON.  29 


youth,  for  he  had  not  the  form  or  the 
look  of  manhood,  leaning  against  the 
trunk  of  a  tree,  playing  at  intervals  upon 
a  flute,  or  breathing,  as  if  from  a  suffer- 
ing heart,  the  sweet  melody  of  his  un- 
taught song.  He  started  not  when  she 
approached: — he  neither  saw  nor  heard 
her — so  light  was  her  airy  step,  so  fixed 
were  his  eyes  and  thoughts.  She  gazed 
for  a  moment  upon  his  countenance— 
and  she  marked  it.  It  was  one  of  those  faces 
which,  having  once  beheld,  we  never 
afterwards  forget.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
soul  of  passion  had  been  stamped  and 
printed  upon  every  feature.  The  eye 
beamed  into  life  as  it  threw  up  its  dark 
ardent  gaze,  with  a  look  nearly  of  inspi- 
ration, while  the  proud  curl  of  the  upper 
lip  expressed  haughtiness  and  bitter  con- 
tempt ;  yet,  even  mixed  with  these  fierce 
characteristic  feelings,  an  air  of  melan- 
choly and  dejection  shaded  over  and 
softened  every  harsher  expression.  Such 
c3 


30  GLENARVON. 

countenance  spoke  to  the  heart,  and  filled 
it  with  one  vague  yet  powerful  interest — 
so  strong,  so  undefinable,  that  it  could 
not  easily  be  overcome. 

Calantha  felt  the  power,  not  then 
alone,  but  evermore.  She  felt  the  em- 
pire, the  charm,  the  peculiar  charm,  those 
features,  that  being  must  have  for  her. 
She  could  have  knelt  and  prayed  to  hea- 
ven to  realize  the  dream,  to  bless  the 
fallen  angel  in  whose  presence  she  at  that 
moment  stood,  to  give  peace  to  that  soul, 
upon  which  was  plainly  stamped  the  hea- 
venly image  of  sensibility  and  genius. 
The  air  he  had  played  was  wild  and 
plaintive:  he  changed  it  to  one  more 
harsh.  She  now  distinctly  heard  the 
words  he  sung : — 

This  heart  has  never  stoop'd  its  pride 
To  slavish  love,  or  woman's  wile ; 

But,  steel' d  by  war,  has  oft  defy'd 
Her  craftiest  art  and  brightest  smile. 


GLENARVON.  31 

This  mind  has  trac'd  its  own  career, 
Nor  followed  blind,  where  others  trod; 

Nor,  mov'd  by  love,  or  hope  or  fear, 
E'er  bent  to  man,  or  worshipp'd  God. 

Then  hope  not  now  to  touch  with  love, 
Or  in  its  chains  a  heart  to  draw, 

All  earthly  spells  have  faiPd  to  move; 
And  heavVs  whole  terrors  cannot  awe: 

A  heart,  that  like  some  mountain  vast, 
And  cold  with  never-melting  gno^f, 

Sees  nought  above,  nor  deigns  to  cast 
A  look  away  on  aught  below. 

An  emotion  of  interest — something  she 
could  not  define,  even  to  herself,  had  im- 
pelled Calantha  to  remain  till  the  song 
was  ended:  a  different  feeling  now 
prompted  her  to  retire  in  haste.  She 
fled ;  nor  stopped,  till  she  again  found 
herself  opposite  the  castle  gate,  where 
she  had  been  left  by  her  companions. 

While  yet  dwelling  in  thought  upon 
the  singular  being  she  had  beheld — 
c  4 


32  GLENARVON. 

whilst  asking  herself  what  meant  this 
sudden,  this  strange  emotion,  she  found 
another  personage  by  her  side,  and  recog- 
nized, through  a  new  disguise,  her 
morning's  acquaintance,  Wailman  the 
preacher,  otherwise  called  Cowdel  O'Kelly . 
This  recontre  gave  an  immediate  turn  to 
her  thoughts,  She  enquired  of  him 
if  he  were  an  inhabitant  of  Belfont  Ab- 
bey? "  No,  madam/'  he  answered,  "but 
of  St«  Alvin  Priory."  She  desired  him 
to  inform  her  whether  any  one  resided 
there  who  sung  in  the  manner  she  then 
described.  "  Sure,  then,  I  sing  myself 
in  that  manner,"  said  the  man,  "  if  that's 
all ;  and  beside  me,  there  be  some  who 
howl  and  wail,  the  like  you  never  heard. 
Mayhap  it  is  he  you  fell  in  with ;  if  so,  it 
must  have  moved  you  to  tears." 

"  Explain  yourself,"  said  Calantha 
eagerly.  "  If  he  is  unhappy,  it  is  the 
same  I  have  seen  and  heard.  Tell  me 
what  sorrows  have  befallen  him?"  "  Sor- 
rows! why  enough  too,   to   plague  any 


GLENARVOX.  33 

man.  Has  he  not  got  the  distemper  ?" 
"  The  distemper  !"  "  Aye,  Lady?  for  did 
he  not  catch  it  sleeping  in  our  dog-ken- 
nel, as  he  stood  petrified  there  one  night, 
kilt  by  the  cold  ?  When  my  Lord  found 
him,  he  had  not  a  house  to  his  head  then, 
it  is  my  belief ;  but  now  indeed  he's  got 
one,  he's  no  wiser,  having,  as  I  think,  no 
head  to  his  house."  "  Och  !  it  would  sur- 
prise you  how  he  howls  and  barks,  when- 
ever the  moon  shines  bright.  But  here 
be  those  who  fell  on  me  at  the  fair.  In 
truth  I  believe  they  be  searching  for  the 
like  of  you." 


c   > 


34  GLENARVON, 


CHAPTER    IV 


The  party  from  the  castle  now  joined 
Calantha.  They  were  in  evident  discom- 
fiture. Their  adventures  had  been  ra- 
ther less  romantic  than  Lady  Avondale's, 
and  consequently  had  not  given  them 
such  refined  pleasure ;  for  while  she  was 
attending  to  a  strain  of  such  enchanting- 
sweetness,  they  had  been  forcibly  detained 
in  an  apartment  of  the  priory,  unwillingly 
listening  to  very  different  music. 

The  housekeeper  having  led  them 
through  the  galleries,  the  ladies,  escorted 
by  Count  Gondimar,  Lord  Trelawney 
and  Sir  Everard,  turned  to  examine  some 
of  the  portraits,  fretted  cornices  and  high 
casements,  till  the  dame  who  led  the 
way,  calling  to  them,  shewed  them  a 
large  dreary  apartment  hung  with  tape- 
stry, and  requested  them  to  observe  the 


GLENARVON.  35 

riew  from  the  window.  "  It  is  here," 
she  said,  "  in  this  chamber,  that  John  de 
Ruthven  drank  hot  blood  from  the  skull  of 
his  enemy  and  died."  A  loud  groan,  at 
that  moment,  proceeded  from  an  inner 
room.  "  That  must  be  the  ghost," 
said  Lord  Trelawney.  His  Lady  shrieked. 
The  dame,  terrified  at  Lady  Trelawney's 
terror,  returned  the  shriek  by  a  piercing 
yell,  rushed  from  the  apartment  closing 
the  heavy  door  in  haste,  which  fastened 
with  a  spring  lock,  and  left  the  company 
not  a  little  disconcerted. 

"  We  are  a  good  number,  however," 
cried  Frances,  taking  fast  hold  of  her 
Lord,  who  smiled  vacantly  upon  her. 
"  We  certainly  can  match  the  ghost  in 
point  of  strength :  but  it  is  rather  unplea- 
sant to  be  confined  here  till  that  old  wo- 
man recovers  her  senses.  Groans  most 
piteous  and  terrible  interrupted  this  re- 
mark— groans  uttered  as  if  in  the  agony 
of  a  soul  ill  at  rest.  Sophia  grasped  Sir 
Everard  St.  Clare's  hand.     Sir  Everard 


36  GLENARVON. 

looked  at  Lady  Margaret.  Lady  Marga- 
ret disdainfully  returned  the  glance."  "  I 
fear  not,"  she  said ;  "  but  we  will  assured- 
ly have  this  affair  examined.  I  shall  speak 
to  my  brother  the  moment  I  return : 
there  is  possibly  some  evil  concealed 
which  requires  investigation. "  "  Hark? 
I  hear  a  step,"  said  Frances.  "  If  I  were 
not  afraid  of  seeing  a  ghost,"  cried  Lord 
Trelawney,  "  faith,  I  would  climb  up  to 
that  small  grated  window." 

"  I  fear  no  ghosts,"  replied  Count  Gon- 
dimar,  smiling.  "  The  sun  has  not  set, 
therefore  I  defy  them  thus.— Only  take  care 
and  hold  the  stool  upon  the  table,  that  I 
may  not  break  my  neck."  "  What  do  you 
see?"  "A  large  room  lighted  by  two 
candles: — would  it  were  but  a  lamp." 
"  Truly  this  is  a  fair  beginning. — What 
is  the  matter  now  ? — why  what  the  de- 
vil is  the  matter  ? — If  you  come  down  so 
precipitately  I  cannot  support  you.  Help  ! 
the  Count  is  literally  fainting."  It  was 
true.     "  A  sudden  dizziness — a  palpita- 


GLENARVON.  37 

tion" — He  only  uttered  these  words  and 
fell  ;  a  ghastly  paleness  overspread  his 
face  ;  the  cold  damps  stood  upon  his 
forehead. 

"  This  is  the  most  unfortunate  con- 
firmation of  the  effects  of  terror  upon  an 
evil  conscience,"  exclaimed  Sir  Everard, 
"  that  ever  I  beheld.  Til  be  bound  there 
is  not  an  Irish  or  Englishman  here,  that 
would  have  been  so  frightened."  "  It  is 
a  dizziness,  a  mere  fainting  fit,"  said  Gon- 
dimar.  "  Let  me  feel  his  pulse,"  cried 
Sir  Everard.  "  Well  Doctor,"  "  Well, 
sir,  he  has  no  pulse  left :—  give  him  air :" 

"  I  am  better  now,"  said  Gondimar,  with 
a  smile  as  he  revived.  "  Was  1  ill  enough 
for  this  ?"  Sir  Everard  called  in.  Lord 
Trelawney's  curiosity  engaged  him  to 
climb  to  the  grated  window  ;  but  the 
candles  had  been  extinguished,  probably, 
for  all  beyond  the  window  was  utter 
darkness. 

Whilst  some  were  assisting  the  Count, 
the  rest  had  been  vainly  endeavouring  to 


38  GLENARVON. 

open  the  door.  A  key  was  now  heard  on 
the  outside  ;  and  the  solemn  boy  entering0, 
said  to  Lady  Margaret,  "  I  am  come  to 
tell  your  honour  that  our  dame  being 
taken  with  the  qualms  and  stericks,  is  no 
ways  able  of  shewing  you  any  further 
into  the  Priory."  "  I  trust,  however, 
that  you  will  immediately  shew  us  out  of 
it,  Sir,"  said  Gondimar.  "  It  not  being 
her  fault,  but  her  extrame  weakness," 
continued  the  boy  :  she  desires  me  to 
hope  your  honours  will  excuse  her." 
"  We  will  certainly  excuse  her  ;  but," 
added  Lady  Margaret,  "  I  must  insist 
upon  knowing  from  her,  or  from  some  of 
you,  the  cause  of  the  groans  we  heard, 
and  what .  all  those  absurd  stories  of 
ghosts  can  arise  from.  I  shall  send  an 
order  for  the  house  to  undergo  an  imme- 
diate examination,  so  you  had  better  tell 
all  you  know." 

"  Then,  indeed,  there  be  no  mischief 
in  them  groans,"  said  the  boy,  who  ap- 
peared indifferent  whether  the  house  were 


GLENARVON.  39 

examined  or  not.  "  It's  only  that  gen- 
tleman as  howls  so,  who  makes  them 
queer  noises.  I  thought  yeM  heard  some- 
thing stranger  than  that.  There  be  more 
singular  noises  than  he  makes,  many's  the 
time."  "  Sirrah,  inform  me  who  inha- 
bits this  d d  Priory  ?"    said  Count 

Gondimar.  "  What,  you're  recovered 
from  your  qualms  and  stericks,  I  per- 
ceive, though  the  old  dame  is  so  ill  with 
them  ?"  "  No  jesting,  Sir  Everard.  I 
must  sift  this  affair  to  the  bottom.  Come, 
Sir,  answer  straitly,  who  inhabits  this 
Priory  ?"  "  Sure,  Sir,  indeed  none  as 
can  get  a  bed  in  the  Abbey."  "  You 
evade,  young  one  :  you  evade  my  enquiry: 
to  the  point  :  be  plain."  "  That  he  can't 
help  being,"  said  Lord  Trelawney.  "  Pro- 
ceed, Sir,  lead  us  as  fast  as  possible  out  of 
these  cold  damp  galleries  ;  but  talk  as  you 
go."  "  Like  the  cuckoo."  "  Lord  Tre- 
lawney, your  jests  are  mighty  pleasant ; 
but  I  have  peculiar  reasons  for  my  enqui- 
ries."    "  And  I  for  my  jokes."    "  Come, 


40  GLENARVON. 

Sirrah,  proceed  :  I  shall  say  no  more  at 
present."  "  Do  you  like  being  here  ?" 
said  Lady  Trelawney,  taking  up  the  ques- 
tion. "  Well  enough,"  returned  the  stu- 
pid boy.  "  I  hear,"  continued  Frances, 
"  there  are  some  who  play  upon  the  harp 
in  the  night,  and  sing  so,  that  the  country 
people  round,  say  they  are  spell-bound." 
"  Oh  musha  !  there  be  strange  things 
heard  in  these  here  old  houses  :  one  must 
not  always  believe  all  one  hears." 

Count  Gondimar  and  Lady  Margaret, 
were  engaged  in  deep  discourse.  "  I  can 
hardly  believe  it,"  she  said.  "  It  is  most 
true — most  terribly  true,"  said  Gondi- 
mar. "  I  will  question  the  boy  myself," 
she  cried  ;  "  he  is  subtle  with  all  that  ap- 
pearance of  clownish  simplicity  ;  but  we 
shall  gather  something  from  him.  Now, 
Lady  Trelawney,  give  me  leave  to  speak, 
and  do  you  lead  these  gentlemen  and  la- 
dies into  the  fresh  air.  Lady  Augusta 
savs  she  longs  to  behold  living  objects- 
and  day-light.        I  shall  soon  overtake 


GLENARVON.  41 

you.  Come  here  :  I  think,  from  what  I 
have  gathered,  that  St.  Alvin  Priory  has 
not  been  inhabited  by  any  of  the  Glenar- 
von  family  since  the  year  **** :  in  that 
case,  who  has  had  charge  of  it  ?"  "  None 
but  Mr.  Mackenzie  and  Dame  since  the  old 
Lord  de  Ruthven's  and  his  son  the  young 
Colonel's  time.  There's  been  no  qua- 
lity in  these  parts  till  now  ;  but  about 
three  years  and  better,  the  young  Lord 
sent  some  of  his  friends  here,  he  being 
in  Italy  ;  and  as  they  only  asked  for  the 
auld  ruin,  and  did  not  wish  to  meddle 
with  the  castle,  they  have  done  their  will 
there.  The  steward  lets  them  bide/' 

"  Have  they  been  here  above  three 
years  ?"  "  Indeed  then,  that  they've  not, 
your  honour  ;  for  sometimes  they've  all 
been  here,  and  sometimes  there's  not  a 
soul  alive  :  but  since  last  Michaelmas, 
there's  been  no  peace  for  them."  "  Can 
you  tell  me  any  of  their  names  ?"  "  All, 
I  believe  ;  for  isn't  there  one  calls  himself 
Citizen  Costolly,  whom  we  take  to  be  the 


42  GLENARVON. 

master,  the  real  Lord  ;  but  he  cares  not  to 
have  it  thought :  only  he's  such  a  manner 
with  him,  one  can't  but  think  it.  Then 
there's  Mister  O'Kelly,  he  as  calls  him- 
self Citizen  Wailman — the  wallet ;  and 
there's  another  as  sings,  but  has  no  name, 
a  famale  ;  and  there's  a  gentleman  cries 
and  sobs,  and  takes  care  of  a  baby ; 
and  his  name,  I  think,  is  Macpherson  ; 
then  there's  the  old  one  as  howls  ;  and 
IVirs.  Nelly  O'Grady ;  and  St.  Clara,  the 
Prophetess  ;  besides  many  more  as  come 
to  feast  and  revel  here."  "  And  what 
right  have  they  to  be  here  ?"  "  Why  to 
be  sure,  then,  they've  not  any  right  at 
all ;  that's  what  we  are  all  talking  of ;  ex- 
cept them  letters  from  my  Lord  ;  and 
they  all  live  a  strange  wicked  life  under 
ground,  the  like  of  thaves  ;  and  whatever 's 
the  reason,  for  some  time  past,  that  young 
gentleman  as  was,  is  disappeared  :  no- 
thing's known  as  to  what's  gone  with 
him — only  he's  gone  ;  and  the  child — 
och  !   the  young  master's  here,   and  the 


GLENARVON.  43 

only  one  of  'em,  indeed,  as  looks  like  a 
christian/'  "  Is  his  name  Clare  of  Cos- 
toly?"  "  Ah!  sure  your  honour  knows 
him." 

Having  reached  the  front  porch,  hy  the 
time  the  boy  had  gone  through  his  exa- 
mination, Lady  Margaret  perceiving 
O'Kelly,  sent  for  him,  and  tried,  vainly, 
to  make  him  answer  her  enquiries  more 
satisfactorily ;  which  not  being  able  to 
accomplish,  she  set  forth  to  return  hosie- 
in  an  extreme  ill  humour.  Lord  Trelaw- 
ney  rallied  her  about  the  ghost.  Casting 
an  angry  glance  at  him,  she  refused  po- 
sitively to  return  home  in  either  of  the 
carriages ;  saying,  she  was  resolved  to 
walk  back  across  the  cliff,  the  short  wav. 
Some  of  the  gentlemen  proposed  escort- 
ing her;  but  she  haughtily  refused  them, 
and  desired  permission  to  be  a  few  mo- 
ments left  to  herself.  They,  therefore, 
re-entered  their  carriages,  and  returned 
without  any  further  event. 

Calantha  was  tired  and  grave  during 


44  GLENARVON. 

the  drive  home ;  and,  what  may  perhaps 
appear  strange,  she  named  not  her  ad- 
venture. "It  is  himself — it  must  be," 
"  Who  ?"  said  Lady  Mandeville.  Con- 
fused at  having  betrayed  her  own 
thoughts, — "  Young  Linden,"  she  cried, 
looking  out  of  the  carriage  ;  and  then 
feigned  sleep,  that  she  might  think  over 
again  and  again  on  that  countenance,  that 
voice,  that  being,  she  had  one  moment 
seen. 


GLENARVON.  45 


CHAPTER  V. 


Lady  Margaret  walking    hastily  off, 
had  arrived   near    the   Convent  of  St. 
Mary,  as  the  last  ray  of  the  setting  sun 
blazed  in  the  west,  and  threw  its  golden 
light   over   the   horizon.     Close  to  the 
convent,  is  built  the  chapel  where  the 
young  Marquis  and  all  the  family  of  Al- 
tamonte  are  interred.     It  stands  upon  a 
high  barren  cliff,  separated  by  a  branch 
of  the  sea  from  the  village  of  Belfont,  to 
which  any  one  may  pass  by  means  of  the 
ferry  below.     To  the  north  of  the  cha- 
pel, as  far  as  the  eye  can  trace,  barren 
heaths  and  moors,  and  the  distant  view 
of  Belfont  and  St.Alvin  Priory,  present  a 
cheerless  aspect;  while   the   other   side 
displays  the  rich  valley  of  Delaval,   its 
groves,  gardens  and  lake,  with  the  adja- 
cent wood. 


46  GLENARVON. 

At  this  spot  Lady  Margaret  arrived,  as 
has  been  said,  at  sun-set.  She  thought 
she  had  been  alone;  but  she  heard  a  step 
closely  following  her:  she  turned  round, 
and  to  her  extreme  surprize,  beheld  a 
man  pursung  her,  and,  just  at  that  mo- 
ment, on  the  point  of  attaining  her.  His 
black  brows  and  eyes  were  contrasted 
with  his  grizzly  hair ;  his  laugh  was  hol- 
low; his  dress  wild  and  tawdry.  If  she 
stopped  for  a  moment  to  take  breath,  he 
stopped  at  the  same  time  ;  if  she  ad- 
vanced rapidly,  he  followed.  She  heard 
his  steps  behind,  till  passing  near  the 
convent  he  paused,  rending  the  air  with 
his  groans,  and  his  clenched  fist  repeat- 
edly stiking  his  forehead,  with  all  the 
appearance  of  maniac  fury,  whilst  with 
his  voice  he  imitated  the  howling  of  the 
wind. 

Terrified,  fatigued  and  oppressed,  Lady 
Margaret  fled  into  the  thickest  part  of  the 
wood,  and  waited  till  she  conceived  the 
cause  of  her  terror  was  removed.  She  soon 


GLENARVON.  47 

perceived,  however,  that  the  tall  figure  be- 
hind her  was  waiting  for  her  reappearance. 
She  determined  to  try  the  swiftness  of  her 
foot,  and  sought  with  speed  to  gain  the 
ferry: — she  durst  not  look  behind — the 
heavy  steps  of  her  pursuer  gained  upon 
her: — suddenly  she  felt  his  hand  upon 
her  shoulder,  as,  with  a  shrill  voice  and 
loud  laugh,  he  triumphed  at  having  over- 
taken her.  She  uttered  a  piercing  shriek ; 
for  on  turning  round  she  beheld 

His  name  cannot  at  present  be  declared ; 
yet  this  may  be  said :  it  was  terrible  to  her 
to  gaze  upon  that  eye — so  hollow,  so  wild, 
so  fearful  was  its  glance.  From  the  se- 
pulchre, the  dead  appeared  to  have  arisen 
to  affright  her;  and,  scarce  recovering 
from  the  dreadful  vision,  with  a  faltering 
step,  and  beating  heart,  she  broke  from 
that  grasp — that  cold  hand — that  dim- 
fixed  eye — and  gained  with  difficulty  the 
hut  of  the  fisherman,  who  placed  her  in 
safety  on  the  other  side  of  the  cliff. 

The  castle  bell  had  already  summoned 


48  GLENARVON, 

the  family;  dinner  awaited;  and  the 
duke  having  repeatedly  enquired  for 
Lady  Margaret,  was  surprised  to  hear 
that  she  had  returned  home  alone  and 
after  dusk.  The  servant,  who  informed 
him  of  this  circumstance,  said  that  her 
ladyship  appeared  extremely  faint  and 
tired  ;  that  her  women  attendants  had 
heen  called ;  that  they  apprehended  she 
was  i/iore  ill  than  she  would  acknowledge. 
He  was  yet  speaking,  when  with  a  blaze 
of  beauty  and  even  more  than  her  usual 
magnificence  of  dress,  she  entered,  apo- 
logised for  the  lateness  of  her  appearance, 
said  the  walk  was  longer  than  she  had 
apprehended,  and,  taking  her  brother's 
arm,  led  the  way  into  the  dining  room. 
But  soon  the  effort  she  had  made,  proved 
too  great: — her  colour  changed  repeat- 
edly ;  she  complained  that  the  noise  dis- 
tracted her ;  she  scarcely  took  any  part  in 
the  conversation  ;  and  retiring  early, 
sought  a  few  hour's  repose. 

Mrs.     Seymour      accompanied      her 


GLENARVON.  49 

whilst  the  rest  of  those  whose  curiosity 
had  been  much  excited  in  the  morning, 
narrated  their  adventures  and  enquired 
eagerly  concerning  Lord  Glenarvon's 
character  and  mode  of  life.  At  the 
mention  of  his  name,  the  colour  rush- 
ed into  Calantha's  face.  Was  it  him- 
self she  had  seen  ? — She  was  convinced  it 
was.  That  countenance  verified  all  that 
she  had  heard  against  him:  it  was  a  full 
contradiction  to  all  that  Lady  Trelawney 
had  spoken  in  his  favour ;  it  expressed  a 
capability  of  evil — a  subtlety  that  led  the 
eye  of  a  stranger  to  distrust;  but,  with 
all,  it  was  not  easily  forgotten.  The  ad- 
dress tothepeople  of  Ireland,  whichLady 
Avondale  had  read  before  with  enthu- 
siasm, she  read  now  with  a  new  and  unde- 
finable  sensation.  She  drew  also  those  fea- 
tures— that  countenance ;  and  remember- 
ed the  air  he  had  sung  and  the  tones  of  his 
voice. — She  seemed  to  dive  into  the  feel- 
ings of  a  heart  utterly  different  from 
what  she  had  ever  yet  observed ;  a  sort  of 
Vol.  II.  D 


50  GLENARVON. 

instinct  gave  her  power  at  once  to  pene- 
trate into  its  most  secret  recesses ;  nor  was 
she  mistaken.  She  listened,  with  eager  cu- 
riosity, to  every  anecdote  narrated  of  him 
by  the  country  esquires  and  gentry  who 
dined  at  the  castle ;  but  she  felt  not  sur- 
prised at  the  inconsistences  and  absurdities 
which  she  heard  repeated.  Others  discre- 
dited what  was  said:  she  believed  the 
worst ;  yet  still  the  interest  she  felt  was  un- 
diminished. It  is  strange;  she  loved  not 
— she  admired  not  that  countenance ;  yet, 
by  clay,  by  night,  it  pursued  her.  She 
could  not  rest  nor  employ  her  mind  in  her 
customary  occupations  ;  yet  the  fear  of 
again  seeing  that  countenance,  was  greater 
than  the  desire  of  doing  so.  She  felt  as 
sured  that  it  was  Lord  Glenarvon : — there 
was  not  a  doubt  left  upon  her  mind  re- 
specting this  circumstance.  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour saw  that  Calantha  was  pre-occu- 
pied :  she  thought  that  she  was  acquaint- 
ed with  the  secret  which  disturbed  Lady 
Margaret — that  horrid  secret  which  mad- 
dened and  destroyed  her  :  for,  since  her 


GLENARVON.  51 

adventure  at  the  Priory,  Lady  Margaret 
had  been  ill. 

But  it  was  not  till  after  some  days  re- 
tirement, that  she  sent  for  Calantha,  and 
when  she  visited  her  in  her  own  apart- 
ment, she  found  her  silent  and  trembling". 
' '  Where  is  your  boy  ?"  Lady  Margaret  said. 
"  He  sleeps:  would  you  that  I  should 
bring  him  you  ?"  "  I  do  not  mean  your  son : 
I  mean  that  minion — that  gaudy  thing, 
you  dress  up  for  your  amusement — that 
fawning  insect,  Zerbellini."  Calantha 
shuddered ;  for  she  knew  that  a  mother 
could  not  thus  speak  of  her  child  without 
suffering  acutely.  "  Has  my  pretty  Zer- 
bellini  done  any  thing  to  deserve  such 
unkind  words  from  you  ?  If  so,  I  will 
chide  him  for  it.  Why  do  you  frown? 
Zerbellini  haste  here:  make  your  obei- 
sance to  Lady  Margaret."  The  boy  ap- 
proached :  Lady  Margaret  fixed  her  eyes 
steadily  upon  him:  the  colour  rushed 
into  her  cheeks,  then  left  her  pale,  as  the 
hue  of  death.  "  Oime  si  muoja?"  exclaim- 
ed 

UMivtasflff  Of 

Illinois  iffifiARY 


52  GLENARVON. 

ed  Zerbellini:  "  Eccelenza  si  muoja  " 
and  he  leant  forward  to  support  her  ;  but 
Lady  Margaret  moved  not. 

Many  moments  passed  in  entire  silence. 
At  last,  starting  as  if  from  deep  reflection, 
"Calantha,"  shesaid,  "I  know  your  heart 
too  well  to  doubt  its  kindness: — the  pre- 
sence of  this  boy,  will  cause  the  misery  of 
your  father."  "  Of  my  father!"  "  Do 
you  not  guess  wherefore?  I  read  his  feel- 
ings yesterday :  and  can  you,  my  child, 
be  less  quick  in  penetrating  the  senti- 
ments of  those  you  love  ?  do  you  not 
perceive  that  Zerbellini  is  of  the  very 
age  and  size — your  lost — and — lamented 
brother  would  have  been  ?. . .  .and  cer- 
tainly not  unlike  the  duchess."  She  he- 
sitated— paused— recovered  herself.  "  I 
would  not  for  the  world  have  you  sug- 
gest this  to  a  human  being.  I  would  not 
appear  to  have  said— what  you,  out  of 
an  affectionate  regard  might — should— 
have  considered." — "  I  am  astonished  : 
you  quite  amaze  me,"  replied  Calantha  : 
yet  she  too  well  guessed  her  feelings. 


GLENARVON.  53 

You  heard  your  father,  yesterday,  say 
how  necessary  it  was  for  him  to  attend 
the  general  meeting  at  Belfast :  he  flies 
us  to  avoid  this  boy — the  likeness — in 
short,  oblige  me,  place  him  at  the  garden 
cottage,  or  at  the  Rector  of  Belfont's — he 
will  attend  to  him.  I  am  told  you  mean  to 
leave  your  children  with  Mr.  Challoner  : 
if  so,  he  might  likewise  keep  this  boy. 
His  strong  resemblance — his  age — his 
manner — have  given  me  already  the 
acutest  pain. — My  brother  will  never  de- 
mand any  sacrifice  of  you ; — but  I,  Lady 
Avondale, — I  solicit  it. — "  Shall  I  be  re- 
fused?" "Dearest  aunt,  can  you  ask  this? 
Zerbellini  shall  be  immediately  sent 
from  the  castle."  "  Oh  no  :  such  pre- 
cipitate removal  would  excite  curiosity." 
"  Well  then,  allow  me  ta place  him,  as  you 
say,  under  the  care  of  the  Rector  of  Bel- 
font  and  his  wife  —  or — "  "  But  how 
strange — why — did  you  never  observe 
this  before  ?" 

"  Calantha,"  said  Lady  Margaret  in 
d3 


54  GLENARVON. 

a  hollow  tone,  <c  it  is  the  common  talk  ; 
every  one  observes  it:  every  eye  fixes  it- 
self upon  him,  and  seems  to — to — to — re- 
proach— to-morrow —  morn — to-morrow 
morning,  I  must  quit  this  place — business 
of  importance  calls  me  away — I  hope  to 
see  you  shortly :  I  shall  return  as  soon  as 
possible — perhaps  I  shall  not  go. — The 
trifle  I  now  suggest,  is  solely  for  my 
brother's  sake.  —  If  you  mention  one 
word  of  this  to  any  one,  the  sacrifice  I 
ask  will  lose  its  value.  Above  all,  if  the 
Count  Gondiraar  is  made  a  confidant/' 
"  Fear  not :  I  shall  request  as  of  myself, 
that  Zerbellini  may  be  placed  with  my 
little  son:  but  you  cannot  think  how 
much  you  surprise  me.  My  father  has 
seen  the  boy  so  often  ;  has  spoken  so  fre- 
quently with  him  ;  has  appeared  so  per- 
fectly at  his  ease." 

"The  boy,"  said  Lady  Margaret,  "is  the 
living  picture  of — in  short  I  have  dreamt 
a  dreadful  dream.  Shall  I  confess  my 
weakness,  Calantha :  I  dreamt  last  night. 


GLENARVON.  55 

that  I  was  with  a  numerous  and  brilliant 
assembly,  even  in  this  very  castle;  and  of 
a  sudden,  robed  in  the  white  vestments 
of  an  angel,  that   boy  appeared — I  saw 
his  hand  closely  stealing  behind — he  had 
a  dagger  in  it,  and  coming  towards  me — 
I  mean  towards  your  father — he  stabbed 
him.     These  phantasies  shew  an  ill  con- 
stitution— but,  for  a  short  time,  send  the 
child  away,  and  do  not  expose  my  weak- 
ness, do  not  love.    I  have  many  sorrows, 
my  nerves  are  shattered — bear  with  me; 
you  know  not,  and  God  forbid  you  should 
ever  know,  what  it  is  to  labour  under  the 
pressure  of  guilt — guilt  ?   aye — such  as 
that   brow   of  innocence,  that  guileless 
generous  heart,  never  can  comprehend. 
"  My  aunt,  for  God's  sake,  explain  your- 
self."    Lady  Margaret   smiled.      "  Oh 
not  such  guilt  either,  as  to  excite  such 
looks  as  these :  only  I  have  suffered  my 
heart  to  wander,  child ;   and  I  have  been 
pun  i  shed." 

Calantha  was  less  surprised  at  this  con- 
d4 


56  GLENARVON. 

versation,  from  remembering  the  secret 
Gondimar  had  communicated,  than  she 
otherwise  must  have  been ;  but  she  could 
not  understand  what  had  given  rise  to 
this  paroxysm  of  despair  at  this  particular 
moment.     A  singular  circumstance  now 
occurred,  which  occasioned  infinite  con- 
jecture to  all  around.    Every  morning,  as 
soon  as  it  was  light,  and  every  evening 
at  dusk,  a  tall  old  man  in  a  tattered  garb, 
with  a  wild  and  terrible  air,  seated  him- 
self in   front    of   the   Castle    windows, 
making  the  most  lamentable  groans,  and 
crying  out  in   an   almost  unintelligible 
voice,    "  Woe,  on  woe,  to  the  family  of 
Altamonte."       The  Duke  was  no  sooner 
apprised  of  this  circumstance,   than  he 
ordered  the  supposed  maniac  to  be  taken 
up :   but  Lady  Margaret   implored,  en- 
treated, and  even  menaced,  till  she  ob- 
tained  permission  from  her  brother  to 
give  this  wretched  object  his  liberty. 

Such  an  unusual  excess  of  charity — 
such  sudden,  and  violent  commiseration 


GLENARVON.  57 

for  a  being  who  appeared  to  have  no 
other  view  than  the  persecution  and  an- 
noyance of  her  whole  family,  was  deemed 
strange  ;  but  when  they  no  longer  were 
molested  by  the  presence  of  the  fanatic, 
who  had  denounced  their  ruin,  they 
ceased  to  converse  about  him,  and  soon 
the  whole  affair  was  forgotten.  Calantha 
indeed  remembered  it ;  but  a  thousand 
new  thoughts  diverted  her  attention,  and 
a  stronger  interest  led  her  from  it. 


DO 


58  GLENARYON 


CHAPTER  VI. 


The  Rector  of  Belfont  had  willingly  per- 
mitted the  little  Zerbellini  to  be  placed 
under  his  wife's  care.  The  distance  from 
thence  to  the  Castle  was  short ;  and  Ca- 
lantha  had  already  sent  her  children 
thither  for  the  benefit  of  sea-bathing.  On 
returning  one  day  from  thence,  she  called 
upon  Gerald  Mac  Allain,  who  had  ab- 
sented himself  from  the  castle,  ever  since 
Mr.  Buchanan  had  appeared  there.  She 
found  him  mournfully  employed  in  look- 
ing over  some  papers  and  drawings, 
which  he  had  removed  to  his  own  habi- 
tation. Upon  seeing  Lady  Avondale  he 
arose,  and  pointed  to  the  drawings, 
which  she  recognized:  "  Poor  Alice/'  he 
said,  "  these  little  remembrances  tell  me 
of  happier  days,  and  make  me  sad  ;  but 
when  1  see  you,  my  Lady,  I  forget  my 


GLENARVON.  59 

sorrows."  Linden's  cottage  was  at  a 
short  distance  from  Gerald  Mac  Allain's. 
Calantha  now  informed  him  that  she  had 
met  young  Linden  at  the  fair,  and  had 
wished  to  speak  to  him :  but  that  she  did 
not  immediately  remember  him,  he  was 
so  altered.  Gerald  said  "  it  was  no  use 
for  her  to  speak  to  him,  or  for  any  one 
else,  he  was  so  '  desperate-like  •*  and," 
added  he,  "Alice's  misconduct  has  broke 
all  our  hearts :  we  never  meet  now  as 
formerly  ;  we  scarce  dare  look  at  each 
other  as  we  pass." 

"  Tell  me,  Gerald,"  said  Calantha, 
"  since  you  have  spoken  to  me  on  this 
melancholy  subject,  what  is  the  general 
opinion  about  Alice?  Has  Linden  no 
idea  of  what  has  become  of  her  ? — had  he 
no  suspicion,  no  doubt  of  her,  till  the 
moment  when  she  fled?"  "  Oh  yes, 
my  Lady,"  said  the  old  man,  "  my  poor 
girl  estranged  herself  from  him  latterly ; 
and  when  Linden  was  obliged  to  leave 
her  to  go  to  county    Leitrim  for  Mr. 


60  GLENARTON. 

O'Flarney,  during  his  absence,  which 
lasted  six  weeks,  he  received  a  letter  from 
her,  expressing  her  sorrow  that  she  never 
could  belong  to  him.  Upon  his  return  he 
found  her  utterly  changed ;  and  in  a  few 
weeks  after,  she  declined  his  further  visits; 
only  once  again  consenting  to  see  him. 
It  was  on  the  very  morning  before  my 
Lady  Margaret  conveyed  her  away  from 
the  Castle." 

"  But  did  you  never  suspect  that  things 
were  going  on  ill  before? — did  Linden 
make  no  attempt  to  see  her  at  the  Doc- 
tor's? It  seems  strange  that  no  measures 
should  have  been  taken  before  it  was  too 
late."  "  Alas!  my  dear  young  Lady,  you 
do  not  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  sus- 
pect and  chide  what  we  love  dearly.  I 
had  given  up  my  child  into  other  hands  ; 
she  was  removed  entirely  from  my  hum- 
ble sphere;  and  whilst  I  saw  her  happy, 
I  could  uot  but  think  her  deserving;  and 
when  she  became  otherwise,  she  was  mi- 
serable, and  it  was  not  the  moment  to 


GLENARVON.  61 

shew  her  any  severity.  Indeed,  indeed, 
it  was  impossible  for  me  to  mistrust  or 
chide  one  so  above  me  as  Alice.  As 
to  young  Linden,  it  turned  his  mind.  I 
walked  to  his  father's  house,  ill  as  I  was, 
just  to  shake  hands  with  him  and  see  him, 
as  soon  as  I  was  told  of  what  had  passed. 
The  old  gentleman,  Cyril's  father  could 
not  speak.  The  mother  wept  as  soon  as 
she  beheld  me  ;  but  there  was  not  one 
bitter  word  fell  from  either,  though  they 
knew  it  would  prove  ihe  ruin  of  the 
young  man,  their  son,  and  perhaps  his 
death." 

"  From  that  time  till  the  present,"  con- 
tinued Gerald,  "  I  seldom  see  Linden; 
he  always  avoids  me.  He  altered  very 
much,  and  took  to  hard  drinking  and  bad 
company  ;  his  mind  was  a  little  shaken  ; 
he  grew  very  slack  at  his  duty ;  and 
listed,  we  suppose,  with  that  same  gangfc 
which  seduced  my  two  poor  boys  from 
their  allegiance  and  duty.  He  was  repri- 
manded and  punished  bv  his  commander; 


62  ©LENARV0N. 

but  it  seems  without  effect,  for  Mr.  Chal- 
loner  was  telling  me,  only  a  few  days  since, 
that  in  the  last  business  there  with  Squire 
Flarney,  Linden  was  taken  notice  of  by 
the  justice.  There's  no  one  can  save 
him,  he  seems  so  determined-like  on  his 
own  ruin  ;  and  they  say  its  the  cause 
why  the  old  father  is  on  his  death-bed 
at  this  present.  There  is  no  bitterness 
of  heart  like  that  which  comes  from  thank- 
less children.  They  never  find  out  till  it 
is  too  late,  how  parents  loved  them  : — 
but  it  was  not  her  fault — no — I  don't 
blame  her — (he  knit  his  brow) — no — I 
don't  blame  her. — Mr.  Buchanan  is  wo 
child  of  our  own  house,  though  he  fiua 
the  place  of  that  gracious  infant  which  it 
pleased  the  Lord  to  take  to  himself.  Mr. 
Buchanan  is  the  son  of  a  strange  father : 
— 1  cannot  consider  him  »s  one  of  our 
own  so  arbntrary  : — but  that's  not  the 
thing." 

"  Gerald,"  said  Calantha,  you  are  not 
sure  that  Buchanan  is  the  culprit :  we 


GLENARVOM.  63 

should  be  cautious  in  our  judgments. " 
"  Oh,  but  I  am  sure,  and  1  care  not  to  look 
on  him  ;   and  Linden,  they  say  menaces 
to  revenge  on  the  young  lord,  my  wrongs 
and  his  own  ;  but  his  old  father  begs  him 
for  God's  sake  to  be  peaceable.  Perhaps, 
my  Lady,  you  will  look  on  the  poor  gen- 
tleman :  what  though '  tis  a  dying  man — 
you'll  be  gratified   to  see  him,   there  is 
such    a    calm    upon   his  countenance. " 
"  Must  he  die  ?"     "  Why,  he's  very  pre- 
carious-like :  —  but  your  noble  husband, 
the  young  Lord  Avondale,   is  very  good 
to  him — he  has  done  all  a  man  and  a  sol- 
dier could  do  to  save  him."     "  I  too  will 
call,"  said  Calantha,  to  hide  from  Gerald 
how  much  she  was  affected  ;  "  and,  as  to 
you,    I  must  entreat  as  a  favour,   that 
you  will  return  to  the  castle  :  to-morrow 
is  Harry's  birth-day  ;    and  it  will  not  be 
a  holiday,  my  father  says,  if  you  are  not 
as  you  were  wont  to  be,   at  the  head  of 
the  table  with  all  the  tenants."    "  I  will 
come,"  said  Gerald,  if  it  were  only  on 


64  GLENARVON. 

account  of  my  Lord's  remembering  me  : 
and  all  the  blessings  of  the  land  go  with 
him,  and  you,  and  his  noble  house,  till 
the  end  of  time,  and  with  the  young  Lord 
of  Glenarvon  beside,  who  saved  Roy  and 
Conal  from  a  shameful  death — that  he 
did." 

"  But  you  forget,"  saidCalantha,  smil- 
ing, "  that  by  your  own  account,  he  was 
the  first  to  bring  them  into  danger." 
"  By  my  heart,  but  he's  a  noble  spirit  for 
all  that :  and  he  has  my  good  wishes  and 
those  of  many  beside."  As  he  spoke,  his 
eye  kindled  with  enthusiasm.  Calantha's 
heart  beat  high  :  she  listened  with  eager 
interest.  "  He's  as  generous  as  our  own," 
continued  he,  "  and  if  he  lets  his  followers 
take  a  pig  or  two  from  that  rogue  there, 
Squire  Flarney,  does  not  he  give  lialf  he 
has  to  those  in  distress  ?  If  I  could  ever 
meet  him  face  to  face,  I'd  tell  him  the 
same ;  but  we  never  know  when  he's 
among  us  ;  and  aint  there  St.  Clara  the 
prophetess,    why    he  went    to  see  her 


GLENARVON.  65 

©nee,  they  say,  and  she  left  her  aunt  the 
Abbess,  and  the  convent,  and  all  the  nuns, 
and  went  off  after  him,  as  mad  as  the  rest. 
Och  !  you'd  bless  yourself  to  see  how  the 
folks  crowd  about  him  at  the  season,  but 
they're  all  gone  from  these  parts  now,  in 
hopes  of  saving  Linden  I'm  told ;  for  you 
know,  I  suppose  that  he's  missing,  and  if 
he's  deserted,  its  said  they  are  sartain  to 
shoot  him  on  account  of  the  troubles." 

'  f  Three  times  there  have  been  meetings  in 
that  cleft  there,"  continued  Gerald,  point- 
ing towards  the  Wizard's  Glen  :  "  it  was 
that  was  the  first  undoing  of  Miss  Sta 
Clare  :  for  they  tell  me  she's  all  for  our 
being  delivered  from  our  tyrants  ;  and  she 
prophecies  so,  it  would  do  you  good  to 
hear  her.  Oh,  they  move  along,  a  thousand 
at  a  time  in  a  silence  would  surprise  you 
— justin  the  still  night,  and  you  can  scarce 
hear  them  tread  as  they  pass  ;  but  don't  I 
know  well,  when  they're  coming,  ayer 
and  indeed  is  there  one  of  us  who  live 
here  about  the  town,  would  betray  them 


(56  GLENAKVON. 

though  the  reward  offered  is  very  stupen- 
dous." 

"  But  see,  here  are  some  of  the  military 
coming. "..."  That  officer  is  General  Ken- 
nedy," said  Lady  Avondale,  approaching 
towards  him  :  "  he  is  not  a  tyrant  at 
least:"  as  she  said  this,  she  bowed  to  him, 
for  she  knew  him  well.  He  often  dined 
at  the  castle.  He  was  saying  a  few  words 
to  her  upon  common  un interesting  topics, 
when,  a  soldier  beckoning  to  him,  two 
horsemen  appeared. — "  He's  found,  Sir," 
said  one:  "  there  is  no  doubt  of  his  guilt ; 
and  twenty  other  names  are  on  the  list." 
"  I  trust  in  God  it  is  not  Linden,  of  whom 
you  are  speaking,"  said  Calantha.  Ge- 
neral Kennedy  made  no  answer :  he  only 
bowed  to  her,  as  if  to  excuse  himself ;  and 
retired. 

Calantha  observed  a  vast  number  of 
people  assembled  on  the  road,  close  to 
the  village.  Gerald  Mac  Ailain  could 
scarcely  support  himself.     She  enquired 


GLENARVON.  67 

what  they  were  waiting  for.  "  To  see 
the  deserters/'  they  answered.  It  was 
women,  children,  parents  who  spoke: 
some  wept  aloud  ;  others  stood  in  silent 
anguish ;  many  repeated  the  name  of  him 
in  whom  they  took  deepest  interest,  ask- 
ing if  he  were  of  the  number.  Linden's 
she  heard  most  frequently.  "  111  luck  to 
the  monsters! — ill  luck  to  the  men  of 
blood  \n  was  vociferated  the  whole  way 
she  went.  "  This  will  kill  the  old  man," 
said  Gerald  !  "  it  will  be  his  aeaui  l  he 
has  been  all  night  fearing  it,  ever  since 
Linden  has  been  missing." 

The  crowd,  seeing  Calantha,  ap- 
proached in  all  directions.  "  Oh  beg  our 
king,  your  father,  to  save  them,"  said 
one :  "  Jesus  reward  you :"  and  they 
knelt  and  prayed  to  her.  She  was  too 
much  affected  to  answer.  Some  of  the 
officers  approached  her,  and  advised  her 
to  retire.  "  The  crowd  will  be  im- 
mense," they  said:  "  your  Ladyship  had 


68  GLENARVON. 

better  not  remain  to  witness  this  heart- 
breaking scene.  "  Twenty  names  are 
on  the  list,"  continued  the  officer,  "  all 
deserted,  as  soon  as  Linden  did.  Mercy, 
in  this  instance,  will  be  weakness :  toe 
much  has  already  been  shewn/' 


GLENARVON.  69 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Calantha  returned  home  with  a  heavy 
heart ;  and  spoke  to  Lord  Avondale  and 
her  father.  They  both  intreated  her  not 
to  interfere.  The  moment  indeed  was 
alarming  and  eventful;  whatever  mea- 
sures were  necessary,  it  was  not  for  her  to 
judge;  and  while  enthusiasm  in  the  cause 
of  liberty  beguiled  some,  it  was,  she  felt 
it  was,  the  duty  of  a  woman  to  try  to  soften 
and  conciliate  every  thing ;  but  as  Linden's 
fate  was  peculiarly  unfortunate,  Lord 
Avondale  generously  interested  himself 
for  him.  Had  money  been  able  to  pur- 
chase his  release,  there  was  no  sum  he 
would  not  have  offered.  They  soon 
heard  however,  though  with  the  deepest 
regret,  that  it  was  a  case  where  mercy 
could  not  be  shewn,  without  apprehend- 
ing the  most  fatal  effects  from  it.     Lin- 


70  GLENARVON. 

den  and  Seaford  had  together  entered 
the  militia  not  above  three  years  back. 
Linden,  an  only  son,  was  now  in  his 
twentieth  year,  and  Seaford,  was  scarce 
eighteen.  Their  example  was  deemed 
the  more  necessary  for  the  general  safety, 
as  so  many  in  the  same  regiment  had  de- 
serted upon  hearing  of  their  disaffection. 
In  the  month  of  December  last,  they  had 
all  taken  the  treasonable  oaths ;  and  their 
rash  conduct  and  riotous  proceedings  had 
already  more  than  once  rendered  them 
liable  to  the  severity  of  the  law. 

All  intercessions  were  utterly  fruitless ; 
they  were  tried,  found  guilty  and  con- 
demned. Linden  was  so  much  beloved 
by  his  companions,  that  several  attempts 
were  made,  to  rescue  him  from  the 
hands  of  justice;  but  he  disdained  to  be 
so  released  ;  and  when  he  heard  of  the 
tumult  his  condemnation  had  excited,  he 
asked  his  captain's  permission  to  be 
spared  the  last  bitter  conflict  of  walking 
through  his  own  native  town.  The  re- 
quest was  denied  him. 


GLENARVON.  91 

On  the  18th  of  May,  at  the  hour  of 
four,  the  time  appointed  to  assemble, 
twenty-three  men,  who  had  taken  part 
in  the  riot,  were  called  out.  The  regi- 
ment, after  this,  slowly  advanced  in  so- 
lemn procession  through  the  town,  fol- 
lowed by  the  cavalry,  and  all  the  horse 
artillery.  The  streets  were  thronged — 
the  windows  were  crowded — not  a  word 
was  spoken ;  but  the  sobs  and  cries  of 
friends,  parents  and  old  acquaintance,  who 
came  out  to  take  a  last  farewell,  were 
heard.  After  passing  through  Belfont, 
they  turned  to  the  high  road,  and  conti- 
nued the  march  util  they  reached  the 
plains  at  the  foot  of  Inis  Tara,  about  two 
miles  from  the  town. 

Linden  and  Seaford  were  then  brought 
forward  with  a  strong  escort.  They  con- 
tinued silent  and  firm  to  the  last.  Just 
as  the  pause  was  made,  before  the  com- 
mand was  given  that  they  should  kneel, 
the  mother  of  Linden,  supported  by  Mac 
Allain,    forced  her    way    through    the 


72  GLENARTON. 

crowd,  and  implored  permission  to  take 
a  last  farewell  of  her  son.  The  officer 
desired  that  she  might  pass ;  but  the 
crowd  was  so  great  that  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty she  could  arrive  at  the  spot : — when 
there,  she  only  once  shook  hands  with  the 
young  man,  and  said  she  had  brought 
him  his  father's  blessing  : — he  made  no 
answer,  but  appeared  very  deeply  af- 
fected. He  had  shewn  the  most  de- 
liberate courage  till  that  hour.  It 
now  forsook  him,  and  he  trembled  ex- 
cessively. 

"  Thank  God  I  am  spared  this,"  said 
his  companion  :  "I  have  no  mother  left." 
The  signal  was  immediately  given  to  fire; 
and  the  party  prepared  to  do  their  duty. 
A  troop  of  horse  at  that  moment,  in  the 
green  uniform  of  the  national  guards, 
appeared  from  an  ambush,  and  a  despe- 
rate struggle  ensued.  The  mutineers  set 
up  a  terrible  yell  during  the  combat. 
The  inhabitants,  both  of  the  town  and 
country,  joined  them  in  every  direction. 


GLENARVON.  73 

Lord  Avondale  and  many  other  officers 
present  came  up  to  the  assistance  of  Ge- 
neral Kennedy's  small  force,  and  soon 
restored  order.  The  party  of  horse  were 
put  to  flight.  The  colonel  of  the  r  gi- 
ment  immediately  ordered  a  court-mar- 
tial ;  and  three  prisoners,  who  were  taken, 
were  with  Seaford  and  Linden,  executed 
on  the  spot. 

In  the  skirmish,  the  young  man  who 
headed  the  party  of  horse,  and  had  exposed 
himself  most  eagerly  to  rescue  Linden, 
was  wounded  in  the  left  arm :  his  person 
was  described;  the  circumstance  was 
mentioned  ;  and  a  high  reward  was  of- 
fered for  his  head.  It  was  supposed  by- 
many  that  he  was  Lord  Glenarvon. 

The  severity  of  these  proceedings 
struck  an  immediate  panic  throughout 
the  disaffected.  The  inhabitants  of  the 
town  of  Belfont  arrayed  themselves  in 
black,  A  long  and  mournful  silence 
succeeded  ;  and  few  there  were  who  per- 
ceived through  the  veil  of  submissive  ac- 

Vol.  II.  E 


74  GLENARVOW 

quiescence,  the  spirit  of  rebellion  and 
vengeance,  which  was  preparing  to  burst 
forth.  Gerald  Mac  Allain,  forgetful  of 
his  wrongs,  appeared  at  the  castle  ;  Lady 
St.  Clare  wrote  the  most  penitent  letters  to 
Sir  Everard  ;  and  with  her  two  daughters 
Jessica  and  Laura,  entreated  permission 
to  return.  Every  one  of  the  tradesmen 
and  farmers,  of  any  respectability,  erased 
their  names  from  the  new  club  which 
had  been  established  opposite  to  Sir 
Everard's  house ;  and  a  sort  of  mournful 
tranquillity  and  terror  seemed  to  reign 
throughout. 

A  few  days  after  this  melancholy  trans- 
action, Linden's  mother  died  ;  and  as 
Calantha  was  returning  from  Belfont,  she 
met  the  crowd  who  had  followed  her  to 
the  grave.  They  all  passed  her  in  si- 
lence, nor  gave  her  one  salutation,  or 
smile  of  acknowledgment,  as  on  other 
occasions ;  yet  they  were  her  father's 
own  tenants,  and  most  of  their  counte- 
nances she  remembered  from  childhood. 


GLENARVON.  75 

When  she  mentioned  this  circumstance 
at  the  castle,  she  was  informed  that  Lord 
Avondale's  having  taken  an  active  part 
against  the  party,  who  had  come  forward 
to  save  the  deserters,  was  the  cause  of 
this,  their  unusual  deportment. 

To  such  height  at  this  time,  was  the 
spirit  of  party  carried  that  the  whole 
kingdom,  was  in  a  state  of  ferment  and 
disorder.  Complaints  were  made,  re- 
dress was  claimed,  and  the  people  were 
every  where  mutinous  and  discontented. 
Numerous  absentees,  it  was  popularly  said 
nad  drawn  great  part  of  the  money  out 
of  the  country;  oppressive  taxes  were 
continued  ;  land  was  let  and  sub-let  to 
agents  and  stewards  to  the  utter  ruin  of 
the  tenants. 

Some  concessions  were  now  granted 
in  haste — some  assurance  of  relief  given ; 
but  the  popular  spirit  of  indignation, 
once  excited,  was  not  to  be  allayed  by 
the  same  means  which  had,  perhaps, 
prevented  its  first  rise.     The  time  for 


76  GLENARVON. 

conciliation  was  past.  A  foreign  enemy 
lost  no  opportunity  of  adding  to  the  in- 
creasing inward  discontent.  The  friends 
of  government  had  the  power  of  the 
sword  and  the  weight  of  influence  on 
their  side  ;  but  the  enemies  were  more 
numerous,  more  desperate,  more  enthu- 
siastic. The  institution  of  political  clubs, 
the  combination  of  the  United  Irishmen, 
for  the  purpose  of  forwarding  a  brother- 
hood of  affection,  a  communion  of  rights, 
amongst  those  of  every  different  persua- 
sion, even  the  establishment  of  a  military 
force  was  now  attempted  ;  and  the  con- 
stant cry  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  either 
town  or  country  was  a  total  repeal  of  the 
penal  statutes,  the  elective  franchise,  re- 
form of  parliament,  and  commutation  of 
tythes. 

Whilst,  however,  the  more  moderate 
with  sincerity  imagined,  that  they  were 
upholding  the  cause  of  liberty  and  reli- 
gion ;  the  more  violent  who  had  eman- 
cipated their  minds  from  every  restraint 


GLENARVON.  77 

of  prejudice  or  principle,  did  not  conceal 
that  the  equalization  of  property,  and  the 
destruction  of  rank  and  titles  was  their 
real  object.  The  revolutionary  spirit 
was  fast  spreading,  and  since  the  appear- 
ance of  Lord  Glenarvon,  at  Belfont,  the 
whole  of  the  county  around  might  be 
considered  in  a  state  of  actual  rebellion. 


£3 


78  GLExVARVON, 


CHAPTER    VIII 


Glenarvon  seemed,  however,  to  differ 
in  practice  from  his  principles ;  for  whilst 
many  of  those  who  had  adopted  the  same 
language  had  voluntarily  thrown  off  their 
titles,  and  divided  their  property  amongst 
their  partizans,  he  made  a  formal  claim 
to  the  titles  which  his  grandfather  had 
forfeited ;  and  though  he  had  received 
no  positive  assurance,  even  that  his  right 
would  be  recognized,  he  called  himself 
by  that  name  alone,  and  insisted  on  his 
followers  addressing  him  in  no  other  man- 
ner. This  singular  personage  of  whom 
so  many,  for  a  long  period,  had  heard  the 
strangest  reports,  whom  some  imagined 
to  be  dead,  and  who  seemed,  whenever 
he  appeared,  to  make  no  light  impression 
upon  all  those  with  whom  he  conversed, 
had  passed  his  \outh  in  a  foreign  country, 


GLENARVON.  79 

and  had  only  twice  visited  the  abode  of 
his  ancestors  until  the  present  year. 

It  was  amidst  the  ruins  of  antient  ar- 
chitecture, and  the  wild  beauties  of  Ita- 
lian scenery,  that  his  splendid  genius  and 
uncommon  faculties  were  first  developed. 
Melancholy,  unsocial,  without  a  guide 
he  had  centered  in  himself  every  strong 
interest,  and  every  aspiring  hope.  Dwell- 
ing ever  in  the  brilliant  regions  of  fancy, 
his  soul  turned  with  antipathy  from  the 
ordinary  cares  of  life.     He  deeply  felt  the 
stigma  which  had  been   cast  upon  his 
family  in  the  person  of  his  grandfather, 
who,  from  the  favourite   of  the  lawful 
prince,  had  become  the  secret  accomplice 
of  a  bloody  conspiracy.    The  proofs  of 
his  guilt  were   clear;    his  death  was  a 
death  of  shame  ;  and  the  name  of  traitor 
was  handed  down  with  the  coronet  to 
which  his  only  surviving  heir  so  eagerly 
aspired. 

By  his   nearest  friends  he    was  now 
e  4 


SO  GLENARVOJV. 

called  Glenarvon  ;  and  so  jealous  did  he 
appear  of  his  rank,  that  he  preferred  dis- 
guise, straits  and  difficulties,  to  a  return 
to  his  own  country  without  those  titles, 
and  that  fortune,  which  he  considered 
as  his  due.  One  object  of  interest  suc- 
ceeded another;  a  life  of  suspense  was 
preferred  to  apathy ;  and  the  dark  coun- 
sels of  unprincipled  associates,  soon  led 
one,  already  disloyal  in  heart,  to  the  very 
brink  of  destruction. 

He  had  embraced  his  father's  profes- 
sion, wherein  he  had  distinguished  him- 
self by  his  courage  and  talent;  but  to 
obey  another  was  irksome ;  and  the 
length  of  time  which  must  elapse  before 
he  could  obtain  the  command  of  a  ship, 
soon  disgusted  him  with  the  service. 
He  quitted  it,  and  returned  to  Italy — 
there  amidst  the  luxurious  dissipation  of 
Rome  or  Florence,  he  gave  up  his  days 
and  nights  to  every  fierce  excess ;  and  soon 
the  high  spirit  of  genius  was  darkened, 


GLENARVON.  81 

the  lofty  feelings  of  honor  were  debased, 
and  the  frame  and  character  sunk  equally 
dejected  under  the  fatigue  of  vigils  and 
revels,  in  which  reason  and  virtue  had  no 
share.  He  had  been  wronged  and  he 
knew  not  how  to  pardon .  Many  had  de- 
ceived him  and  he  existed  henceforward 
but  to  mislead  others.  The  victim  of  his 
first  attachment  had  fallen  a  prey  to  the 
revengeful  jealousy  of  an  incensed  hus- 
band ;  but  her  death  was  not  more  sudden, 
more  secret,  than  that  of  the  tyrant  who 
had  destroyed  her.  Every  one  knew  by 
whose  hand  the  fair  and  lovely  Fiorabella 
had  perished ;  but  no  eye  bore  witness 
against  the  assassin,  who,  in  the  depths 
of  night  had  immediately  revenged  her 
loss.  The  murderer  and  the  murdered 
were  both  alike  involved  in  the  impene- 
trable veil  of  mystery.  The  proud  and 
noble  family  who  had  been  injured,  had 
neither  the  power,  nor  the  inclination 
to  seek  redress.  Lord  Glenarvon  was 
seen  no  more  at  Florence  ■  he  had  been 
■  5 


82  GLENARVOtf. 

the  cause  of  this  tragic  scene.  It  afflicted 
his  generous  heart  when  he  reflected 
upon  the  misery  he  had  occasioned  ;  but 
not  even  his  bitterest  enemy  could  have 
suspected  him  of  deeper  guilt.  His 
youth  was  untainted  by  the  suspicion  of 
crime,  and  the  death  of  Giardini  had, 
with  greater  show  of  justice  been  attri- 
buted to  another,  and  a  more  dangerous 
hand. 

Fascinated  with  the  romantic  splendour 
of  ideal  liberty,  and  intent  upon  flying 
from  the  tortures  of  recollection,  he  had 
visited  Ireland  in  the  spring  of  the  year 
..-,.,  and  had  remained  there  some 
months,  unknown  even  to  his  adherents, 
who  flocked  around  him,  attracted  by 
his  eloquence,  and  won  by  his  address. 
One  only  victim  returned  with  him  in 
his  voluntary  exile  from  his  native  land. 
One  only  miserable  enthusiast  devoted 
herself  to  his  fortunes,  and  accompanied 
him  in  his  flight.  O'Kelly,  the  son  of 
a  tenant  of  his    father,  recognized  his 


GLENAKVON.  83 

youthful  lord,  and  early  ingratiated  him- 
self into  his  favour. 

With  this  sole  attendant,  and  the  un- 
.happy  girl  who  had  renounced  her  coun- 
try and  her  virtue  for  his  sake,  he  de- 
parted ;  nor  was  seen  again  at  St.  Alvin 
Priory  till  the  present  year. 

Indeed  the  report  of  his  death  was  so 
often  affirmed,  that  when  he  again  pre- 
sented himself,  so  changed  in  manner 
and  in  form,  before  his  adherents,  they 
questioned  one  with  another  whether  he 
was  in  reality  their  lord.  "  I  am  not 
what  I  seem/'  he  would  frequently  say ; 
"  I  am  not  him  whom  you  take  me  for." 

Strange  things  were  rumoured  of 
him.  There  was  a  man  in  his  service 
who  had  returned  with  him,  who  spoke 
to  none,  who  answered  no  enquiries, 
who  had  never  before  been  seen  with 
him  in  his  former  visits.  It  was  said 
that  he  knew  many  things  if  he  durst 
but  utter  them.  All  feared  and  avoided 
this  man.     His  name  was  Macpherson, 


84  GLENARVON. 

the  same  whom  Gondimar  had  seen  in 
town;  but  all  felt  irresistibly  attracted 
by  his  youthful  master.  Glenarvon's  pro- 
jects— his  intentions  were  now  but  too  ge- 
nerally suspected ; — it  was  a  critical  mo- 
ment ;  and  his  motives  for  visiting  Ireland 
in  such  a  conjuncture  could  not  be  mis- 
interpreted nor  mistaken. 


GLENARVON.  85 


CHAPTER    IX, 


In  this  his  second  visit  to  his  native 
country,  Glenarvon  desired  his  servant, 
O*  Kelly,  to  find  a  person  of  respectability 
who  would  take  charge  of  a  child,  then 
only  in  his  second  year.  Clare  of  Cos- 
tolly  was  his  name ;  but  whether  the  boy 
was  the  son  of  Lord  Glenarvon,  or  some 
little  favorite  who,  for  the  moment,  had 
excited  his  interest,  none  knew,  nor  durst 
enquire. 

Indeed ,  the  impenetrable  my stery  which 
surrounded  Lord  Glenarvon  was  involved 
in  a  deeper  shade  of  concealment  at  this 
time,  then  at  any  former  period  ;  for 
scarce  had  he  set  foot  in  his  new  habita- 
tion when  a  singular  and  terrific  inmate 
appeared  also  at  the  Priory — a  maniac  ! 
who  was  however  welcomed  in  with  the 
rest  of  the  strange  assemblage,  and  aroom 


86  GLENAItVON. 

immediately  allotted  for  his  reception, 
In  vain  the  affrighted  nurse  remonstrated ; 
the  maniac's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 
child,  with  frantic  wildness  ;  and  Gle- 
narvon,  deaf  to  her  entreaties,  permitted 
Clare  to  attend  upon  the  unwelcome 
stranger  and  saw  him  in  his  arms  without 
alarm . 

Even  in  his  most  dreadful  paroxysms, 
when  all  others  were  afraid  of  approach- 
ing him,  Glenarvon  would  calmly  enter 
into  his  chamber,  would  hear  his  threats 
unawed, — would  gaze  on  him,  as  if  it 
gave  him  delight  to  watch  the  violence  of 
misguided  passion  ;  to  hear  the  hollow 
laugh  of  ideotsy,  or  fix  the  convulsed  eye 
of  raving  insanity. 

That  which  was  disgusting  or  terrific 
to  man's  nature,  had  no  power  over  Gle- 
narvon. He  had  looked  upon  the  dying 
and  the  dead  ;  had  seen  the  tear  of  agony 
without  emotion  ;  had  heard  the  shriek 
of  despair,  and  felt  the  hot  blood  as  it 
flowed  from  the  heart  of  a  murdered 


. GLENARVON.  87 

enemy,  nor  turned  from  the  sickening 
sight — Even  the  storms  of  nature  could 
not  move  Glenarvon.  In  the  dark  night, 
when  the  tempest  raged  around  and  the 
stormy  ocean  beat  against  the  high  im- 
pending cliffs,  he  would  venture  forth, 
would  listen  to  the  roaring  thunder  with- 
out fear,  and  watch  the  forked  lightening 
as  it  flashed  along  the  sky. 

The  rushing  winds  but  seemed  to  sooth 
his  perturbed  spirit ;  and  the  calm  of  his 
brow  remained  unaltered  in  every  chang- 
ing scene.  Yet  it  was  the  calm  of  hope- 
less despair,  when  passion,  too  violent  to 
shew  itself  by  common  means,  concen- 
trates itself  at  once  around  the  heart, 
and  steels  it  against  every  sentiment  of 
mercy. 

Who  had  dared  to  enquire  of  that  eye 
the  meaning  of  its  glance  ?  or  who  had 
trusted  to  the  music  of  that  soft  voice, 
when  it  breathed  forth  vows  of  tenderness 
and  love  ?  or  who,  believing  in  the  light 


88  GLENARVON. 

of  life  which  beamed  upon  that  counte- 
nance, had  considered  the  sportive  jests 
of  fancy — the  brilliant  sallies  of  that 
keen  wit  as  the  overflowing  testimony  of 
a  heart  at  rest  ?  None — none  believed 
or  trusted  in  Glenarvon. — Yet  thousands 
flocked  around  and  flattered  him ;  amidst 
this  band  of  ruffians,  this  lawless  unprin- 
cipled gang,  the  recluse  of  Glenaa — the 
lovely,  but  misguided  Elinor  was  now 
too  often  seen.  She  was  the  spirit  and 
soul  of  the  tumultuous  party :  her  wit  en- 
livened ;  her  presence  countenanced  ;  her 
matchless  beauty  attracted.  Scarce  in 
her  sixteenth  year,  the  pride  of  her  fa- 
mily, the  wonder  and  ornament  of  the 
whole  country,  she  forsook  her  solitude 
and  hopes  of  heaven — she  left  the  aunt, 
who  had  fostered  and  cherished  her  from 
childhood,  to  become  avowedly  the  mis- 
tress of  Glenarvon.  On  horse,  or  on 
foot,  she  accompanied  him.  In  the  at- 
tire of  a  boy  she  unblushingly  followed 


GLENARVOX.  b\) 

his  steps  !  his  former  favorites  were  ne- 
ver even  named,  or  alluded  to — his  pre- 
sent mistress  occupied  all  his  attention. 

When  St.  Clara  described  the  suffer- 
ings of  her  country,  every  heart  melted 
to  compassion,  or  burned  with   indigna- 
tion ;  but  when  her  master,  when   Gle- 
narvon  played  upon  her  harp,  or  sung 
the  minstrelsy  of  the  bards  of  other  times, 
he  inspired  the  passions  which  he  felt, 
and    inflamed    the    imagination   of   his 
hearers  to  deeds  of  madness — to  acts  of 
the  wildest  extravagance.     Crowds  fol- 
lowed   upon  his  teps  ;    yet  it  was  me- 
lancholy to  see  them  pass — so   fair,   so 
young  and  yet  so   utterly  hardened  and 
perverted.    Who  could  behold  St.  Clara 
and  not  compassionate   her  fate  ?  What 
was  to  become  of  her  when  Glenarvon 
had  ceased  to  love  ;  and  did   he  love  ?— ~ 
Never:    in  the   midst  of  conquests,  his 
heart  was  desolate  ;  in  the  fond  embrace 
of  mutual  affection,  he  despised  the  vie* 
iimof  his  art, 


90  GLENARVON. 

Of  all  the  friends,  flatterers  and  fol- 
lowers, he  had  gained  by  his  kindness, 
and  lost  by  his  caprice,  not  one  remained 
to  fill,  in  his  bosom,  that  craving  void 
which  he  himself  had  made.     Wherever 
he  appeared,  new  beauty  attracted  his 
worship,  and  yielded  to  his   power  :  yet 
he    valued  not  the  transient  possession, 
even  whilst  smiling  upon  the  credulous 
being  who  had  believed  in  his  momen- 
tary affection.     Even  whilst  soothing  her 
with  promises  and  vows,  which  he  meant 
not  for  one  hour  to  perfom,  he  was  seek- 
ing the  means  of  extricating  himself  from 
her  power — he  was  planning  his  escape 
from  the  thraldom  of  her  charms  ?  Was 
he  generous  ?  Aye,   and  prodigal  by  na- 
ture ;  but  there  was  a  part  of  his  cha- 
racter which  ill  accorded   with  the  rest : 
it  was  a  spirit  of  malignity  which,  if  ir- 
ritated,  never  rested,  till  it  had  satisfied 
its  vengeance.   An  enemy,  he  could  have 
pardoned  and  have  loved  ;    but  he  knew 
not  how  to  bear  with  or  forgive  a  friend. 


GLBNARTON.  91 

His  actions  appeared  the  immediate  re- 
sult of  impulse  ;  but  his  passions  were  all 
subject  to  his  controul,  and  there  was  a 
systematic  consistency  even  in  his  most 
irregular  conduct.  To  create  illusions,  and 
raise  affection  in  the  breasts  of  others, 
has  been  the  delight  of  many :  to  dispel 
the  interest  he  had  created  was  Glenar- 
von's  care.  Love  he  had  studied  as  an 
art :  he  knew  it  in  all  its  shades  and  gra- 
dations ;  for  he  had  traced  its  progress 
in  his  own  and  many  another  breasts.  Of 
kno  wledgeand  wisdom,  he  had  drank  deep 
at  the  fountain  head,  nor  wanted  aught 
that  could  give  liveliness  and  variety  to 
his  discourse. 

He  was,  besides,  a  skilful  flatterer,  and 
knew  in  what  weak  part,  he  best  might 
apply  his  power.  But  the  sweetness  of 
his  praise,  could  only  be  exceeded  by  the 
bitterness  of  his  contempt — the  venomed 
lash  of  his  deadly  wit. 

That  in  which  Glenarvon  most  prided 
himself— -that  in  which  he  most  excelled, 


92  GLENARVON. 

was  the  art  of  dissembling.  He  could 
turn  and  twine  so  near  the  truth,  with, 
more  than  Machiavelian  subtlety,  that 
none  could  readily  detect  his  falsehood  ; 
and  when  he  appeared  most  frank  and 
unguarded,  then  he  most  deceived. 
Falsehood  and  craft  were  stamped  upon 
his  countenance,  written  upon  his  brow, 
marked  in  his  words,  and  scarce  conceal- 
ed beneath  the  winning  smile  which  oft 
times  played  upon  his  lips. 

"  If  I  could  but  see  him  once,"  said 
Lady  Augusta,  "  I  should  be  satisfied ; 
but  to  hear  his  name  from  morning  till 
night — to  have  every  fault,  folly,  nay 
even  crime  attributed  to  him  by  one 
party,  and  every  virtue,  charm  and  fasci- 
nation given  him  by  the  other, — it  is 
enough  to  distract  women  in  general,  and 
me  in  particular.  Is  there  no  mercy  for 
curiosity  ?  I  feel  I  shall  do  something  ab- 
surd, extremely  absurd,  if  an  interview 
it  not  contrived."  u  Nothing  can  be 
more  easy/'  said  the  Duke  :  "  you  shall 


GLEXARVON.  93 

dine  with  him,  at  the  next  public  day. 
I  have  already  sent  him  a  card  of  invi- 
tation." "  Under  what  title  ?"  "  To 
Captain  de  Ruthven."  "  He  will  as- 
suredly not  come/'  said  Lady  Trelaw- 
ney.  "  That  I  think  probable,"  said 
the  Duke,  laughing.  "  The  malicious  af- 
firm that  his  arm  is  in  a  sling  ;  and  if  so, 
his  appearance  just  at  present  would  be 
unwise."  The  conversation  soon  took 
another  turn;  and  Lord  Avondale  en- 
tering, informed  Calantha  that  he  had  a 
letter  from  Sir  Richard,  and  must  imme- 
diatly  join  him  at  Cork. 


04  GLENARVtTC. 


CHAPTER  X, 


Admiral  Buchanan  and  Sir  Richard 
Mowbrey  had,  in  the  month  of  January, 
returned  to  England,  where  they  had  re- 
ceived the  thanks  of  Parliament  for 
their  distinguished  conduct  on  the  me- 
morable 1st  of  June.  They  were  now 
appointed  to  command  upon  the  Cork 
station,  with  a  considerable  force,  as  se- 
rious apprehensions  were  entertained 
lest  the  enemy  should  attempt  a  descent  in 
the  south  of  Ireland.  The  enthusiasm 
with  which  the  heroes  were  greeted  on 
their  return,  did  honour  to  the  feelings 
of  the  Irish  nation.  They  were  invited 
to  every  house  in  the  neighbourhood ; 
and  fetes  and  balls  were  given  to  shew 
them  respect.  The  Duke  and  Lord  Avon- 
dale  went  forward  to  receive  them. 
Commodore  Emmet,  an  old  acquaint- 


6LENARV0N.  95 

ance  of  theirswho  resided  atCork,  sent  to 
offer  his  house,  not  only  to  them,  but  to  the 
whole  party  at  Castle  Delaval ;  if  they 
determined  to  accept  Sir  George's  invita- 
tion, and  dine  on  board  the  Royal 
William  on  the  1st  of  June,  in  comme- 
moration of  that  day  and  its  success. 
There  were  few,  if  any,  of  those  invited 
who  refused  ;  but  none  accepted  the  invi- 
tation with  so  much  enthusiasm  as  Calan- 
tha.  The  letter  from  Sir  George  Buchanan 
to  Lady  Margaret  was  as  follows : — 

Cork,  May  28th.  17§6, 

"  My  dear  Lady  Margaret, 

"  In  answer  to  a  letter  which  1  received 
this  morning,  dated  May  26th,  ult.,  I  re- 
quest the  honour  of  your  Ladyship's  com- 
pany on  board  the  Royal  William,  now 
in  harbour  at  the  Cove.  The  Duke  and 
the  rest  of  his  family  and  party  have  al- 
ready promised  me  this  favour,  and  I  am 
not  prepared  to  accept  from  yourself  any 
denial  on  account  of  those  circumstances 


96  GLENARVON. 

to  which  you  allude,  and  which,  I  entreat 
you  sincerely  to  believe  are,  on  my  part, 
utterly  forgotten.  Let  me  request  you, 
then,  to  banish  from  your  memory  every 
trifling  disagreement,  and  to  meet  me, 
upon  an  occasion  so  flattering  as  is  the 
present  to  my  feelings  and  those  of  our 
friends,  with  the  good-will  and  kindness 
you  will  ever  find  in  the  heart  of  your 
Ladyship's  most  obedient  and  affec- 
tionate brother  and  servant, 

"  George  Buchanan." 

• 

In  consequence  of  this  invitation,  Lady 
Margaret  and  the  rest  of  the  Duke's 
family  set  out  on  the  morning  of 
the  31st,  and  arrived  about  the  hour 
of  dinner  at  Commodore  Emmet's — a 
large  brick  building  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  beyond  the  town  of  Cork.  The 
Duke  and  Lord  Avondale,  and  their  lo- 
quacious host,  had  been  awaiting  them 
some  time.       The    latter  gave  to  each 


GLENARVON.  97 

the  most  cordial  welcome ;  boasted  that  he 
could  lodge  them  all ;  talked  incessantly, 
as  he  shewed  them  to  their  apartments  ; 
entreated  them  not  to  dress,  as  dinner 
awaited;  and  left  them,  assuring  them 
all,  that  they  were  the  exact  image  of  the 
Duke,  whom  he  concluded  to  be,  like  the 
Patriarchs  of  old,  the  father  of  the  whole 
company.  His  voice  murmured  on  as 
he  descended  the  stairs,  whilst  Cassandra 
and  Heloise,  his  daughters,  appeared  to 
offer  their  services  in  his  place. 

The  dining-room  was  small ;  the 
guests  were  numerous;  the  table  was 
crowded  with  huge  pieces  of  meat :  the 
Commodore  talked  incessantly ;  his  chil- 
dren, his  servants,  his  brother,  seemed  all 
gifted  alike  with  the  same  spirit  of  acti- 
vity :  it  was  incessant  bustle,  hurry, 
noise  and  contrivance.  Music,  cards, 
and  tricks  of  every  kind  were  displayed 
during  the  evening ;  and  in  the  morning, 
Jong  before  the  sun  had  arisen,  carpen- 
Vol.  II.  F 


98  GLENARVON. 

ters  mechanics,  ship-builders  and  cooks, 
awoke  the  guests  by  the  noise  of  their 
respective  pursuits. 

Sir  George  Buchanan  had  sent  to  re- 
quest the  Duke's  company  at  an  early 
hour  on  the  morrow.  The  day  proved 
fair,  the  boats  were  ready,  and  they  set 
forth  on  their  expedition  in  high  spirits. 
Many  ships  and  smaller  vessels  were  spread 
over  the  harbour  ;  and  bands  of  music 
played  as  they  passed.  The  beauty  of 
the  Cove  of  Cork,  the  trees  bending  to  the 
water  side,  the  fortress,  and  the  animated 
picture  which  a  mercantile  city  presents, 
— delighted  all.  But  feelings  of  enthu- 
siasm kindled  in  every  heart,  when  they 
appj oached  the  Royal  William,  and  be- 
held us  venerable  commander.  The  sea 
was  rough,  and  the  spray  of  the  waves 
was  at  times  blown  over  the  boat.  The 
Miss  Emmets  thought  of  their  new 
dresses;  Sophia  of  danger;  and  Calantha 
of  the  glory  of  thus  proudly  riding  over 
the  billowy  ocean. 


GLENARVON.  99 

Lady  Margaret,  though  silent,  was 
more  deeply  agitated: — her  mind  re- 
curred in  thought  to  scenes  long  past. 
She  was  now  to  behold,  after  a  lapse  of 
many  years,  her  husband's  brother,  whom 
she  had  treated  with  the  most  marked  in- 
dignity, and  for  whom  she  had  vainly  at- 
tempted to  feel  contempt.  He  had  ever 
conducted  himself  towards  her  with  cour- 
teous, though  distant  civility;  but  had 
yet  shewn  the  most  decided  disapproba- 
tion of  her  conduct.  When  she  had  last 
beheld  him,  she  was  in  the  full  splendour 
of  youth  and  beauty,  surrounded  by  an 
admiring  world,  and  triumphant  in  the 
possession  of  every  earthly  enjoyment. 
Time  had  but  little  changed  the  majesty 
of  her  form  ;  but  something  worse  than 
time  had  stamped  upon  her  countenance 
an  expression  never  to  be  effaced  ;  while 
her  marked  brow  assumed  an  air  of  sul- 
len pride  and  haughty  reserve,  as  she  as- 
cended from  the  boat  into  the  ship ;  she 
gazed  upon  the  long  forgotten  features  of 
f2 


100  GLENARVOJf. 

her  brother ;  and  she  seemed  to  be  deeply 
affected.  Age  had  bleached  his  once 
dark  locks ;  but  he  was  still  unimpaired 
in  mind  and  form.  He  bent  lowly  down 
to  receive  her:  she  felt  him  clasp  her  to 
his  bosom ;  and  overcome  by  this  unex- 
pected kindness,  her  tears  streamed  upon 
his  hand: — he,  too,  could  have  wept;  but 
recovering  himself,  with  a  commanding 
air,  he  came  forward  to  receive  his  other 
guests. 

The  ship  was  in  the  highest  order ;  the 
feast  prepared  was  magnificent ;  and  when 
the  Duke  stood  up  and  bowed  with  grace 
to  drink  the  Admiral's  health,  the  sailors 
cheered,  and  the  toast  was  repeated  from 
the  heart  by  every  individual.  But  he, 
though  greatly  affected  and  pleased  at 
the  homage  shewn  him,  bowed  to  the 
Duke,  returning  him  the  compliment; 
and  afterwards,  drinking  the  health  of  Sir 
Richard  Mowbrey,  said,  that  he  owed 
every  thing  to  his  assistance — that,  in 
the  glorious  action  of  the  1st,  his  ship 


GLENARVON.  101 

had  conferred  new  honours  on  the  Bri- 
tish Navy,  and  that  he  had  received  the 
warmest  commendations  of  their  great 
Commander  and  famed  Admiral  Howe ! . . 
At  that  name,  every  individual  arose. 
The  name  of  Howe  was  repeated  from 
mouth  to  mouth  with  an  expression  of 
exalted  admiration ;  his  applauses  were 
spoken  of  by  every  tongue ;  and  many  an 
eye  that  had  never  shewn  weakness,  till 
that  moment,  filled  with  tears  at  the 
name  of  their  venerable,  their  dear  com- 
mander. Captain  Emmet,  during  this 
scene,  was  employed  in  eating  voraciously 
of  whatever  he  could  lay  hands  on.  Miss 
Emmet,  who  thought  it  a  great  honor  to 
converse  with  a  lord,  had  seated  herself 
by  the  side  of  Lord  Avondale,  narrating 
her  own  adventures,  freely  stating  her 
own  opinions,  and  pleased  with  herself 
and  every  one  present ;  while  her  father 
likewise  talked  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table,    and  Admiral  Buchanan  laughed 

f3 


102  GLENARVON. 

heartily,    but  good   humouredly   at  his 
friend's  oppressive  eloquence. 

Suddenly  Lord  Avondale  turned  to 
Calantha  and  asked  her  if  she  were  ill  ? 
She  knew  not,  she  could  not  define  the  sort 
of  pain  and  joy  she  felt  at  that  moment. 
Her  eyes  had  long  been  fixed  upon  one 
who  took  no  part  in  this  convivial  scene 
— whose  pale  cheek  and  brow  expressed 
much  of  disappointed  hope,  or  of  joyless 
indifference.  He  had  that  youthful,  nay 
boyish  air,  which  renders  this  melan- 
choly the  more  singular. — It  was  not 
affected,  though  his  manner  had  in  it 
nothing  of  nature,  but  the  affectation 
was  rather  that  of  assumed  respect  for 
those  he  cared  not  for,  and  assumed  in- 
terest in  topics  to  which  he  hardly  at- 
tended, than  the  reverse.  He  even  af- 
fected gaiety;  but  the  heart's  laugh  never 
sounded  from  his  lips;  and  if  he  uttered 
a  sentence,  his  eye  seemed  to  despise  the 
being  who  listened  with  avidity  to  his 
observation.     It  was  the  same, — oh  !  yes. 


GLENARVON.  103 

it  was,  indeed,  the  same,  whom  Calantha 
had  one  moment  beheld  at  St.  Alvin 
Priory. 

His  face,  his  features,  were  the  same, 
it  is  true,  but  a  deeper  shade  of  sadness 
now  overspread  them ;  and  sorrow  and 
disappointment  had  changed  the  glow  of 
boyish  health  to  a  more  pallid  hue. 
What !  in  a  month  ?  it  will  be  said. — A 
day  might,  perhaps,  have  done  it.  How- 
ever, in  the  present  instance,  it  was  not 
as  if  some  sudden  and  defined  misfor- 
tune had  opprest  the  soul  by  a  single 
blow :  it  was  rather  as  if  every  early 
hope  had  long  been  blighted  ;  and  every 
aspiring  energy  had  been  destroyed. 
There  was  nothing  pleasing  to  gaze 
upon :  it  was  mournful ;  but  it  excited 
nor  sympathy,  nor  confidence.  The 
arm  was  in  a  sling — the  left  arm.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  that  he  was  the  hero 
who  had  risked  his  life  to  save  young 
Linden.  Was  it,  indeed,  Lord  Glenar- 
f  4 


104  GLENARVON. 

von  whom  Calantha  beheld  ?  Yes,  it 
was  himself.  Sir  George  Buchanan  had 
long  since  known,  observed,  and  distin- 
guished him  in  his  profession,  and  the 
firm  friendship  of  the  seaman,  would  not 
be  deterred  by  any  rumours,  however 
current  or  however  unfavourable,  from 
paying  him  that  respect,  which  he  knew 
to  be  due  not  more  to  his  rank,  than  to  his 
merit  and  prowess.  Glenarvonhad  availed 
himself  of  the  invitation,  and  face  to  face 
Calantha  now  stood  before  him,  and 
gazed  with  eager  curiosity  upon  him. 

Never  did  the  hand  of  the  sculptor,  in 
the  full  power  of  his  art,  produce  a  form 
and  face  more  finely  wrought,  so  full  of 
soul,  so  ever-varying  in  expression.  Was 
it  possible  to  behold  him  unmoved  ?  Oh ! 
was  it  in  woman's  nature  to  hear  him, 
and  not  to  cherish  every  word  he  uttered  ? 
And,  having  heard  him,  was  it  in  the 
human  heart  ever  again  to  forget  those 
accents,  which  awakened  every  interest, 
and  quieted  every  apprehension?   The 


GLENARVON.  105 

day,  the  hour,  that  very  moment  of  time 
was  marked  and  destined.  It  was  Gle- 
narvon — it  was  that  spirit  of  evil  whom 
she  beheld ;  and  her  soul  trembled  within 
her,  and  felt  its  danger. 

Calantha  was  struck  suddenly,  forcibly 
struck;  yet  the  impression   made  upon 
her,  was  not  in  his   favour.      The  eye 
of  the    rattle  -  snake,    it  has  been  sad, 
once  fixed  upon   its  victim,  overpowers 
it  with  terror  and  alarm  :  the  bird,  thus 
charmed,  dares  not  attempt  its  escape ;  it 
sings  its  last  sweet  lay ;  flutters  its  little 
pinions  in  the  air  ;  then  falls  prone  be- 
fore  its   destroyer,    unable  to   fly  from 
his  fascination.     Calantha  bowed,  there- 
fore with  the  rest,  pierced  to  the  heart  at 
once  by  the  maddening  power  that  de- 
stroys alike  the  high  and  low;  but  she 
liked  not  the  wily  turn  Oi  his  eye,  the 
contemptuous  sneer  of  his  curling  lip, 
the  soft  passionless  tones  of  his  voice  ; — 
it  was  not  nature,  or  if  it  were  nature,  not 
f  5 


106  GLENARVON. 

that  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed ; 
— not  the  open,  artless  expression  of  a 
guileless  heart. 

Starting  from  the  kind  of  dream,  in 
which  she  had  for  one  moment  been 
wrapped,  she  now  looked  around  her, 
and  with  a  sudden  affectation,  to  which 
she  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger,  assumed 
a  new  manner,  in  order  to  conceal  the  in- 
terest which  she  felt,  and  which  she  feared 
she  was  betraying. 

Lord  Glenarvon  was  the  real  object  of 
her  thoughts,  yet  she  appeared  alone  to 
be  occupied  with  every  other.  She 
laughed  with  Lord  Trelawney ;  talked  to 
the  Miss  Emmets ;  examined  with  in- 
terest every  part  of  the  ship,  carelessly 
approaching  the  very  edge  of  it ;  yet  once 
she  met  that  glance,  which  none  ever, 
who  had  seen,  could  forget,  and  she 
stopped  as  if  rivetted  to  the  earth. — He 
smile d ;  but  whether  it  was  a  smile  of 
approbation,  or  of  scorn,  she  could  not 
discover:  the  upper  lip  was  curled,  as 


GLENARVON.  107 

if  in  derision ;  but  the  hand  that  was 
stretched  out  to  save  her,  as  she  stood  on 
the  brink  of  tha  vessel,  and  the  soft 
silvery  voice  which  gently*  admonished 
her  to  beware,  lest  one  false  step  should 
plunge  her  headlong  into  the  gulph  be- 
low, soon  re-assured  her. 

It  was  late  before  the  Duke  took  leave 
of  the  admiral,  who  promised  to  breakfast 
with  the  Commodore  the  ensuing  day. 
The  guns  once  more  were  fired ;  the  band 
played  as  for  their  arrival ;  but  the  music 
now  seemed  to  breathe  a  sadder  strain ; 
for  it  was  heard  softened  by  distance,  and 
every  stroke  of  the  oars  rendered  the 
sounds  more  and  more  imperfect.  The 
sun  was  setting,  and  cast  its  lustre  on  the 
still  waves:  even  the  loquacity  of  the 
Emmets  was  for  a  few  moments  sus- 
pended; it  was  a  moment  which  im- 
pressed the  heart  with  awe;  it  was  a 
scene  never  to  be  forgotten.  The  splen- 
dour of  conquest,  the  tumult  of  enthu- 
siasm, the  aged  veteran,   and  more  than 


108  GLENARVON. 

all,  perhaps,  that  being  who  seemed  early 
wrecked  in  the  full  tide  of  misfortune, 
were  all  fixed  indelibly  in  Calantha's  me- 
mory. Future  times  might  bring  new 
interests  and  events  ;  magnificence  might 
display  every  wonderful  variety  ;  but  the 
impression  of  that  hour  never  can  be 
effaced. 


GJ.ENARVON.  109 


CHAPTER   XL 


Calantha  could  not  speak  one  word 
during  the  evening ;  but  while  Miss 
Emmets  sung — indifferently,  she  listened 
and  even  wept  at  what  never  before  had 
excited  or  interest,  or  melancholy.  At 
night,  when  in  sleep,  one  image  pursued 
her, — it  was  all  lovely — all  bright:  it 
seemed  to  be  clothed  in  the  white  gar- 
ments of  an  angel ;  it  was  too  resplendent 
for  eyes  to  gaze  on : — she  awoke.  Lord 
Avoudale  slept  in  the  inner  room  ;  she 
arose  and  looked  upon  him,  whilst  he 
reposed.  How  long,  how  fondly  she  had 
loved  those  features — that  form.  What 
grace,  what  majesty,  what  beauty  was 
there  !  But  when  those  eyes  awake,  she 
said,  they  will  not  look  for  me.  That 
heart  is  at  peace,  and  thou  canst  sleep, 
Henry,  and  my  sorrows  are  not  known 


110  GLENARVON. 

or  heeded  by  thee.  Happy  Avondale: — 
Miserable,  guilty  Calantha  !  when  the 
mind  once  cherishes  a  discontented 
spirit,  every  event  that  occurs  tends  to 
strengthen  it  in  the  delusion  it  loves  to 
indulge.  Calantha  only  thought  herself 
neglected.  To  her  perverted  eyes  every 
thing  appeared  in  a  false  light.  Thus  she 
accused  Lord  Avondale  when  in  fact  she 
herself  was  alone  to  blame. 

At  an  early  hour  the  ensuing  day, 
Captain  Emmet  proposed  a  drive  to 
Donallan  Park,  which  he  said  was  a  fair 
domain,  fully  deserving  the  attention  of 
the  Duke  of  Altamonte.  Cassandra  and 
Eloise  clamorously  seconded  this  pro- 
posal. In  this  energetic  family,  Mrs. 
Emmet  alone  gave  the  eye  and  the  ear  a 
little  repose.  Stretched  upon  a  couch  in 
languid,  listless  inactivity,  she  gazed  upon 
the  bustling  scene  before  her,  as  if  en- 
tirely unconnected  with  it :  nor  seemed 
to  know  of  greater  suffering  than  when 
roused  from  her  reveries,  by  the  acute 


GLENARVON.  Ill 

voices  of  her  family,  to  the  bustle  and 
hurry  of  common  life.  To  the  question 
of  whether  she  would  accompany  them 
to  Bonallan  Park,  she  answered  faintly, 
that  she  would  not  go.  A  fat  and 
friendly  lieutenant,  who  fondly  hung- 
over  her,  urged  her  to  relent,  and 
with  some  difficulty,  at  length,  persuaded 
her. 

Every  one  appeared  much  pleased 
with  their  excursion,  or  possibly  with 
some  incident  during  their  drive,  which 
had  made  any  excursion  agreeable.  Of 
Donallan  Park,  however,  Calantha  re- 
membered little :  this  alone,  she  noted, 
that  as  they  walked  through  a  shrubbery, 
Lord  Glenarvon  suddenly  disengaging 
himself  from  Miss  Emmet,  who  had  seiz- 
ed upon  his  arm,  gathered  a  rose — the 
only  rose  in  bloom  (it  being  early  in  the 
summer)  and  turning  back,  offered  it  to 
Calantha.  She  felt  confused — flattered 
perhaps;  but  if  she  were  flattered  by  his 
giving  it  to  her,  she  had  reason  to  be 


112  GLENARVON. 

mortified  by  the  remark  which  accom- 
panied the  gift.  "  I  offer  it  to  you,"  he 
said,  "  because  the  rose  at  this  season  is 
rare,  and  all  that  is  new  or  rare  has  for 
a  moment,  I  believe,  some  value  in  your 
estimation/'  She  understood  his  mean- 
ing :  her  eye  had  been  fixed  upon  him 
with  more  than  common  interest;  and 
all  that  others  said  and  Miss  Emmet  af- 
fected, he  thought,  perhaps,  that  she 
could  feel.  There  was  no  proof  she  gave 
of  this,  more  unequivocal,  than  her  si- 
lence. Her  spirits  were  gone  ;  a  strange 
fear  of  offending  had  come  upon  her ; 
and  when  Lady  Trelawney  rallied  her 
for  this  change,  "  I  am  not  well,"  she 
said;  "  I  wish  I  had  never  come  to 
Cork." 

On  the  ensuing  morning,  they  returned 
to  Castle  Delaval.  Previous  to  their 
departure,  Admiral  Buchanan  had  a  long- 
interview  with  Lady  Margaret,  during 
which  time  Lord  Gienarvon  walked  along 
the   beach  with  Calantha  and   Sophia. 


GLENARVON.  113 

"  Shall  you  be  at  Belfont  again  this 
year  ?"  said  Miss  Seymour.  "  I  shall  be 
at  Castle  Delaval  in  a  few  days,"  he  an- 
swered, smiling  rather  archly  atCalantha, 
she  knew  not  wherefore.  But  she  turned 
coldly  from  him,  as  if  fearing  to  meet 
his  eyes.  Yet  not  so  was  it  her  custom 
to  behave  towards  those  whom  she 
sought  to  please,  and  what  woman  upon 
earth  exists,  who  had  not  wished  to 
please  Glenarvon  ?  Possibly  she  felt  of- 
fended at  what  he  had  said  when  giving 
her  the  rose  in  Donallan  garden  ;  or 
it  may  be  that  her  mind,  hitherto  so  en- 
thusiastic, so  readily  attracted,  was  grown 
callous  and  indifferent,  and  felt  not  those 
charms  and  the  splendour  of  those  talents 
which  dazzled  and  misled  every  other 
heart. 

Yet  to  fly,  to  feel  embarrassed,  to 
scarcely  dare  to  look  upon  the  person 
who  addresses  us  ?  Are  these  such  very 
marked  signs  of  indifference  ?  It  is  not 
probable   that  Lord  Glenarvon  thought 


114  GLENARVON. 

so.  He  appeared  not  to  hate  the  being 
who  was  thus  confused  in  his  presence, 
but  to  think  that  he  felt  what  he  in- 
spired were  presumption.  With  all  the 
wild  eagerness  of  enthusiasm,  her  infa- 
tuated spirit  felt  what,  with  all  the  art 
of  well  dissembled  vanity,  he  feigned. 
She  quitted  him  with  a  strong  feeling  of 
interest.  She,  however,  first  heard  him 
accept  her  father's  invitation,  and  agree 
to  accompany  Sir  George  Buchanan  in  his 
promised  visit  to  Castle  Delaval. 


GLENARVON.  115 


CHAPTER    XII. 

On  their  return  thither,  they  found  the 
guests  they  had  left  in  a  lamentable  state 
of  dullness.  Lord  Glenarvon  was  the 
first  subject  of  enquiry.  Is  he  arrived? 
— have  you  seen  him? — do  you  like 
him  ?  —  were  repeated  on  all  sides. 
«  Who?— who?"  "  There  can  be  but 
one — Lord  Glenarvon !"  "  We  all  like 
him  quite  sufficiently,  be  assured  of  that," 
said  Sophia,  glancing  her  eye  somewhat 
sarcastically  upon  Calantha.  "  He  is  a 
very  strange  personage,"  said  Lady 
Margaret.  "  My  curiosity  to  see  him 
had  been  highly  excited :  I  am  now  per- 
fectly satisfied.  He  certainly  has  a  slight 
resemblance  to  his  mother."  "  He  has 
the  same  winning  smile,"  said  Gondimar ; 
"  but  there  all  comparison  ceases." 
"  What  says  my  Calantha?"    saioV  Lady 


116  GLENARVON. 

Mandeville,  "  does  her  silence  denote 
praise  ?"  "  Oh  !  the  greatest,"  she  re- 
plied in  haste,  "  I  hope,  my  dear  girls," 
said  Mrs.  Seymour,  rather  seriously  ad- 
dressing her  daughters,  "  that  you  will 
neither  of  you  form  any  very  marked 
intimacy  with  a  person  of  so  singular  a 
character  as  is  this  young  lord.  I  was 
rather  sorry  when,  by  your  letter,  I 
found  he  was  invited  here."  "  Oh,  there 
is  no  need  of  caution  for  us  !"  replied 
Lady  Trelawny,  laughing :  "  perhaps 
others  may  need  these  counsels,  but  not 
we :  we  are  safe  enough  ;  are  we  not, 
Sophia?" 

Lord  Glenarvon,  the  object  of  discus- 
sion, soon  appeared  at  the  castle,  to  si- 
lence both  praise  and  censure.  There 
was  a  studied  courtesy  in  his  manner — 
a  proud  humility,  mingled  with  a  certain 
cold  reserve,  which  amazed  and  repressed 
the  enthusiasm  his  youth  and  misfor- 
tunes had  excited.  The  end  was  as  usual : 
— all  were  immediately  won  by  this  un- 


GLENARVON.  117 

expected  demeanour: — some  more,  some 
less,  and  Mrs.  Seymour  the  last.  But,  to 
Calantha's  infinite  amusement,  she  heard 
her  speaking  in  his  defence  a  few  hours 
after  his  arrival ;  and  the  person  she  ad- 
dressed, upon  this  occasion,  was  Sir  Eve- 
rard  St.  Clare,  who  vehemently  asse- 
verated, though  only  in  a  whisper,  that 
the  Duke  must  be  mad  to  permit  such  a 
person  to  remain  at  the  castle  in  times 
like  the  present. 

Sir  Everard  then  stated,  that  Lady 
St.  Clare  and  her  daughters  were  re- 
turned to  Belfont,  and  so  eager  to  be 
again  received  into  society,  that  if  they 
dared  hope  that  any  of  the  Duke's  family 
would  accept  their  invitation,  they  in- 
tended to  give  a  concert  on  the  night  of 
the  great  illumination  for  the  Admiral's 
arrival  at  Belfont.  Mrs.  Seymour  smiled 
in  scorn ;  but  Lady  Margaret  kindly  pro- 
mised to  go ;  and  as  soon  as  Mrs. 
Seymour  heard  that  it  was  merely  in  a 
political    light    they    were    to    counte- 


118  GLENARVOX. 

nance  them,  she  was  satisfied.  For  the 
present  terror  of  all  those  who  upheld  the 
government,  was  lest  the  rebels  should 
prove  superior,  and  murder  them  for 
their  opinions 

It  is  unnecessary  to  relate  what  Lord 
Glenarvon  said  to  Calantha  very  shortly 
after  his  arrival  at  the  castle ;  it  was 
made  up  of  a  thousand  nothings ;  yet 
they  were  so  different  from  what  others 
had  said :  they  shewed  her  so  marked 
a  preference  ;  at  least  they  seemed  to  do 
so ;  but  it  was  not  a  preference  that 
could  alarm  the  most  wary,  or  offend  the 
most  scrupulous.  Such  as  it  was,  however, 
it  flattered  and  it  pleased  ;  it  gave  a  new 
interest  to  life,  and  obliterated  from 
her  memory  every  long  cherished  feeling 
of  bitterness  or  regret. 

It  chanced  one  day,  that,  when  seated 
at  dinner,  by  Mrs.  Seymour,  to  whom  he 
paid  no  little  attention,  he  enquired  of 
her  concerning  Mac  Allain,  who  waited 
upon  that  occasion   behind  the  Duke's 


GLENARVON.  119 

chair.  "  Why  looks  he  so  miserable?" 
he  said.  "  Why  turn  his  eyes  so  inces- 
santly towards  Mr.  Buchanan  ?"  Mrs. 
Seymour  hesitated,  as  if  fearing  to  allude 
to  a  transaction  which  she  never  thought 
of  without  horror  and  dislike  ;  but  she 
no  sooner  pronounced  the  name  of  Mac 
Allain,  than  Lord  Glenarvon's  counte- 
nance altered :  he  started !  and,  watching 
Buchanan  with  a  look  of  loathing  anti- 
pathy, exhibited  such  a  variety  of  male- 
volent passions,  in  the  space  of  a  few 
moments,  that  Sophia,  who  sat  near  Ca- 
lantha  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table, 
asked  her,  as  she  read  countenances  so 
well,  to  tell  her  what  her  new  friend's 
expressed  at  that  instant  ?  She  raised 
her  eyes  ;  but  met  Glenarvon's.  He  saw 
he  was  the  object  of  attention:  he 
smiled  ;  and  the  sweetness  of  that  smile 
alone  being  considered:  "  I  know  not," 
she  said,  in  some  confusion  ;  "  but  this 
I  believe,  that  the  hand  of  Heaven  never 
impressed    on   man   a   countenance   so 


J  20  GLENARVON". 

beautiful,  so  glorious !"  "  Calautha  !"  said 
Sophia,  looking  at  her.  Calantha  sighed. 
"  What  is  it  even  so  ? — Heaven  defend 
us!"  somewhat  confused  Calantha  turn- 
ed to  the  Count  Gondimar;  and,  talk- 
ing with  affected  spirits,  soon  appeared 
to  have  forgotten  both  the  smile  and  the 
sigh. 

"  You  once,  when  in  London,  gave 
me  permission  to  warn  you,"  said  the 
Count,  who  observed  every  thing  that 
was  passing,  "  when  I  thought  you  in 
danger.  Now,"  continued  he, — "  now 
is  the  moment.  It  was  not  when 
dancing  with  Mr.  Clarendon,  or  playing 
the  coquette  with  Buchanan  and  the 
Duke  of  Myrtlegrove,  that  I  trembled 
for  you.  Lord  Avondale  was  still  dear, 
even  in  those  days — but  now — O  !  the  in- 
constancy of  the  human  heart.  You,  even 
you,  are  changed."  "  Not  I,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  but  alas  !  that  time  is  arrived 
which  you  predicted  :  he  cares  no  more 
for  me;   but  I   can   never  forget   him. 


GLEI^ARVON.  .       121 

See,"  she  continued,  "  how  utterly  in- 
different he  appears,  yet  I  would  die  for 
him."  "  That  will  be  of  little  service: 
you  will  prove  his  ruin  and  misery.  Mark 
my  words,  Lady  Avondale  ;  and,  when 
too  late,  remember  what  I  have  dared  to 
say." 

"  Every  woman  complains,"  she  con- 
tinued, smiling,  "  therefore,  let  me  prove 
an  exception.     I  have  no   reproaches  to 
make  Lord  Avondale ;  and,  except  in  your 
suspicious  mind,  there  is  no  evil  to  ap- 
prehend."    "  Tell  me,  candidly  ;  if  the 
trial  were  made,  if  the  hour  of  tempta- 
tion were  to  come,   could  you,  do  you 
think — could     you    have    strength    and 
courage  to  resist  it  ?"     "  Could  I !  Can 
you  ask  !    It  will  not  be  accounted  pre- 
sumption to  affirm,    that  I  feel  secure* 
But  possibly  this  arises  from  my  convic- 
tion, that  there  can  be  no  temj Nation  for 
me :  I  love  my  husband  ;   there  is   no 
merit  then    in  being  true  to  what  we 
love." 
Vol.  II.  G 


122  GLENARVO.N. 

As  she  yet  spoke,  Zerbellini  approached 
and  asked  her,  in  Italian,  to  read  a  note* 
Lord  Glenarvon  had  sent  her.  It  was 
written  with  a  pencil,  and  contained  but 
few  words  :  it  requested  her  to  speak  no 
more  with  the  Count  Gondimar.  He  saw 
the  manner  in  which  the  paper  was  de- 
livered, and  guessed  from  whom  it  came. 
"  I  told  you  so,"  he  cried.  "  Alas  ! 
shall  I  affect  to  offer  you  advice,  when 
so  many  nearer  and  dearer  friends  are 
silent — shall  I  pretend  to  greater  wisdom, 
—greater  penetration  ?  Is  it  not  inordi- 
nate vanity  to  hope,  that  any  thing  I  can 
suggest  will  be  of  use  ?"  "  Speak," 
said  Caiantha  ;  for  the  subject  was  inte- 
resting to  her  ;  '•<  at  all  events  I  shall  not 
be  offended."  "  The  serpent  that  is  che- 
rished in  the  bosom,"  said  Gondimar, 
fiercely,  "will  bite  with  deadly  venom— 
the  flame  that  brightly  dazzles  the  little 
wanton  butterfly,  will  destroy  it.  The 
heart  of  a  libertine  is  iron :  it  softens  when 
heated  with  the  fires   of  passion,    but 


GLENAKVOX.  123 

it  is  cold  and  hard  in  itself.  As  whirl- 
winds  they  are  strong"  and  irresisti- 
ble ;  but  when  they  subside,  the  calm  of 
insensibility  will  succeed.  Remember 
the  friend  of  thy  youth  ;  though  he 
appear  unkind,  his  seeming  neglect  is 
better  worth  than  the  vows  and  adulation 
of  all  beside.  Oh  !  Lady  Avondale,  let 
one  that  is  lovely,  and  blest  as  you  are, 
continue  pure  even  in  thought." 

Calantha  looked  up,  and  met  Gondi- 
mar's  eyes :  the  fire  in  them  convinced 
her  that  love  alone  dictated  this  sage 
advice  ;  and  none  ever  can  conceive  how 
much  that  feeling  had  been  encreased 
by  thus  seeing  a  rival  before  him,  whom 
he  could  not  hope  to  render  odious  or 
ridiculous. 

On  the  following  day  Lord  Glenarvon 
took  his  leave.  The  Duke  appeared  de- 
sirous of  conciliating  him  ;  Lady  Marga- 
ret was  more  even  than  usually  brilliant 
and  agreeable;  Mrs.  Seymour  relaxed 
something  of  her  frigidity  \   and  the  rest 


124  •LENARV0N. 

of  the  ladies  were  enthusiastic  in  their 
approbation. 

From  that  time  Calantha  spoke  much  and 
often  apart  with  Gondimar.  Every  thought 
of  her  heart  seemed  concentrated  on  the 
sudden  in  one  dark  interest ;  yet  it  was  not 
love  that  she  felt :  it  could  not  be.  By  day» 
by  night,  one  image  pursued  her  :  yet 
to  save,  to  reclaim,  to  lead  back  from 
crime  to  virtue — from  misery  to  peace, 
was,  as  she  then  apprehended,  her  sole 
hope  and  view.  Mere  not  all  around 
alike  infatuated  ?  Was  not  the  idol  of 
her  fancy  a  being  to  whom  all  alike  paid 
the  incense  of  flattery — the  most  lowly, 
the  most  abject  ? 

"  Let  them  pursue,"  she  cried  ;  "  let 
them  follow  after  and  be  favoured  in 
turn.  I  alone,  self-exiled,  will  fly,  will 
hide  myself  beneath  every  concealment. 
He  shall  hear  their  words  and  believe 
in  their  adulation  ;  but  never,  whilst 
existence  is  allowed  me,  shall  he  know 
the  interest  with  which  he  has  inspired 


GLENARTON.  126 

me."  Resolved  upon  this,  and  dreading 
her  own  thoughts,  she  danced,  she  rode, 
she  sang,  she  talked  to  every  one,  sought 
every  amusement,  and  seemed  alone  to 
dread  one  instant  of  repose — one  single 
moment  of  time  devoted  to  self-examina- 
tion and  reflection.  Ceaseless  hurry, 
joyless  mirth,  endless  desire  of  amuse- 
ment varied  the  days  as  they  flitted  by, 
"  Oh,  pause  to  reflect  !"  said  Gondimar. 
But  it  was  vain  :  new  scenes  of  interest 
succeeded  each  other  :  till  suddenly  she 
started  as  if  already  in  the  dark  labyrinth 
of  sin,  and  shuddering  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  bottomless  chasm,  which  opened 
before  her  feet. 


g  3 


12$  GLENARVON. 


CHAPTER    XIII 


Lord  Glenarvon  was  now  a  favoured 
guest  at  the  castle.  He  came,  he  went, 
as  it  suited  his  convenience  or  his  hu- 
mour,— But  every  time  he  came,  the  se- 
cret interest  he  had  excited  was  strength- 
ened ;  and  every  time  he  went,  he  left 
apparently  deeper  marks  of  regret. 

Sir  Richard  Mowbrey  and  Sir  George 
Buchanan  were  at  this  time  also  at  the 
castle.  Sir  Everard,  forgetful  of  his 
wrongs,  and  his  Lady  of  her  projects  for 
the  emancipation  of  her  countrymen, 
kept  open  house  during  their  stay  ; 
Lady  St.  Clare,  in  pursuance  of  her 
plan  of  restoring  herself  to  society,  as- 
sisted with  her  daughters,  at  a  concert 
in  the  great  assembly-rooms  at  Belfont, 
given  in  honour  of  the  Admiral's  arrival. 


GLENERVON.  127 

On  the  eventful  evening,  the  whole  party 
at  the  castle  resolved  to  make  a  most 
wonderful  eclat,  by  their  brilliant  appear- 
ance and  popular  condescension.  The 
Duke  addressed  himself  to  every  indivi- 
dual with  his  accustomed  affability.  Lord 
Avondale  attended  upon  his  uncle,  who 
amused  himself  by  walking  up  and  down 
that  part  of  the  room  which  was  pre- 
pared for  the  dancers,  bowing  to  all, 
shaking  hands  with  all,  and  receiving 
those  compliments  which  his  brave  con- 
duct deserved.  Pale,  trembling,  and 
scarcely  heeding  the  scene,  Calantha 
watched  with  breathless  anxiety  for  one 
alone  ;  and  that  one,  for  what  cause  she 
knew  not,  spoke  not  to  her. 

"  Where  is  he?"—"  Which  is  he  ?"— 
Was  whispered  now  from  mouth  to 
mouth.  The  Admiral,  the  Duke,  the 
concert  were  forgotten.  One  object 
appeared  suddenly  to  engage  the  most 
boundless  curiosity.  "  Is  that  really  Lord 
Glenarvon  ?"  said  a  pretty  little  woman 
g4 


128  GLENARVON; 

pushing  her  way  towards  him*  "  Oh 
let  me  but  have  the  happiness  of  speaking 
one  word  to  him  : — let  me  but  say,  when 
I  return  to  my  home,  that  I  have  seen 
him,  and  I  shall  be  overjoyed/'  Calantha 
made  room  for  the  enthusiastic  Lady : 
— she  approached — she  offered  her  hand 
to  the  deliverer  of  his  Country  as  she 
called  him.  He  accepted  it  with  grace, 
but  some  embarrassment.  The  rush  was 
then  general :  everyone  would  see — would 
speak  to  their  Lord — their  King ;  and 
the  fashionable  reserve  which  affectation 
had,  for  a  moment*  taught  the  good  peo- 
ple of  Belfont  to  assume,  soon  vanished, 
when  nature  spoke  in  their  bosoms :  so 
that  had  not  the  performers  of  the  grand 
concerto  called  to  order,  Lord  Glenarvon 
had  been  absolutely  obliged  to  make  his 
retreat.  The  mystery  in  which  his  fate 
appeared  involved,  his  youth,  his  misfor- 
tunes, his  brave  conduct,  and  perhaps 
even  his  errors  awakened  this  interest 
in  such  as  beheld  him.     But  he  turned 


GLENARVON.  129 

form  the  gaze  of  strangers  with  bitter- 
ness. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  seat  myself  near 
you  ?"  he  said,  approaching  Calantha's 
chair.  "  Can  you  ask  ?"  "  Without 
asking,  I  would  not.  You  may  possibly 
stay  till  late  :  I  shall  go  early.  My  only 
inducement  in  coming  here  was  you." 
"  Oh !  do  not  say,  what  I  am  well 
assured  is  not  true."  "  I  never  say  what 
I  do  not  feel.  Your  presence  here  alone 
makes  me  endure  all  this  fulsome  flattery, 
noise,  display.  If  you  dance — that  fa, 
when  you  dance,  I  shall  retire." 

The  concert  now  began  with  frequent 
bursts  of  applause.  Suddenly  a  general 
murmur  proclaimed  some  new  and  unex- 
pected event : — a  young  performer  ap- 
peared. Was  it  a  boy!  Such  grace — such 
beauty,  soon  betrayed  her:  it  was  Miss  St. 
Clare.  She  could  not  hope  for  admittance 
in  her  own  character  ;  yet,  under  a  feigned 
name,   she  had  promised/ to  assist  at  the 

performance  ;  and  the  known  popularity 

g5 


130  GLENARTOX. 

of  her  songs,  and  the  superior  sweetness 
of  her  voice,  prevented  the  professors 
from  enquiring  too  much  into  the  pro- 
priety of  such  an  arrangement 

Messieurs  John  Maclane  and  Creigh- 
ton  had  just  been  singing,  in  Italian,  an 
opera  buffa.  The  noise  they  had  made 
was  such,  that  even  the  most  courteous 
had  been  much  discountenanced.  A  mo- 
ment's pause  ensued ;  when,  without 
one  blush  of  diffidence,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, with  an  air  of  dauntless  and  even 
contemptuous  effrontery,  the  youthful 
performer  seized  her  harp — Glenarvon's 
harp — and  singing,  whilst  her  dark  bril- 
liant eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  alone, 
she  gave  vent  to  the  emotions  of  her  own 
bosom,  and  drew  tears  of  sympathy  from 
many  another.  The  words  were  evi- 
dently made  at  the  moment;  and  breathed 
from  the  heart.  She  studied  not  the  com- 
position, but  the  air  was  popular,  and  for 
that  reason  it  had  effect. 


GLENAIIVOJ*.  131 

If  to  lose  all  that  love  thee,  should  e'er  be  thy  lot, 
By  the  world,  that  now  courts  thee,  contemn'd  or  forgot  3 
When  thy  own  fickle  heart  has  all  others  estranged, 
Then  remember  St.  Clara,  who  never  had  changed. 

Who  had  followed  thy  steps,  though  in  sickness  and  sadness., 
More  firm  to  the  last  than  the  foes  who  upbraid  her; 

Who  had  followed  thy  steps,  though  to  death  and  to  madness, 
Then  mourn  o'er  the  grave  where  thy  falsehood  has  laid  her. 

Ah,  say  not!  Ah,  think  not !  she  e'er  can  recover, 
The  blow  never  fails  from  the  hand  of  a  lover  ; 
Full  home  it  was  struck,  and  it  fell  on  a  breast 
By  remorse  and  uukindness  already  deprest. 

A  smile  oft,  in  death,  may  illumine  each  feature, 
W'henhope,  fondly  cherished,  for  ever  is  past  j 

And  the  heart  that  is  noble  and  high  in  its  nature, 
Though  deserted  and  scorn'd,  will  be  firm  to  the  last. 


132  GLENARVON. 

The  admiration  for  the  young  enthu- 
siast was  checked  by  the  extreme  disgust 
her  shameless  ill  conduct  had  occasioned. 
The  tears,  too,  of  Sir  Everard,  who  was 
present,  and  audibly  called  upon  his  cruel 
ungrateful  niece,  excited  a  strong  feeling 
of  sympathy  and  indignation.  She  re- 
tired the  moment  she  had  ended  her 
song,  and  the  commotion  her  presence 
Tiad  excited  subsided  with  her  de- 
parture. 

The  heiress  of  Delaval,  decked  in 
splendid  jewels,  had  not  lost,  by  compa- 
rison, with  the  deserted  Elinor.  She  was 
the  reigning  favourite  of  the  moment : 
every  one  observed  it,  and  smiled  upon 
her  the  more  on  that  account.  To  be  the 
favourite  of  the  favoured  was  too  much. 
The  adulation  paid  to  her  during  the 
evening,  and  the  caresses  lavished  upon 
her  had  possibly  turned  a  wiser  head  than 
her!s  ;  but  alas  !  a  deeper  interest  em- 
ployed her  thoughts,  and  Glenarvon's 
attention  was  her  sole  object. 


GLENARVON.  133 

Calantha  had  felt  agitated  and  serious 
during  Miss  St.  Clare's  performance. 
Lord  Glenarvon  had  conversed  with  his 
customary  ease ;  yet  something  had 
wounded  her.  Perhaps  she  saw,  in  the 
gaze  of  strangers,  that  this  extreme  and 
sudden  intimacy  was  observed ;  or  pos- 
sibly her  heart  reproached  her.  She  felt 
that  not  vanity  alone,  nor  even  enthusi- 
asm, was  the  cause  of  her  present  emo- 
tion. She  knew  not,  nor  could  define 
the  motive  ;  but,  with  seeming  inconsis- 
tency, after  refusing  positively  to  dance, 
she  sent  for  Buchanan  and  joined  in 
that  amusement ;  and,  as  if  the  de- 
sire of  exercise  had  susperseded  every 
other,  she  danced  on  with  an  energy 
and  perseverance,  which  excited  the 
warmest  approbation  in  all.  "  What 
spirits  Lady  Avondale  has  I"  said  one. 
w  How  charming  she  is  !"  cried  another. 
She  herself  only  sighed. 

"  Have   you  ever  read  a  tragedy   of 
Ford's  ?"  whispered  Lady  Augusta  to  Car 


134  GLENARVON. 

lantha,  as  soon  as  she  had  ceased  to  exhi- 
bit— "  a  tragedy  entitled  The  Broken 
Heart"  "  No,"  she  replied,  half  vexed, 
half  offended.  "  At  this  moment  you  put 
me  vastly  in  mind  of  it.  You  look  most 
woefully.  Come,  tell  me  truly,  is  not 
your  heart  in  torture  ?  and,  like  your 
namesake  Calantha,  while  lightly  danc- 
ing the  gayest  in  the  ring,  has  not  the 
shaft  already  been  struck,  and  shall  you 
not  die  ere  you  attain  the  goal  r"  She 
indeed  felt  nearly  ready  to  do  so  ;  and 
fanning  herself  excessively,  declared,  that 
it  was  dreadfully  hot — that  she  should 
absolutely  expire  of  the  heat :  yet  while 
talking  and  laughing  with  those  who 
surrounded  her,  her  eye  looked  cau- 
tiously round,  eager  to  behold  the  re- 
sentment and  expected  frowns  of  him 
whom  she  had  sought  to  offend  ;  but 
there  was  no  frown  on  Lord  Glenarvon's 
brow — no  look  of  resentment. 

"  And  are  you  happy  ?"  he  said,  ap- 
proaching her  with  gentleness.     "  Per- 


GLEXARVON.  135 

haps  so,  since  some  can  rejoice  in  the 
sufferings  of  others.  Yet  1  forgive  you, 
because  I  know  you  are  not  yourself.  I 
see  you  are  acting  from  pique  :  but  you 
have  no  cause ;  for  did  you  know  my 
heart,  and  could  you  feel  what  it  suffers 
on  your  account,  your  doubts  would  give 
way  to  far  more  alarming  suspicions." 
He  paused,  for  she  turned  abruptly  from 
him.  u  Dance  on  then,  LadyAvondale," 
he  continued,  u  the  admiration  of  those 
for  whose  society  you  were  formed — the 
easy  prey  of  every  coxcomb  to  whom  that 
ready  hand  is  so  continually  offered,  and 
which  I  have  never  once  dared  to  ap- 
proach. Such  is  the  respect  which  will 
ever  be  shewn  to  the  object  of  real  admi- 
ration, interest  and  regard,  although  that 
object  seems  willing  to  forget  that  it  is 
her  due.  But,"  added  he,  assuming  that 
air  of  gaiety  he  had  one  moment  laid 
aside,  "  I  detain  you,  do  I  not  ?  See  Co- 
lonel Donallan  and  the  Italian  Count 
await  you."     You  mistake  me,"  she  said 


136  GLENARVOtf. 

gravely ;  "  I  could  not  presume  to  imagine 
that  my  dancing  would  be  heeded  by  you: 
I  could  have  no  motive."  "  None  but  the 
dear  delight  of  tormenting,"  he  replied, 
"  which  gave  a  surprising  elasticity  to 
your  step,  1  can  assure  you.  Indubitably 
had  not  that  impulse  assisted,  you  could 
not  thus  have  excelled  yourself."  "If  you 
knew,"  she  said,  "  what  I  suffer  at  this 
moment  you  would  spare  me.  Why  do 
you  deride  me?"  "  Because,  oh  Lady 
Avondale,  I  dare  not — I  cannot  speak  to 
you  more  seriously.  I  feel  that  1  have  no 
right — no  claim  on  you.  I  dread  offend- 
ing ;  but  to-morrow  I  shall  expiate  all ; 
for  I  leave  you  to-morrow. — Yes,  it  must 
be  so.  I  am  going  from  Ireland.  Indeed 
I  was  going  before  I  had  the  misery  of 
believing  that  I  should  leave  anything  in 
it  I  could  ever  regret."  W  hat  Calantha  felt 
when  he  said  this,  cannot  be  described. 

"  Will  you  dance  the  two  next  dances 
with  me  ?"  said  Colonel  Donallan,  now 
approaching.    "  I  am  tired :  will  you  ex- 


GLENARVdN.  137 

cuse  me  ?  I  believe  our  carriages  are  or* 
dered."  "Oh,  surely  you  will  not  go  away 
before  supper."  "  Ask  Lady  Mandeville 
what  she  means  to  do."  "  Lady  Tre- 
lawney  and  Miss  Seymour  stay."  "  Then^ 
perhaps  I  shall."  The  Colonel  bowed 
and  retired. — "  Give  me  the  rose  you 
wear,"  said  Glenarvon  in  a  low  voice, 
"  in  return  for  the  one  I  presented  you  at 
Donallan  Park."  "  Must  I  ?"  "  You 
must,"  he  said,  smiling.  With  some 
hesitation,  she  obeyed  ;  yet  she  looked 
around  in  hopes  no  vigilant  eye  might  ob- 
serve her.  She  took  it  from  her  bosom,  and 
gave  it  tremblingly  into  his  hands.  Alarge 
pier  glass  reflected  the  scene  to  the  whole 
company.  The  rose  thus  given,  was  re- 
ceived with  transport.  It  said  more,  thus 
offered,  than  a  thousand  words  : — it  was 
taken  and  pressed  to  a  lover's  lips,  till  all 
its  blushing  beauties  were  gone,  then  it 
was  cast  down  on  the  earth  to  be  tram- 
pled upon  by  many.  And  had  Calantha 
wished  it,  she  might  have  read  in  the 


138  GLENARVON. 

history  of  the  flower,  the  fate  that  ever 
attends  on  guilty  love. 

And  was  it  love  she  felt  so  soon — so 
strongly  ! — It  is  not  possible.  Alarmed, 
grieved,  flattered  at  his  altered  manner, 
she  turned  aside  to  conceal  the  violent, 
the  undefinable  emotions,  to  which  she 
had  become  a  prey  : — a  dream  of  ecstasy 
for  one  moment  fluttered  in  her  heart ; 
but  the  recollection  of  Lord  Avondale 
recurring,  she  started  with  horror  from 
herself — from  him;  and,  abruptly  taking 
leave,  retired. 

"  Are  you  going  ?"  said  Glenarvon. 
"  I  am  ill,"  she  answered.  "  Will  you 
suffer  me  to  accompany  you  ?"  he  said, 
as  he  assisted  her  into  her  carriage ;  "  or 
possibly  it  is  not  the  custom  in  this  coun- 
try :  —  you  mistrust  me — you  think  it 
wrong." — "  No,"  she  answered  with  em- 
barrassment ;  and  he  seated  himself  by 
her  side.  The  distance  to  the  castle  was 
short.  Lord  Glenarvon  was  more  re- 
spectful, more  reserved,  more  silent  than 


tJLENARVON.  139 

before  he  had  entered  the  carriage.  On 
quitting  it  only  he  pressed  her  hand  to 
his  heart,  and  bade  her  feel  for  the  agony 
she  had  implanted  there.  None  perhaps, 
ever  before  felt  what  she  did  at  this 
instant 


140  GLENARVON. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


If  any  indifferent  person  approach  us,  it 
either  is  disagreeable,  or  at  least  unim- 
portant ;  but  when  it  is  a  person  we  love, 
it  thrills  through  the  heart,  and  we  are 
unable  to  speak  or  to  think.  Could  she 
have  imagined  that  Lord  Glenarvon  felt 
for  her,  she  had  been  lost.  But  that  was 
imposible;  and  yet  his  manner; — it  was 
so  marked,  there  could  be  no  doubt.  She 
was  inexperienced,  we  may  add,  inno- 
cent; though  sufficiently  prepared  to 
become  every  thing  that  was  the  re- 
verse. Yet  in  a  moment  she  felt  her 
own  danger,  and  resolved  to  guard 
against  it.  How  then  can  so  many  affirm, 
when  they  know  that  they  are  loved,  that 
it  is  a  mere  harmless  friendship !  how  can 
they,  in  palliation  of  their  errors,  bring 
forward  the  perpetually  repeated  excuse 


GLENARVON.  141 

that  they  were  beguiled !  The  heart  that 
is  chaste  and  pure  will  shrink  the  soonest 
from  the  very  feeling  that  would  pollute 
it: — in  vain  it  would  attempt  to  deceive 
itself:  the  very  moment  we  love,  or  are 
loved,  something  within  us  points  out  the 
danger: — even  when  we  fly  from  him,  to 
whom  we  could  attach  ourselves,  we  feel 
a  certain  embarrassment — an  emotion, 
which  is  not  to  be  mistaken ;  and,  in  a 
lover's  looks,  are  there  not  a  thousand 
assurances  and  confessions  which  no  de- 
nial of  words  can  for  a  moment  disguise? 
Lord  Glenarvon  had  denied  to  Calantha 
the  possibility  of  his  ever  again  feeling  at- 
tachment. This  had  not  deceived  her; 
but  she  was  herself  too  deeply  and  sud- 
denly struck  to  the  heart  to  venture  to 
hope  for  a  return.  Besides,  she  did  not 
think  of  this  as  possible: — he  seemed  to 
her  so  far  above  her — so  far  above  every 
thing.  She  considered  him  as  entirely 
different  from  all  others;  and,  if  not  su- 


142  GLEtfARTO'?*'. 

peri  or,  at  least  dissimilar  and  consequently 
not  to  be  judged  by  the  same  crite- 
rion. 

It  is  difficult  to  explain  Calantha's  pe- 
culiar situation  with  respect  to  Lord  Avon- 
dale.  Yet  it  is  necessary  briefly  to  state 
in  what  manner  they  were  situated  at  this 
particular  period.  They  were  dearer  to 
each  other  perhaps,  than  any  two  who 
had  been  so  long  united  in  marriage. 
They  loved  each  other  with  more  passion, 
more  enthusiasm  than  is  often  retained ; 
but  they  were,  from  a  thousand  circum- 
stances, utterly  estranged  at  this  time; 
and  that  apparently  by  mutual  consent — 
like  two  violent  spirits  which  had  fretted 
and  chafed  and  opposed  each  other,  till 
both  were  sore  and  irritated. 

In  the  course  of  years,  they  had  said 
every  thing  that  was  most  galling  and 
bitter;  and  though  the  ardent  attachment 
they  really  felt,  had  ever  followed  those 
momentary  bursts  of  fury,  the  veil   had 


GLEXARVON.  143 

beeri  torn  aside — that  courtesy,  which 
none  should  ever  suffer  themselves  to  for- 
get, had  been  broken  through,  and  they 
had  yielded  too  frequently  to  the  sudden- 
impulse  of  passion,  ever  to  feel  secure  that 
the  ensuing  moment  might  not  produce  a 
scene  of  discord. 

Calmness  and   deliberation   had  van- 
quished  Calantha;    violence   could  not. 
When    provoked,    Lord   Avondale  was 
too  severe ;    and  when  he  saw  her  mi- 
serable and  oppressed,  it  gave  him  more 
suffering  than  if  he  had  himself  been 
subdued.      There  are  few  spirits  which 
cannot   be  overcome  if  dexterously  at- 
tacked ;    but  with  the  fierce  and  daring, 
force   will   generally   be   found   useless. 
It  should  be  remembered  that,  like  mad- 
ness, these  distorted   characters  see  not 
things  as  they  are ;    and,   like    martyrs 
and  fanatics,  they  attach  a  degree  of  glory 
to  every  privation  and  punishment  in  the 
noble  cause  of  opposition  to  what  they 


144  GLENARV0*. 

conceive  is  unjust  authority.  Such  a 
character  is  open  and  guileless;  but 
unhappily,  the  very  circumstance  that 
makes  it  sincere,  renders  it  also,  if  it 
turn  from  the  right  course,  desperate  and 
hardened.  Hypocricyand  falsehood,  how- 
ever disgusting,  are  perhaps  less  dange- 
rous symptoms  than  that  fearless  open- 
ness. The  former  at  least  proves  a  sense 
of  shame,  and  whilst  this  exists  all  virtue 
is  not  extinct. 

During  the  first  years  of  their  mar- 
riage, these  tumultuous  scenes  but 
strengthened  the  attachment  they  felt 
for  each  other ;  but  when  Lord  Avon- 
dale's  profession  absorbed  his  mind,  he 
dreaded  a  recurrence  of  those  quarrels 
and  reconciliations  which  had  once  so 
entirely  engrossed  his  thoughts.  He  left 
Calantha,  therefore,  to  the  guidance  of 
that  will,  which  she  had  so  long  and  per- 
tinaciously indulged.  Absent,  pre -oc- 
cupied, he  saw  not,   he  heard  not,  the 


ULE'NARVGN*  145 

misuse  she  made  of  her  entire  liberty. 
Some  trifle,  perhaps,  at  times,  reached  his 
ear ;  a  scene  of  discord  ensued ;  much  bit- 
terness on  both  sides  followed:  and  the 
conviction  that  they  no  longer  loved  each 
other,  added  considerably  to  the  violence 
of  recrimination.  They  knew  not  how 
deeply  rooted  affection  such  as  they  had 
once  felt,  must  ever  be — how  the  very 
ties  that  compelled  them  to  belong  to 
each  other,  strengthened,  in  fact,  the 
attachment  which  inclination  and  love 
had  first  inspired ;  but,  with  all  the 
petulance  and  violence  of  character 
natural  to  each,  they  fled  estranged 
and  offended  from  each  other's  so- 
ciety. 

Lord  Avondale  sought,  in  an  active 
and  manly  profession,  for  some  newer 
interest,  in  which  every  feeling  of  am- 
bition could  have  part ;  and  she,  sur- 
rendering her  soul  to  the  illusive  dream 
of     a     mad     and     guilty    attachment 

Vol.  II.  II 


146  GLEXARVOX. 

boasted  that  she  had  found  again 
the  happines  she  had  lost;  and  con- 
trasted the  indifference  of  her  husband 
with  the  ardour,  the  devotion,  the  re- 
fined attention  of  a  newly  acquired 
friend. 


GLENARTOK.  14? 


CHAPTER   XV* 


O  better  had  it  been  to  die  than  to  see 
and  hear  Glenarvon.     When  he  smiled* 
it  was  like  the  light  of  heaven ;  and  when 
he  spoke,  his  voice  was  more  soothing 
in  its  sweetness  than   music.     He  was 
so  gentle  in  his  manners,  that  it  was  in 
vain  even  to  affect  to  be  offended ;  and, 
though  he  said  he  never  again  could  love, 
he  would  describe  how  some  had  died, 
and  others  maddened,  under  the  power 
of  that  fierce  passion — how  every  tie  that 
binds  us,  and  every  principle  and  law, 
must  be  broken  through,  as  secondary 
considerations,  by  its  victims:   he  would 
speak  home  to  the  heart ;  for  he  knew  it  in 
all  its  turnings  and  windings;  and,  at  his 
will,  he  could  rouse  or  tame  the  varying 
passions  of  those  over  whom  he  sought  to 
exorcise  dominion.     Yet,  when  by  every 
u2 


148  GLENERVOX. 

art  and  talent  he  had  raised  the  flames 
of  love,  tearing  himself  from  his  victim, 
he  would  leave  her,  and  then  weep  for 
the  agony  of  grief  by  which  he  saw  her 
destroyed. 

Had  he  betrayed  in  his  manner  to  Ca- 
lantha  that  freedom,  that  familiarity  so 
offensive  in  men,  but  yet  so  frequent 
amongst  them,  she  would  yet  have  shud- 
dered. But  what  was  she  to  fly?  Not 
from  the  gross  adulation,  or  the  easy  flip- 
pant protestations  to  which  all  women  are 
soon  or  late  accustomed  :  but  from  a  res- 
pect, at  once  refined  and  flattering — an 
attention  devoted  even  to  her  least  wishes, 
yet  without  appearing  subservient  —  a 
gentleness  and  sweetness,  as  rare  as  they 
were  fascinating ;  and  these  combined 
with  all  the  powers  of  imagination, 
vigour  of  intellect,  and  brilliancy  of  wit, 
which  none  ever  before  possessed  in  so 
iminent  a  degree  ;  and  none  ever  since 
have  even  presumed  to  rival.  Could  she 
fly  from  a   being   unlike    all  others — 


«L EN ART ON.  149 

sought  for  by  every  one,  yet,  by  his  own 
confession,  wholly  and  entirely  devoted 
to  herself. 

How  cold  compared  with  Glenarvon, 
was  the  regard  her  family  and  friends  af- 
fected !  Was  it  confidence  in  her  honour, 
or  indifference?  Lord  Glenarvon  asked 
Calantha  repeatedly,  which  it  most  re- 
sembled —  he  appealed  to  her  vanity 
even,  whether  strong  affection  could  thus 
neglect,  and  leave  the  object  of  its  soli- 
citude? Yet,  had  she  done  nothing  to 
chill  a  husband  and  parent's  affection — 
bad  she  not  herself  lessened  the  regard 
they  had  so  faithfully  cherished  ? 

Calantha  thought  she  had  sufficient 
honour  and  spirit  to  tell  her  husband  at 
once  the  danger  to  which  she  was  ex- 
posed ;  but  when  she  considered  more 
seriously  her  situation,  it  appeared  to  her 
almost  ridiculous  to  fancy  that  it  was  so 
imminent.  If  upon  some  occasion,  Lord 
Glenarvon's  manner  was  ardent,  the  en- 
-suing*  morning  she  found  him  cold, 
h3 


150  GLGNARYON. 

distant  and  pre-occupied,  and  she  felt- 
ashamed  of  the  weakness  which,  for  one 
moment,  could  have  made  her  imagine 
she  was  the  object  of  his  thoughts.  In- 
deed, he  often  took  an  opportunity  of 
stating,  generally,  that  he  never  could  feel 
either  interest  or  love  for  any  thing  on 
earth ;  that  once  he  had  felt  too  deeply 
and  had  suffered  bitterly  from  it ;  and 
that  now  his  sole  regret  was  in  the  cer- 
tainty that  he  never  again  could  be  so 
deceived. 

He  spoke,  with  decision,  of  leaving 
Ireland,  and  more  than  once  repeated, 
emphatically  to  the  Duke,  "  I  shall  never 
forget  the  kindness  which  prompted  you 
to  seek  me  out,  when  under  very  unplea- 
sant circumstances ;  I  shall  immediately 
withdraw  my  name  from  the  directory — 
my  sentiments  I  cannot  change ;  but  you 
have  already  convinced  me  of  the  folly 
of  spreading  them  amongst  the  unen- 
lightened multitude." 

Sir  Everard,  who  was  present,  lifted  up 


GLENARVON.  151 

his  bands  at  such  discourse.  "  He  is  a 
convert  of  mine,  I  verily  believe,"  he 
cried  ;  "  and  Elinor"—"  Miss  St.  Clare," 
whispered  Glenarvon,  turning  to  the 
Doctor,  u  has  long'  been  admonished  by 
me,  to  return  to  an  indulgent  uncle,  and 
throw  herself  on  your  mercy."  "  My 
mercy  !"  said  Sir  Everard,  bursting  into 
tears, — "  my  gratitude.  Oh!  my  child, 
my  darling."  "  And  believe  me,"  con- 
tinued Lord  Glenarvon,  with  an  air  which 
seemed  haughtily  to  claim  belief,  "  I  re- 
turn her  as  innocent  as  she  came  to  me 
Her  imagination  may  have  bewildered 
and  beguiled  her;  but  her  principles  are 
wncorrupted."  "  Generous  }roung  noble^ 
man  !"  exclaimed  Sir  Everard,  ready  to 
kneel  before  him  —  "noble,  mighty, 
grand  young  gentleman  !  wonder  of  our 
age!"  Lord  Glenarvon  literally  smiled^ 
through  his  tears ;  for  the  ridicule  of  Sir 
Everard  did  not  prevent  his  excellent 
and  warm  feelings  from  affecting  those 
who  knew  him  well.  "  And  will  she 
ii  4 


152  GLENARVON. 

return  to  her  poor  uncle  ?"  "  I  know 
not,"  said  Lord  Glenarvon,  gravely :  "  I 
fear  not ;  but  I  have  even  implored  her 
to  do  so."  "  Oh,  if  you  fail  who  are  so 
fair  and  so  persuasive,  who  can  hope  to 
move  her  r"  "  She  may  hear  a  parent's 
voice,"  said  Glenarvon,  "  even  though 
deaf  to  a  lover's  prayer."  "  And  are  you 
indeed  a  lover  to  my  poor  deluded  Eli- 
nor ?"  "  I  was,"  said  Lord  Glenarvon, 
proudly;  "  but  her  strange  conduct,  and 
stubborn  spirit  have  most  effectually  cured 
me;  and  I  must  own,  Sir  Everard,  I  do 
not  think  I  ever  again  can  even  affect  a 
feeling  of  this  sort :  after  all,  it  is  a 
useless  way  of  passing  life."  "  You  are 
right,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  quite  right ; 
and  it  injures  the  health :  there  is  nothing- 
creates  bile,  and  hurts  the  constitution 
more,  than  suspense  and  fretting  : — I 
know  it  by  myself." 

They  were  standing  in  the  library 
during  this  discourse.  Lady  Avondale 
entered  now :  Lord  Glenarvon  approached 


GLEXARVON.  153 

her.  They  were  for  a  few  momenta  alone  : 
— he  leant  over  her  ;  she  held  a  book  in 
her  hand;  he  read  a  few  lines  ;  it  is  not 
possible  to  describe  how  well  he  read 
them.  The  poetry  he  read  was  beautiful 
as  his  own  ;  it  affected  him.  He  read 
more  ;  he  became  animated  ;  Calantha 
looked  up ;  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  hers ;  he 
forgot  the  poem ;  his  hand  touched  hers, 
as  he  replaced  the  book  before  her  ;  she 
drew  away  her  hand ;  he  took  it  and 
pressed  it  to  his  lips.  "  Pardon  me,"  he 
said,  "  I  am  miserable,  but  I  will  never 
injure  you.  Fly  me,  Lady  Avondale  :  I 
deserve  not  either  interest  or  regard  ; 
and  to  look  upon  me  is  in  itself  pollution 
to  one  like  you."  He  then  said  a  few 
words  expressive  of  his  admiration  for 
her  husband : — u  He  is  as  superior  to  me," 
he  said,  "  as  Hyperion  to  a  satyr : — and 
you  love  him,  do  you  not?"  continued 
he,  smiling.  "  Can  you  ask?"  "  He 
seems  most  attached,  too,  to  you."  "  Far, 
far  more  than  I  deserve." 
H  5 


154  GLENARVON, 

"  I  can  never  love  again, "  said  Cle- 
narvon,  still  holding  her  hand:  "  never. 
There  will  be  no  danger  in  my  friend- 
ship," he  said,  after  a  moment's  thought : 
*'  none  ;  for  I  am  cold  as  the  grave — as 
death  ;  and  all  here,"  he  said  pressing 
her  hand  upon  his  heart,  "  is  chilled^ 
lost,  absorbed.  They  will  speak  ill  of 
me,"  he  continued  rather  mournfully ; 
"  and  you  will  learn  to  hate  me."  "  I ! 
never,  never.  I  will  defend  you,  if 
abused  ;  I  will  hate  those  who  hate  you  ; 
I — "  He  smiled  :  "  How  infatuated  you 
are,"  he  said,  "  poor  little  thing  that 
seeks  to  destroy  itself.  Have  you  not 
then  heard  what  I  have  done  ?"  *  I  have 
heard  much,"  said  Calantha,  "  but  I 
know — I  feel  it  is  false."  "  It  is  all  too 
true,"  said  Lord  Glenarvon  carelessly  : — 
"  all  quite  true;  and  there  is  much  worse 
yet :  but  it  is  no  matter,"  he  continued ; 
"  the  never  dying  worm  feeds  upon  my 
heart ;  I  am  like  death,  Lady  Avondale  ; 
and  all  beneath  is  seared." 


GLENARVON.  155 

Whilst  the  conscience  wakes,  and  the 
blush  of  confused  and  trembling  guilt 
yet  varies  the  complexion,  the  sin  is  not 
of  long  standing,  or  of  deep  root ;  but 
when  the  mind  seeks  to  disguise  from 
itself  its  danger — when,  playing  upon 
the  edge  of  the  precipice,  the  victim  wil- 
lingly deludes  itself,  and  appears  hard 
and  callous  to  every  admonitory  caution, 
then  is  the  moment  for  alarm ;  and  that 
moment  now  appeared  to  realize  Calan- 
iha's  fears. 

Attacked  with  some  asperity  by  her  nu- 
merous friends,  for  her  imprudent  con- 
duct, she  now  boldly  avowed  her  friend- 
ship for  Glenarvon,  and  disclaimed  the 
possibility  of  its  exceeding  the  bounds  of 
the  strictest  propriety  prescribed.  She 
even  gloried  in  his  attachment ;  and 
said  that  there  was  not  one  of  those  who 
were  admonishing  her  to  beware  who 
would  not  readily,  nay,  even  gladly  fill 
her  place.  Calantha  had  seen  their  let- 
ters to  him :  she  had  marked  their  ad- 


156  GLENARVON. 

varices ;  she  imagined  that  all  others,  like 
herself,  were  enamoured  of  the  same 
idol ;  and  in  this  instance  she  was  right : 
— the  infatuation  was  general:  he  was 
termed  the  leader  of  the  people,  the  libe- 
rator of  his  country,  the  defender  of  the 
rights  of  Ireland.  If  he  wandered  forth 
through  Belfont,  he  was  followed  by  ad- 
miring crowds  ;  and  whilst  he  affected  to 
disdain  the  transient  homage,  she  could 
but  perceive  that  he  lost  no  opportunity 
by  every  petty  artifice  of  encreasing  the 
illusion. 


GLENARYON.  157 


CHAPTER    XVI 


At  this  crisis  the  whole  party  at  the 
castle  were  disturbed  by  the  unexpected 
arrival  of  the  Princess  of  Madagascar  at 
Dublin.  A  small  fleet  had  been  seen 
approaching*  the  coast :  it  was  rumour- 
ed that  the  French,  in  open  boats,  were 
preparing  to  invade  Ireland ;  but  it 
proved,  though  it  may  sound  rather  ludi- 
crous to  say  so,  only  the  great  Nabob 
and  the  Princess  of  Madagascar.  Their 
immense  retinue  and  baggage,  which 
the  common  people  took  for  the  heavy 
artillery,  arrived  without  incident  or  ao 
cident  at  Belfont ;  and  the  couriers 
having  prepared  the  Duke  for  the  recep- 
tion of  his  illustrious  guest,  they  await- 
ed her  arrival  with  considerable  impa- 
tience. 
During  the  bustle  and  noise,  this  little 


158  GLENARYOX. 

event  occasioned,  Lord  Glenarvon  came 
to  Lady  Avondale  and  whispered  in  her 
ear,  "  I  shall  walk  this  evening  :  contrive 
to  do  so  too,  as  I  have  something  of  im- 
portance to  tell  you."  He  gave  her  a 
ring.  It  was  an  emerald  with  a  harp 
engraved  upon  it — the  armorial  bearing* 
of  Ireland  :  "  let  us  be  firm  and  united," 
was  written  under.  "  I  mean  it  merely 
politically/'  he  said  smiling.  "  Even 
were  you  a  Clarissa,  you  need  not  be 
alarmed :  I   am  no  Lovelace,  I  promise 

you." 

The  princess  was  now  announced,  fifty- 
three  attendants  and  twenty-four  domes- 
tic friends,  were  her  small  and  conscien- 
tious establishment,  besides  a  cook,  con- 
fectioner and  laundress,  to  the  total  dis- 
comfiture of  Irish  hospitality.  The  high 
priest  in  the  dress  of  the  Greek  Church, 
ever  attended  her,  and  eagerly  sought  to 
gain  adherents  to  the  only  true  established 
church,  at  whatever  house  he  occasionally 
rested.     The  simplicity  of  Hoiouskim, 


GLENARVON.  159 

his  eagerness,  his  abilities  and  informa- 
tion, added  much  to  the  rational  pleasure 
of  the  society  at  Castle  Delaval. 

But  neither  the  presence  of  the  Nabob 
nor  the  caresses  of  the  Princess,  who  cast 
many  a  gentle  glance  upon  Glenarvon, 
could  for  one  moment  detach  his  thoughts 
from  Calantha.  On  the  contrary  he  an- 
swered her  with  distant  reserve  and  ap- 
peared eager  to  shew  to  every  one  the 
marked  distinction  he  felt  for  the  woman 
he  loved.  "  Oh  !  he  is  really  sincere," 
she  thought,  as  he  left  them  all  to  attend 
to  her.  "  I  amuse,  I  soothe  him,"  the 
hope  rendered  her  blest  and  she  felt  in- 
different to  every  consequence. 

"  You  are  not  as  handsome  as  Sophia," 
said  Glenarvon,  looking  on  her  ;  "  but 
I  admire  you  more.  Your  errors  are 
such  as  you  have  frankly  confessed  ;  but 
you  have  others  which  you  wished  me 
not  to  perceive.  Few  have  so  many 
faults  ;  yet  how  is  it  that  you  have  wound 
yourself  already  round   this  cold,    this 


160  GLENAAVQN. 

selfish  heart,  which  had  resolved  never 
again  to  admit  any  inmate.  You  love  your 
husband,  Lady  Avondale :  I  respect  you 
too  well  to  attempt  to  change  your  affec- 
tion ;  but  if  I  wished  it,  your  eyes  alrea- 
dy tell  me  what  power  1  have  gained  : — I 
could  do  what  I  would."  "  No,  no,"  she 
answered.  "  You  are  too  vain."  "  None 
ever  yet  resisted  me,"  said  Glenarvon  : 
"  do  you  think  you  could  ?"  Calantha 
scarce  knew  how  to  answer  ;  but  while 
she  assured  him  she  could  resist  any  one 
and  had  no  fear  for  herself,  she  felt  the 
contrary  ;  and  trembled  with  mixed  ap- 
prehensions of  joy  and  sorrow  at  her 
boast — when  others  approached,  he  did 
not  change  his  manner  to  Calantha  :  he 
discontinued  his  conversation  ;  but  he 
still  looked  the  same  :  he  was  not  fearful 
as  some  would  have  been,  or  servile,  or 
full  of  what  might  be  said  :  he  seemed 
in  all  respects  careless  or  desperate.  He 
laughed,  but  his  laugh  was  not  the  heart's 
laugh:    his  wit  enlivened  and  dazzled 


GXEXARVON.  161 

others ;  but  it  seemed  not  the  effect  of 
exuberent  spirits. 

It  was  not  unfrequently  the  custom  at 
Castle  Delaval,  during  the  fine  summer 
evenings,  to  walk  after  dinner,  before 
cards  or  music.  The  flower  gardens, 
and  shrubbery  were  the  most  usual  pla- 
ces of  resort.  Lady  Augusta  smilingly 
observed  to  Lady  Mandeville  and  Sophia, 
that,  for  some  evenings  past,  Lady  Avon- 
dale  had  taken  more  extensive  rambles, 
and  that  Lord  Glenarvon  and  she  were 
oftentimes  absent  till  supper  was  an- 
nounced. The  Count  Gondimar,  who 
overheard  the  remark,  affected  to  think  it 
malignant,  and  asked  with  a  sarcastic 
sneer,  whether  Lord  Avondale  were  with 
her  on  these  evening  excursions  ?  "  Little 
Mowbrey  seems  a  great  favourite  of  Lord 
Glenarvon's,"  said  Lady  Augusta  ;  "  but 
I  do  not  fancy  his  father  is  often  of  the 
party,  or  that  his  being  Lady  Avondale's 
child  is  the  cause  of  the  partiality :  the  boy 
has  a  sprightly  wit.     We  must  not  draw 


162  GLENARVOW. 

unfair  conclusions  :  last  year  Mr.  Bucha- 
nan gave  us  alarm  ;  and  now  it  is  quite 
natural  we  should  all  fall  in  love  with  Lord 
Glenarvon.  I  have  myself ;  only  he  will 
not  return  my  advances.  Did  you  observe 
what  an  eye  I  made  him  at  breakfast  ?.... 
but  that  never  was  a  love  making  meal. 
Place  me  but  near  him  at  supper,  and 
you  shall  see  what  I  can  do/' 

Gondimar  suddenly  left  Lady  Augusta., 
who  was  walking  on  the  terrace.  He  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Calantha  as  she 
wandered  slowly  by  the  banks  of  Elle  : — 
he  hastened  to  the  spot  ;  he  saw  her  ;  he 
penetrated  her  feelings  ;  and  he  returned 
thoughtful  and  irritated  to  the  Castle. 
Snatching  a  pen  he  wrote  for  some  time. 
Lady  Trelawney  and  Lady  Augusta,  ob- 
serving him,  approached  and  insisted 
upon  being  made  acquainted  with  \m 
studies.  "  It  is  an  ode  you  are  inditing, 
I  am  certain,"  said  the  latter,  "  1  saw  you 
struck  by  the  God  as  you  darted  from 
me/'  "  You  are  right,"  cried  Gondimar, 


GLENAltVON.  163 

I  am  composing  a  song."  "In  English 
too,  I  perceive."  "  What  if  it  be  English  ? 
you  know  one  of  my  talents  can  write 
even  in  that  damn'd  language  :  so  criti- 
cise my  rhapsody  if  you  dare.  At  all 
events  Lady  Avondale  will  admire  it ;  for 
it  is  about  a  rose  and  love — most  senti. 
mental.  And  where  is  she  ?  for  till  her 
return,  I  will  not  shew  it  you." 

If  that  question  where  is  Lady  Avon- 
dale  must  be  answered,  it  is  with  sorrow 
and  regret  that  such  answer  will  be  made: 
— she  was  walking  slowly,  as  Gondimar 
had  seen  her,  by  the  banks  of  the  river 
Elle :  she  was  silent,  too,  and  mournful  ; 
her  spirits  were  gone  ;  her  air  was  that 
of  one  who  is  deeply  interested  in  all  she 
hears.  She  was  not  alone — Lord  G3e- 
narvon  was  by  her  side.  It  was  their 
custom  thus  to  walk  :  they  met  daily  ; 
they  took  every  opportunity  of  meeting  ; 
and  when  in  their  morning  and  evening 
rambles  she  pointed  out  the  beautiful 
views  around,  the  ranging   mountains 


164  GLENARVON. 

and  the  distant  ocean, — he  would  des- 
cribe in  glowing  language,  the  far  more 
magnificent  and  romantic  scenery  of 
the  countries  through  which  he  had 
passed — countries  teaming  with  rich 
fruits,  vineyards  and  olive  groves  ;  luxu- 
riant vales  and  mountains,  soaring  above 
the  clouds,  whose  summits  were  white 
with  snow,  while  a  rich  and  ceaseless  ve- 
getation adorned  the  valleys  beneath.  He 
told  her  that  he  hated  these  cold  northern 
climes,  and  the  bottle  green  of  the  Atlan- 
tic ; — that  could  she  see  the  dark  blue  of 
the  Mediterranean,  whose  clear  wave  re- 
flected the  cloudless  sky,  she  would  never 
be  able  to  endure  those  scenes  in  which 
she  now  took  such  delight.  And  soon 
those  scenes  lost  all  their  charms  for  Ca- 
lantha ;  for  that  peace  of  mind  which 
gave  them  charms  was  fast  departing  ; 
and  she  sighed  for  that  beautiful  land  to 
which  his  thoughts  reverted,  and  those 
Italian  climes,  to  which  he  said,  he  so 
soon  must  return. 


GLENARVON.  165 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


It  was  upon  this  evening,  that,  having 
walked  for  a  considerable  time,  Lady 
Avondale  felt  fatigued  and  rested  for  a 
moment  near  the  banks  of  Elle.  She 
pointed  to  the  roses  which  grew  luxu- 
riantly around.  "  They  are  no  longer 
rare,"  she  said,  alluding  to  the  one  he  had 
given  her  upon  their  first  acquaintance 
at  Donallan  :  "but  are  they  the  less  pri- 
zed ?"  He  understood  her  allusion,  and 
pulling  a  bud  from  the  mossy  bank 
on  which  it  grew,  he  kissed  it,  and 
putting  it  gently  to  her  lips  asked  her, 
if  the  perfume  were  sweet,  and  which 
she  preferred  of  the  two  roses  which 
he  had  offered  her  ?  She  knew  not 
what  she  answered  ;  and  she  afterwards 
wished  she  could  forget  what  she  had 
then  felt. 

Gondimar    passed   them  at  that  mo- 


166  GLENAllVOtf. 

merit: — He  observed  her  confusion;  he 
retired  as  if  fearful  of  encreasing  it ;  and, 
but  too  conscious  that  such  conversation 
was  wrong,  Calantha  attempted  once  to 
change  it.  "  I  will  shew  you  the  new 
lodge,"  she  said  turning  up  a  large  gravel 
walk,  out  of  the  shrubbery.  "  Shew  me  1 " 
Glenarvon  answered  smiling.  "  Trust  me, 
I  know  every  lodge  and  walk  here  better 
than  yourself;"  and  he  amused  himself 
with  her  surprise.  Some  thought,  how- 
ever, occurred,  which  checked  his  merri- 
ment— some  remembrances  made  this 
boast  of  his  acquaintance  with  the  place 
painful  to  him.  There  was  one,  whom 
he  had  formerly  seen  and  admired,  who 
was  no  longer  present  and  whom  every 
one  but  himself  appeared  to  have  for- 
gotten— one  who,  lovely  in  the  first  bloom 
of  spotless  youth,  had  felt  for  him  all 
that  even  his  heart  could  require.  She 
was  lost — he  should  never  see  her 
more. 

A    momentary    gloom  darkened    his 
,   countenance    at  this   recollection.      He 


GLBNARVON.  167 

looked  upon  Calantha  and  she  trembled  ; 
for  his  manner  was  much  altered.  Her 
cheeks  kindled  as  she  spoke : — her  eye 
dared  no  longer  encounter  his.  If  she 
looked  up  for  a  moment,  she  withdrew 
in  haste,  unable  to  sustain  the  ardent 
glance  :  her  step  tremblingly  advanced, 
lingering,  but  yet  unwilling  to  pause  or  to 
retreat.  Her  heart  beat  in  tumult,  or 
swelled  with  passion,  as  he  whispered  to 
her  that,  which  she  ought  never  to  have 
heard.  She  hastened  towards  the  castle  : 
— he  did  not  attempt  to  detain  her. 

It  was  late :  the  rest  of  the  company 
were  gone  home.  Thither  she  hastened  ; 
and  hurrying  to  the  most  crowded  part  of 
the  room,  flushed  with  her  walk,  she  com- 
plained of  the  heat,  and  thought  that 
every  eye  was  fixed  upon  her  with  looks 
of  strong  disapprobation.  Was  it  indeed 
so  ?  or  was  it  a  guilty  conscience  which 
made  her  think  so  ? 

Lady  Mandeville  observing  her  dis- 
tress, informed  her  that  Count  Gondimar, 


108  GLEN AR VON. 

had  been  composing  a  song,  but  Mould 
not  sing  it  till  she  was  present.  She 
eagerly  desired  to  hear  it.  "  It  is  about 
a  rose/*  said  Gondimar,  significantly 
glancing  his  eye  upon  the  one  in  Calan- 
tha's  bosom.  The  colour  in  her  cheeks 
became  far  redder  than  the  flower.  "  Sing 
it,"  she  said,  "  or  rather  let  me  read  it. . . 
or  . . .  but  wherefore  are  you  not  dan- 
cing, or  at  billiards  ?  How  dull  it  must 
be  for  Clara  and  Charlotte"  (these  were 
two  of  Lady  Mandeville's  children). 
"  You  never  thought  of  Lady  Mande- 
ville's  beautiful  children,  and  our  state 
of  dullness,  while  you  were  walking," 
cried  Lady  Augusta,  "  and  last  night  you 
recollect  that  when  you  made  every  one 
dance,  you  sat  apart  indulging  vain  phan- 
tasies and  idle  reveries.  However,  they 
are  all  gone  into  the  ball-room,  if  dancing 
is  the  order  of  the  night ;  but  as  for  me, 
I  shall  not  stir  from  this  spot,  till  I  hear 
Count  Goindimar's  song." 

"  1  will  sing  it  you,  Lady  Avondale," 


GLENARVON.  169 

said  the  Count,  smiling  at  her  distress, 
"  the  first  evening  that  you  remain  at 
your  balcony  alone,  watching  the  clouds 
as  they  flit  across  the  moon,  and  listening, 
I  conclude,  to  the  strains  of  the  nightin- 
gale/' "  Then,"  she  said,  affecting  un- 
concern, "  I  claim  your  promise  for  to- 
morrow night,  punctually  at  nine."  He 
approached  the  piano-forte.  "  Oh  not 
now — I  am  engaged, — I  must  dance/' 
"  Now  or  never,"  said  the  Count.  "  Never 
then,  never,"  she  answered,  almost  cry- 
ing, though  she  affected  to  laugh.  Lady 
Augusta  entreated  for  the  song,  and  the 
Count,  after  a  short  prelude,  placed  the 
manuscript  paper  before  him,  and  in  a 
low  tone  of  voice  began : — 


(To  the  air  of  "  Ik  ne  so?it  plus.") 

Waters  of  Elle  1  thy  limpid  streams^ve  flowing, 
Smooth  and  untroubled,  through  the  flovv'ry  vale  : 

O'er  thy  green  banks  once  more,  the  wild  rose  blowing, 
Greets  the  young  spring,and  scents  the  passing  gale. 

Vol.  II.  I 


170  GLENARVON. 

Here  'twas  at  eve,  near  yonder  tree  reposing, 
One  still  too  dear,  first  breath'd  his  vows  to  thee: 

Wear  this,  he  cried,  his  guileful  love  disclosing, 
Near  to  thy  heart,  in  memory  of  me. 

.Love's  cherished  gift,  the  rose  he  gave,  is  faded; 

Love's  blighted  flower,  can  never  bloom  again. 
Weep  for  thy  fault — in  heart — in  mind  degraded: 

Weep,  if  thy  tears  can  wash  away  the  stain. 

Call  back  the  vows,  that  once  to  heaven  were  plighted, 
Vows  full  of  love,  of  innocence  and  truth. 

Call  back  the  scenes  in  which  thy  soul  delighted: 
Call  back  the  dream  that  blest  thy  early  youth. 

plow  silver  stream,  tho'  threatening  tempests  lower, 
Bright,  mild  and  clear,  thy  gentle  waters  flow  ; 

Round  thy  green  banks,  the  spring's  young  blossoms 
flower; 
O'er  thy  soft  waves  the  balmy  zephyrs  blow. 

—Yet,  all  in  vain;  for  never  spring  arraying 
Nature  in  charms,  to  thee  can  make  it  fair. 

Ill  fated  love,  clouds  all  thy  path,  pourtraying 
Years  pa.°t  of  bliss,  and  future  of  despair. 


Gondimar  seemed  affected  whilst  he 
sung;  and  Calantha  felt  nearly  suffocated 
with  every  sort  of  feeding.    Lady  Augusta 


iTfiwflTtr 


/J//.^  /Hi  1/ '■  /ji 


Waters  oi'  EHf ,  thy  limpid   steams    are  flowing 


^pp 


mm 


t i  i^^m^i 


Smooth      and     untroubled      o'er     the     Hoh'wt    vale  ; 


t^^mmmm 


§ J  f  r -^^^ 


M^ 


On    thy    ptwh  banks    once     more    the   wild   rose     liimnn^ 


&=z&fMft=&mi& 


pu^igmmm 


J 


Greets    the    vouuo-     spring*    and    scents    the    passing    gale- 


^M 


j-,1 


Greets     the  vouuo*    spring'    iinil    scents    the   passing-    gale 


^^m 


GLENARTON.  171 

pretended  not  to  understand  it,  and  has- 
tened with  Calantha  into  the  adjoining 
room.      Lord  Glenarvon   followed    and 
approached  Lady  Avondale :  "  Remember 
me  in  your  prayers,  my  gentlest  friend," 
he  whispered.     "  E\en  in  the  still  night 
let    some    remembrance    of   Glenarvon 
occur.     Think  of  me,  for  I  am  jealous 
even  of  thy  dreams/'     The  angry  glance 
of  Gondimar  interrupted  the  conference. 
Calantha  could  not  sleep  that  night. 
A  thousand  fears  and  hopes  rushed  upon 
her  mind.      She  retired  10   her  room  : 
atone  time  seized  a  pen,  and  wrote,  in  all 
the  agony  of  despair,  a  full  confession  of 
Jier  guilty  feelings  to  her  husband  ;  the 
next  she  tore  the  dreadful  testimony  of 
liar  erring  heart,  and  addressed  herself  to 
heaven  for  mercy.   But  vain  the  struggle. 
From  childhood's  earliest  day  she  never 
hed  refused  herself  one  wish,  or  one  in- 
dulgence.    She  knew  not,  on  the  sudden 
how  to  allay  the  fierce  and  maddening 
fever  that  raged  within.     "  1  am  lost," 
i2 


172  GLENARVON. 

she  cried,  "  I  love — I  worship,  To  live 
without  him  will  be  death — worse,  worse 
than  death.  One  look,  one  smile  from 
Glenarvon,  is  dearer  than  ought  else  that 
heaven  has  to  offer.  Then  let  me  not 
attempt,  what  I  have  not  power  to  effect. 
Oh,  as  his  friend,  let  me  still  behold  him. 
His  love,  some  happier,  some  better  heart 
shall  possess."  Again  she  started  with 
horror  from  herself.  "  His  love!"  she 
cried,  "  and  can  I  think  of  him  in  so 
criminal — so  guilty  a  manner !  I  who 
am  a  wife — a  mother!  Let  me  crush 
such  feelings  even  now  in  their  birth.  Let 
me  fly  him,  whilst  yet  it  is  possible;  nor 
imagine  the  grief,  he  says  my  absence 
will  cause,  can  exceed  the  misery  my  dis- 
honourable attachment  will  bring  upon 
both !  And  did  he  dare  to  tell  me  that  he 
loved  me  ?  Was  not  this  in  itself  a  proof 
that  he  esteemed  me  no  longer  ?  Misera- 
ble, wretched  Calantha ;  where  shall  I  fly 
to  hide  my  shame  ?  How  conceal  from  a 
lover's  searching  eyes  that  he  is  too  clear?" 


GLENARVON.  173 

With  such  thoughts  she  attempted  to 
close  her  eyes ;  but  dreadful  dreams  dis- 
turbed her  fancy  ;  and  the  image  of  Gle- 
narvon  pursued  her  even  in  sleep.  She 
saw  him — not  kneeling  at  her  feet,  in  all 
the  impassioned  transports  of  love  ;  not 
radiant  with  hope,  nor  even  mournful 
with  despondency  and  fear  ;  but  pale, 
deadly,  and  cold :  his  hand  was  ice,  and, 
as  he  placed  it  upon  hers,  she  shrunk  as 
from  the  grasp  of  death,  and  awoke 
oppressed  with  terror. 


i  3 


174  GLENARVON. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


No  one  had  apparently  observed  Lady 
Avondale's  feigned  indisposition  that 
evening — feigned,  indeed,  it  was  not; 
no  one  soothed  her  during  her  sleepless 
night;  and  in  the  morning  when  she 
awoke,  at  an  early  hour,  Lord  Avondale 
asked  her  not  the  cause  of  her  disquiet, 
deeply  grieved  at  her  altered  manner — 
too  proud  to  seek  the  confidence  he  per- 
peceived  that  he  had  lost — disappointed 
in  the  character  and  conduct  of  the 
woman  he  had  chosen  as  a  companion 
and  solace,  he  watched  not  her  actions, 
he  penetrated  not  her  feelings,  but  finding 
that  his  presence  was  distasteful  to  her, 
he  avoided  her:  he  even  thought  that  he 
no  longer  loved  one  who  in  every  point 
had  acted  in  the  manner  he  least  ap- 
proved.  Some  there  are  whose  affections 


GLENARVON.  175 

change  with  their  esteem  and  good  opi- 
nion. Unhappily  for  Lord  Avondale  this 
was  not  his  nature.  Long  habit  had 
rendered  Calantha  dear.  He  thought 
that  he  had  become  indifferent,  but  he 
knew  not  that  the  empire  with  which  she 
seized  over  his  heart.  She  arose  and 
descended  upon  the  terrace  : — her  steps 
involuntarily  led  her  to  the  banks  of  the 
Elle.  The  flowers,  fresh  with  dew, 
sparkled  in  the  sunshine,  and  scented  the 
soft  morning  air.  She  hurried  on,  re- 
gardless of  the  distance.  The  flower 
Glenarvon  had  given  her  was  faded:  but 
its  leaves  were  preserved  by  her  with 
fondest  care. 

Whilst  yet  she  walked,  at  a  little  dis- 
tance she  perceived  Gondimar,  and  was 
in  consequence  preparing  to  return, 
when  he  abruptly  accosted  her;  and  with 
a  manner  too  little  respectful,  rudely  seiz- 
ed her  hand.  "  Have  you  not  slept  ?" 
he  cried,  "  my  charming,  my  adored 
young  friend,  that  you  are  thus  early  in 
i4 


176  GLENARVON. 

your  walk  ;  or  did  you  imagine  that 
others,  beside  myself,  would  wander  upon 
these  banks,  and  await  your  fairy  step  ? 
O  suffer  one  who  admires — who  loves, 
to  open  his  heart  to  you — to  seize  this 
opportunity/'  "  Leave  me,  approach 
me  not.  What  have  I  done  to  deserve 
this  from  you?"  she  exclaimed.  "  Why 
seize  my  hand  by  force  ?  Why  press  it — 
oh  Heavens  !  to  those  detested  lips  ? 
Leave  me,  Count  Gondimar :  forget  not 
the  respect  due  to  every  woman/'  "  Of 
virtue  I"  he  replied,  with  a  scornful 
smile.  "  But  tell  me,  has  Lady  Avon- 
dale  never  suffered  such  insults  from 
some  who  have  no  better  claim  ?  Has 
she  still  a  right  to  this  amazing  mockery 
of  respect  ?  Ah  !  trust  me,  we  cannot 
command  our  love/'  "  Neither  can  we 
command  our  abhorrence — our  disgust," 
she  exclaimed,  breaking  from  his  grasp 
and  hastening  away. 

As  Calantha  re-entered  the  Castle,  she 
met.  Lady  Margaret  and  Glenarvon,  who 


GLENARVON.  177 

appeared  surprised  and  disconcerted  at 
seeing  her.  "  Has  Count  Gondimar 
been  speaking  to  you  upon  any  subject 
of  importance  ?"  said  Lady  Margaret  in 
a  whisper,  trying  to  conceal  a  look  of 
suspicion,  and  some  embarrassment. 
Before  (  alantha  could  answer,  he  had 
joined  them  ;  and  explaining  fully  that 
their  meeting  had  been  entirely  acci- 
dental, they  both  walked  away  together 
and  in  earnest  discourse,  leaving  Lord 
Glenarvon  and  Lady  Avondale  together. 
Calantha's  heart  was  full,  she  could 
not  speak,  she  therefore  left  him  in 
haste  and  when  alone  she  wept.  Had 
she  not  reason ;  for  every  indignity  and 
grief  was  falling  fast  upon  her.  She 
could  not  tell  what  had  occurred  to  Lord 
Avondale:  he  had  a  proud  and  dangerous 
spirit ;  and  to  Glenarvon  she  would  not 
upon  every  account.  Glenarvon  awaited 
her  return  with  anxiety.  "  I  was  surprised 
to  see  you  with  my  aunt/'  she  said, 
"  what  were  you  saying  to  her/'  He 
i5 


178  OLENARVON. 

evaded  the  question,  and  tenderly  en- 
quired of  her  the  cause  of  her  uneasiness 
and  tears.  He  loved  beyond  a  doubt — 
at  least  he  convinced  Calantha  that  he 
did  so. 

Confused,  perturbed,  she,  more  than 
ever  felt  the  danger  of  her  situation :  trem- 
bling she  met  his  eyes,  fearing  lest  he 
should  penetrate  her  secret.  Confident 
in  her  own  strength:  "  I  will  fly,"  she 
said,  "  though  it  be  to  the  utmost  ex- 
tremity of  the  earth;  but  I  will  never 
yield — never  betray  myself.  My  fate  is 
sealed — misery  must,  in  future,  be  my 
portion ;  but  no  eye  shall  penetrate  into 
the  recesses  of  my  heart — none  shaH 
share  my  distress,  or  counsel  me  in  my 
calamity."  Thus  she  reasoned,  and 
struggling  as  she  thought,  against  her 
guilty  passion,  by  attempting  to  deceive 
the  object  of  her  devotion,  she  in  reality 
yielded  herself  entirely  to  his  power,  self 
deluded  and  without  controul. 

How  new  to  her  mind  appeared  the 


GLENARVON.  179 

fever  of  her  distracted  thoughts  !  Love 
she  had  felt — unhappy  love,  she  had  once 
for  a  time  experienced  ;  but  no  taint  of 
guilt  was  mingled  with  the  feeling  ;  and 
the  approach  to  vice  she  started  from 
with  horror  and  alarm."  Lord  Glenarvon 
had  succeeded  too  well — she  had  seen 
him — she  had  heard  him  too  often  ;  she 
fled  in  vain:  he  read  his  empire  in  the 
varying  colour  of  her  cheeks;  he  traced 
his  power  in  every  faultering  word,  in 
every  struggling  sigh  :  that  strange  si- 
lence, that  timid  air,  that  dread  of  be- 
holding  him  —  all  confirmed,  and  all 
tempted  him  forward  to  pursue  his  easy 
prey.  "  She  is  mine,"  he  cried  exult- 
ingly. — "  mine,  too,  without  a  struggle  : 
this  fond  wife,  this  chaste  and  pure  CV 
lantha.  Wherever  1  turn,  new  victims 
fall 'before  me  —  they  await  not  to  be 
courted." 

But  Lord  Glenarvon  had  oftentimes 
said,  that  he  never  again  could  feel  af- 
fection for  any  woman.     How  then  was 


180  GLENARVON. 

the  interest  he  shewed  Calantha  to  be 
accounted  for  ?  What  name  was  he  to 
give  it?  It  was  the  attachment  of  a 
brother  to  the  sister  whom  he  loved  ;  it 
was  all  devotion — all  purity  ;  he  would 
never  cherish  a  thought  that  might  not 
be  heard  in  heaven,  or  harbour  one  wish 
detrimental  to  the  happiness  of  his  friend. 
This  was  said,  as  it  often  has  been  said  : 
both  felt  that  it  was  false ;  but  both 
continued  to  repeat,  what  they  wished  to 
believe  possible.  His  health  and  spirits 
had  much  declined  ;  he  looked  as  if 
sorrows,  which  he  durst  not  utter,  af- 
flicted his  heart;  and  though,  in  the 
presence  of  others  he  affected  gaiety, 
when  alone  with  Calantha  he  did  not 
disguise  his  sadness.  She  sought  to 
console  him  :  she  was  grave — she  was 
gentle,  she  could  be  both  ;  and  the  oc- 
casion seemed  to  call  for  her  utmost 
kindness. 

He  spoke  much  to  her ;  and  sometimes 
read  as  Lord  Avondale  once  had  done  ; 


GLENARVON.  18l 

and  none  ever  but  Lord  Avondale  read 
as  well.  His  tears  flowed  for  the  sorrows 
of  those  whose  poetry  and  history  he  re- 
peated. Calantha  wept  also  ;  but  it  was 
for  Glenarvon,  that  she  mourned.  When 
she  had  ended  the  tale  of  love  and  sorrow, 
his  eyes  met  hers  and  they  spoke  more — 
far  more  than  words.  Perhaps  he  gene- 
rously resolved  to  contend  against  his 
own  feelings ;  even  at  times  he  warned  her 
of  her  danger. — But,  when  he  bade 
her  fly  him,  he  held  her  hand,  as  if 
to  detain  her ;  and  when  he  said  the 
passion  he  cherished  would  cause  the 
misery  of  both,  he  acknowledged  that 
her  presence  alleviated  his  sufferings, 
and  that  he  could  not  bear  to  see  her 
less. 


182  GLENARVON, 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


There  are  scenes  of  guilt  it  would  be 
horrible  to  paint  —  there  are  hours  of 
agony  it  is  impossible  to  describe  !  All 
sympathy  recedes  from  triumphant  vice, 
and  the  kindest  heart  burns  with  indig- 
nation at  the  bare  recital  of  unpunished 
crime.  By  night,  by  day,  the  tortures  of 
remorse  pursued  Lady  Avondale.  In  a 
husband's  presence,  she  trembled  ;  from 
a  parent's  tenderness  she  turned  with  af- 
fected coldness  ;  her  children,  she  durst 
not  look  upon.  To  the  throne  of  heaven, 
she  no  longer  offered  up  one  prayer : 
upon  a  sleepless  bed,  visions  of  horror 
distracted  her  fancy;  and  when,  at  break 
of  day,  a  deep  and  heavy  slumber  fell  on 
her,  instead  of  relieving  a  weary  spirit, 
feverish  dreams  and  maddening  appre- 
hensions disturbed  her  rest,     Glenarvon 


GLENARVON.  183 

had  entirely  possessed  himself  of  her 
imagination. 

Glenarvon  had  said,  there  was  a  horrid 
secret,  which  weighed  upon  his  mind. 
He  would  start  at  times,  and  gaze  on 
vacancy ;  then  turn  to  Calantha,  and  ask 
her  what  she  had  heard  and  seen.  His 
gestures,  his  menaces  were  terrific.  He 
would  talk  to  the  air  ;  then  laugh  with 
convulsive  horror  ;  and  gazing  wildly 
around,  enquire  of  her,  if  there  was  not 
blood  upon  the  earth,  and  if  the  ghosts 
of  departed  men  had  not  been  seen  by 
some. 

Calantha  thought  that  madness  had 
fallen  upon  his  mind,  and  wept  to  think 
that  talents  such  as  his  were  darkened 
and  shrouded  over  by  so  heavy  a  cala- 
mity. But  when  the  fierce  moment  wa& 
passed,  tears  would  force  their  way  into 
his  eye,  and  placing  her  hand  upon  his 
burning  head,  he  would  call  her  his  sole 
comforter,  the  only  hope  that  was  left  him 
upon  earth ;  his  dearest,  his  only  friend  ; 


184  GLENARVON. 

and  he  would  talk  to  her  of  happier  times; 
of  virtues  that  had  been  early  blighted; 
of  hopes  that  his  own  rashness  and  errors 
had  destroyed. 

It  was  one  day,  one  dark  and  fatal  day, 
when  passion  raging  in  his  bosom,  and 
time  and  opportunity  at  hand,  he  sud- 
denly approached  her,  and  seizing  her 
with  violence,  asked  her  if  she  returned 
his  love.  "  My  friendship  is  ruin,"  he 
cried  ;  "all  alliance  with  me  must  cast 
disgrace  upon  the  object  of  my  regard. 
But,  Calantha,  you  must  be  mine  !  May 
I  not  even  now  call  you  thus  ?  Shall  they 
ever  persuade  you  to  abandon  me  ?  Vain 
is  all  attempt  at  disguise,"  he  continued ; 
"  I  love  you  to  madness  and  to  distrac- 
tion— you  know  it  too  well.  Why  then 
suffer  me  to  feel  the  tortures  I  endure, 
when  a  word — a  look  from  you  could  re- 
lieve me.  You  are  not  indifferent :  say 
then  that  you  are  not — thou,  who  alone 
canst  save  me.  Here  even,  in  the  pre- 
sence of  heaven,  I  will  open  my  whole 


ttLENARVON.  185 

heart  before  you — that  heart  is  seered 
with  guilt ;  it  is  bleeding  with  venomed 
wounds,  incurable  and  deadly.  A  few 
short  years,  I  have  perhaps  yet  to  linger  : 
thou  may  est  accelerate  my  fate,  and  plunge 
me  still  lower,  whilst  I  cling  to  thee  for 
mercy  ;  but  will  you  do  it,  because  you 
have  the  power  ?" 

Calantha  scarce  could  support  herself. 
After  a  moment's  pause,  he  continued, 
"  You  shall  hear  me. — Never,  since  the 
hour  of  my  birth,  never— I  make  no  ex- 
ception of  either  the  living,  or,  what  is 
far  dearer  and  more  sacred  to  me,  the 
dead — never  did  I  love  with  such  mad 
and  frantic  violence  as  now.  O  seek  not 
to  disguise  it ;  that  love  is  returned.  I 
read  it  even  now  in  thine  eyes,  thy  lips  ; 
and  whilst,  with  assumed  and  barbarous 
coldness,  you  would  drive  me  from  you, 
your  own  heart  pleads  for  me  ;  and,  like 
myself,  you  love." 

Faint  and  trembling,  Calantha  now 
leant  for  support  upon  that  arm  which 


186  OLENARVON. 

surrounded  her,  and  from  which  she,  in 
vain,  attempted  to  shrink.  It  was  a  dread- 
ful moment.  Glenarvon,  who  never  yet 
had  sued  in  vain,  marked  every  varying 
turn  of  her  countenance  which  too  well 
expressed  his  empire  and  her  own  weak- 
ness. "  I  cannot  live  without  you. — 
Mine  you  are — mine  you  shall  ever  be," 
he  said,  "  whilst  this  heart  beats  with 
life."  Then,  with  a  smile  of  exultation, 
he  seized  her  in  his  arms. 

Starting,  however,  with  all  the  terror 
which  the  first  approach  to  guilt  must 
ever  cause,  "  Spare  me,"  she  cried,  ter- 
rified and  trembling:  "  even  though  my 
heart  should  break  in  the  struggle,  let 
me  not  act  so  basely  by  him  to  whom  I 
am  bound." — "  Say  only,  that  you  do  not 
hate  me — say  only,"  he  continued,  with 
more  gentleness,  and  pressing  her  hand 
to  his  lips — "  say  only,  that  you  share  the 
tortures  of  agony  you  have  inflicted — say 
that  which  I  know  and  see — that  I  am 
loved  to  adoration — even  as  I  love  you." 


GLENARVON.  187 

With  tears  she  besought  him  to  spare 
her.  "  I  feel  your  power  too  much/'  she 
said.  "  All  that  I  ought  not — must  not 
say,  I  think  and  feel.  Be  satisfied  ;  your 
empire  is  complete.  Spare  me — save  me  ; 
I  have  not  power  to  feign."  Her  tears 
fell  now  unrestrained.  "  There  is  no 
need  of  this,"  he  said,  recovering  him- 
self; "  you  have  sealed  my  fate.  A  mo- 
ment of  passion  beguiled  me  :  I  am  calm 
now,  as  when  first  1  met  you — calm  and 
cold,  even  as  yourself.  Since  it  is  your 
wish,  and  since  my  presence  makes  your 
misery,  let  us  part. — I  go,  as  I  have  often 
said  ;  but  it  shall  be  alone.  My  country 
I  leave  without  regret ;  for  the  chain  of 
tyranny  has  encompassed  it :  friends,  I 
have  none  ;  and  thou,  who  wert  as  an 
angel  of  light  to  me — to  whom  I  knelt 
for  safety  and  for  peace — mayst  thou  be 
blest:  this  is  all  I  ask  of  heaven.  As  for 
me,  nothing  can  increase  the  misery  I 
feel.  I  wish  you  not  to  believe  it,  or  to 
share  it.  This  is  no  lovers  despondency 
— no  sudden  and  violent  paroxysm  occa- 


188  GLENARVON* 

sioned  by  disappointed  passion.  It  is 
uttered/'  he  continued,  "  in  the  hope- 
lessness of  despair  :  it  is  the  confession, 
not  the  repining  of  a  heart  that  was  early 
blighted  and  destroyed." 

Calantha  now  interrupted  him.  "  I 
alone  am  guilty/'  she  replied,  "  talk  not 
of  leaving  me  ;  we  may  still  be  friends — 
we  must  never  be  more."  "  Oh  !  pro- 
mise that  we  shall  never  be  less."  Gle- 
narvon  looked  on  her  with  kindness, 
"  Let  no  fears  dissuade  you  until  I  shew 
myself  unworthy  of  the  trust.  Forsake 
not  him,  whose  only  happiness  is  in 
your  affection.  I  was  joyless  and  without 
hope,  when  first  I  met  you  ;  but  the  re- 
turn, to  loneliness  and  misery,  is  hard  to 
bear.  Be  virtuous,  and,  if  it  may  be  so, 
be  happy."  "  That  I  never  more  can 
be,"  she  answered.  "  You  are  young  in 
sin  yet,"  said  Glenarvon  ;  "  you  know 
not  its  dangers,  its  pleasures,  or  its  bit- 
terness. All  this,  ere  long,  will  be  for- 
gotten." "  Never  forgotten,"  she  replied, 
"  oh  never !" 


GLENARVON.  189 


CHAPTER    XX. 


Glenarnon  wandered  forth  every  even- 
ing, by  the  pale  moon,  and  no  one  knew 
whither  he  went,  and  no  one  marked  but 
Calantha  how  late  was  his  return.  And 
when  the  rain  fell  heavy  and  chill,  he 
would  bare  his  forehead  to  the  storm  ; 
and  faint  and  weary  wander  forth,  and 
often  he  smiled  on  others  and  appeard 
calm,  whilst  the  burning  fever  of  his 
blood  continued  to  rage  within. 

Once  Calantha  followed  him,  it  was 
at  sunset,  and  he  shewed  when  he  beheld 
her,  no  mark  of  surprise  or  joy.  She 
followed  him  to  the  rocks  called  the  Black 
Sisters,  and  the  cleft  in  the  mountain 
called  the  Wizzard's  Glen  ;  there  was  a 
lonely  cottage  near  the  cleft  where  St, 
Clara,  it  was  said,  had  taken  up  her 
abode.     He  knocked  ;  but  she  was  from 


190  GLENARVON. 

home :  he  called  ;  but  no  one  replied 
from  within.  Her  harp  was  left  at  the 
entrance  of  a  bower  ;  a  few  books  and  a 
table  were  also  there.  Glenarvon  ap- 
proached the  harp  and  leaning  upon  it, 
fixed  his  eyes  mournfylly  and  steadfastly 
upon  Calantha.  "  Others  who  formerly 
felt  or  feigned  interest  for  me,"  he  said, 
"  were  either  unhappy  in  their  marriage, 
or  in  their  situation ;  but  you  brave  every 
thing  for  me.  Unhappy  Calantha  !  how 
little  do  you  know  the  heart  for  which 
you  are  preparing  to  sacrifice  so  much/' 

The  place  upon  which  they  stood  was 
wild  and  romantic ;  the  sea  murmured 
beneath  them  ;  distant  sounds  reached 
them  from  the  caverns;  and  the  boats 
passed  to  and  fro  within  the  harbour.  The 
descent  was  rugged  and  dangerous.  Ca- 
lantha looked  first  upon  the  scene,  and 
then  upon  Glenarvon  :  still  he  leant  upon 
the  harp,  and  seemed  to  be  lost  in  me- 
lancholy remembrances. 

44  Sing  once  again,0  she  said,  at  length 


GLENARVON.  191 

interrupting  him — "  Ah !  sing  as  I  first 
heard  you  :  —  those  notes  reached  the 
heart/'  "  Did  they ?"  he  cried,  approach- 
ing her,  as  his  lips  pressed,  upon  hers, 
one  ardent  kiss.  The  blood  rushed  from 
her  heart  in  alarm  and  agitation  : — she 
trembled  and  turned  from  him.  "  There 
is  no  cause,"  he  said,  gently  following 
her: — "  it  is  the  first  kiss  of  love,  sweet 
one  ;  the  last  is  full  of  bitterness." 

"  Sing  to  me,"  she  said,  confused  and 
terrified,  "  in  mercy,  approach  me  not 
— I  am  alone — I  fear  you."  I  will  sing," 
he  said,  "  and  check  those  fears,"  saying 
which  he  began.  It  was  not  like  a  song, 
but  a  sort  of  soft  low  murmur,  with  an 
air  of  such  expression  and  empassioned 
feeling,  that  every  note  said  more  than 
words  :  it  vibrated  to  the  soul. 

**  Farewell." 

Ah!  frown  not  thus— nor  turn  from  me, 

1  musjt  not — dare  not — look  on  thee ; 

Too  well  thou  know'st  how  dear  thou  art, 

Tis  hard  but  yet  'tis  best  to  part : 

I  wish  thee  not  to  share  my  grief, 

It  seeks,  it  hopes,  for  no  relief. 


192  GLENARVON. 

"  Farewell." 

Come  give  thy  hand,  what  though  we  part,, 
Thy  name  is  fixed,  within  my  heart ; 
I  shall  not  change,  nor  break  the  vow 
I  made  before  and  plight  thee  now  ; 
For  since  thoumay'st  not  live  forme, 
'Tis  sweeter  far  to  die  for  thee. 

"  Farewell  M 

Thou'lt  think  of  me  when  I  am  gone, 
None  shall  undo,  what  I  have  done  j 
Yet  even  thy  love  I  would  resign 
To  save  thee  from  remorse  like  mine  ; 
Thy  tears  shall  fall  upon  my  grave  : 
They  still  may  bless — they  cannot  save. 

"  Sing  no  more,"  said  Calantha,  "  let 
us  return  home.  I  know  not  what  I  say, 
or  do.  Judge  not  of  my  feelings  by 
those  which  predominate  in  your  pre- 
sence. I  may  be  weak,  I  acknowledge  your 
power,  I  am  lost  irretrievably  if  you  are 
resolved  upon  it."  "  Calantha",  said  Lord 
Glenarvon  firmly,  "  you  may  trust  impli- 
citly to  my  honor. — These  are  the  last 
guilty  words,  I  will  ever  suffer  to  pass 
my  lips.  Henceforward  consider  me  only 
as  your  friend — as  such  accept  my  hand." 
He  smiled  in  scorn  as  he  said  this. 


,"£"■' f'  ll"ff.rl" 


\&1 


'If      V     fe 


Wti  tappet 


»tio[-   -T!  pnB  p>rv  id-im  o.o  j    mi<>ii_\i'(  [i.>.v>j.>f|   jj>: 


igigtifi ; ; -^ 


r " ' ' T|    tTffH 


Hat 


^4       ^N 


y 


r  X 


<i  * 


jo  nja.iao^iJDBd  o>  isaq^  si}-  >aX>nq'p.retj  sq.'>ic  T»»ifV  .re.»p  mim     is  moiijj 

i-i 


£ 


"=^ 


n  r 


*n» 


n 


w 


r 


a 


noi(*  ^a*i  o«v'*>n\  uo  Jjnnj  i«.u   ftnp  tow  isnui  ['am   uio.i)  ii.ui)  .ion's  in;) 


f^f-lfl  Tfrf^-qJlJ  J  W 


■TMi-Ji  r  Jfi  ^ISiA^d 


-->--^- 


j  u     r  >j  u-rtt-^ 


hewfiWiEtf?iccrJ-r^ 


o|..i|y'->Uu:(Mi^ 


;••/  jh'fil  r.f>[ 


GLENARVON.  193 

At  that  moment  they  were  interrupted; 
a  bark  from  Inis  Tara  approached  the 
shore,  and  O'Kelly,  Lord  Glenarvon's 
servant,  and  two  other  men  descended 
from  it.  "  To  avoid  observation,  I  will 
join  my  friends  one  moment,"  he  said, 
"  if  you  will  walk  gently  home,  I  can 
overtakeyou, — but,  perhaps  you  will  await 
my  return. "  "  I  will  go  home  :  it  is  late/' 
said  Calantha.  He  appeared  much  vexed ; 
"  Well  then  I  will  await  your  return/' 
saying  this  Calantha  descended  with  him 
the  rugged  path  down  the  cliff,  and 
watched  the  lessening  bark,  and  heard 
the  distant  shouts  from  some  of  his  fol- 
lowers who  were  assembled  in  the  cavern, 
as  they  hailed  his  approach  to  land  :  after 
which  a  long  silence  prevailed,  alone  in- 
terrupted by  the  rippling  of  the  waves. 
The  meeting  was  apparently  over:  there 
were  whole  parties  returning  from  below, 
in  different  directions. 

Whilst  yet  awaiting  Lord  Glenarvon's 
return,  Calantha  heard  the  same  air  re- 

Vol.  II.  K 


194  GLENARVON. 

peated  which  he  had  so  lately  played.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  wind,  as  it  blew  along 
the  wooded  shores,  had  struck  upon  the 
chords.  It  was  strange  ;  for  Glenarvon 
was  gone.  She  turned  in  haste,  and  from 
above  beheld  a  young  man.  Ah  no — it 
was  St.  Clara.  Too  soon  she  saw  that  it 
was  her.  Her  ear  had  caught  the  last 
murmurs  of  Glenarvon's  song,  and  her 
hand  feebly  repeated  the  strain.  But,  soon 
perceiving  Calantha,  she  gazed  with  wild 
alarm  one  moment  upon  her,  then  throw- 
ing the  plumed  hat  aside,  with  a  grace  and 
ease  peculiar  to  herself,  she  struck  the  full 
chords,  and  her  clear  voice  ascended 
upon  the  air  in  soft  impassioned  numbers. 
Lady  Avondale  heard  the  words  of  her 
song  as  it  murmured  along  the  breeze. 

(To  the  air  of,"  Htarme  swear  hoio  much  I  love." J 

By  that  smile  which  made  me  blest, 
And  lefr  j* ■••  <=oou  the  wn  'eh  you  see — 

By   tha      eart.  I  once  possest, 
Which  now,  they  say,  is  given  to  thee — 

By  bt.  Clara's  wrongs  and  woes — 

Trust  not  young  Glenarvon's  vows. 


GLENARVON.  195 

By  those  lays  which  breathe  around 
A  poet's  great  and  matchless  art — 

By  that  voice  whose  silver  sound 
Can  soothe  to  peace  th'  imprisoned  heart — 

By  every  bitter  pang! prove — 

Trust  not  young  Glenarvon's  love. 

Each  brighter,  kinder  hope  forsaking, 
Bereft  of  all  that  made  life  dear  ; 

My  health  impaired,  my  spirit  breaking, 
Yet  still  too  proud  to  shed  one  tear  : 

O!  lady,  by  my  wrongs  and  woes. 

Trust  not  young  Glenarvon's  vows. 

And  when  at  length  the  hand  of  death 
Shall  bid  St  Clara's  heart  be  still — 

When  struggling  with  her  latest  breath, 
His  image  shall  her  fancy  fill, 

Ah  trust  to  one  whose  death  shall  prove 

What  fate  attends  Glenarvon's  love. 

Lady  Avondale  eagerly  attempted  to 
appraoch  her.  "  J3eautiful,  unhappy  St. 
Clara,  I  will  be  your  friend — will  protect 
you.  She  ran  forward,  and  climbed  the 
steep  ascent  with  ease:  but  the  youthful 
harper  arose — her  dark  sunny  ringlets 
waving  over  her  flushed  cheek  and  eyes: 
she  slightly  bowed  to  Calantha  as  if  in 
k2 


196  GLENARVON. 

derision  ;  and  laughing  as  she  upheld  a 
chain  with  an  emerald  ring,  bounded 
over  the  rocks  with  an  activity,  which 
long  habit  had  rendered  familiar. 

Calantha  beheld  her  no  more  :  but  the 
distant  shouts  of  applause  re-echoed  as  at 
first  among  the  caverns  and  mountains  ; 
and  the  bark  with  Lord  Glenarvon  soon 
re-appeared  in  sight.  She  awaited  his 
return.  As  he  approached  the  beach,  a 
loud  murmur  of  voices  from  behind  the 
rock  continued.  He  joined  her  in  a  mo- 
ment. His  countenance  was  lighted  with 
the  ray  of  enthusiasm  : — his  altered  man- 
ner shewed  the  success  his  efforts  had 
obtained.  He  told  Calantha  of  his  pro- 
jects ;  he  described  to  her  the  meetings 
which  he  had  held  by  night  and  day  ; 
and  he  spoke  with  sanguine  hope  of  fu- 
ture success — the  freedom  of  Ireland,  and 
the  deathless  renown  of  such  as  supported 
her  fallen  rights.  "  Some  day  you  must 
follow  me,"  he  cried  :  "  let  me  shew  you 
the   cavern  beneath  the  rock,   where  1 


GLENARVON.  197 

have  appointed  our  meeting  for  the  en- 
suing week." 

"  I  will  walk  no  more  with  you  to 
Inis  Tara  : — the  harp  sounds  mournfully 
on  those  high  cliffs  : — I  wish  never  more 
to  hear  it."  "  Have  you  seen  St.  Clara  ?" 
he  said,  without  surprise.  "  She  sings 
and  plays  well,  does  she  not  ?  But  she  is 
not  dear  to  me  :  think  not  of  her.  I  could 
hate  her,  but  that  I  pity  her.  Young  as 
she  is,  she  is  cruelly  hardened  and  vin- 
dictive."— "  I  cannot  fear  her:  she  is 
too  young  and  too  beautiful  to  be  as  aban- 
doned as  you  would  make  me  think." — 
u  It  is  those  who  are  young  and  beautiful 
you  should  fear  most,"  he  said,  approach- 
ing her  more  nearly. — "  1  may  fear  them," 
she  replied,  "  but  can  you  teach  me  to 
fly  them  ?" 

It  was  now  late:  very  little  more  passed : 
they  returned  home,  where  they  were  re- 
ceived with  considerate  coldness.  But 
Lady  Mandeville,  perce  ving  the  stat  of 
suffering  to  which  Calantha  had  reduced 
k3 


198  GLENARVON. 

herself,  generously  came  forward  to  sooth 
and  to  assist  her.  She  appeared  really 
attached  to  her  ;  and  at  this  time  more 
even  than  at  any  former  period,  shewed 
her  sincere  and  disinterested  friendship. 
And  yet  she  was  the  person  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour distrusted  ;  and  even  Glenarvon 
spoke  of  her  with  asperity  and  disdain. 
"  Adelaide  !  though  an  envious  world 
may  forsake  thee,  a  grateful  friend  shall 
stand  firm  by  thee  to  the  last."  Such 
were  Calantha's  thougths,  as  Lady  Man- 
deville,  languidly  throwing  her  rounded 
arm  over  her,  pressed  her  to  her  bosom, 
and  sighed  to  think  of  the  misery  she 
was  preparing  for  herself. — "  Yet,  when  I 
see  how  he  loves  thee,"  she  continued, 
"  I  cannot  blame,  I  will  not  judge  thee." 
That  evening  Glenarvon  wrote  to  Lady 
Avondale.  His  letter  repeated  all  he  had 
before  said  ;  it  was  ardent  :  it  was  un- 
guarded. She  had  scarce  received  it, 
scarce  placed  it  in  her  bosom,  when 
Lady   Margaret   attacked    her.      "  You 


GLENARVON.  199 

think,"  she  said,  "  that  you  have  made  a 
conquest.  Silly  child,  Lord  Glenarvon 
is  merely  playing  upon  your  vanity/' 
Lady  Augusta  whispered  congratulations  : 
Sophia  hoped  she  was  pleased  with  her 
morning  walk  ;  Sir  Everard  coldly  asked 
her  if  she  beheld  his  niece,  and  then, 
with  a  sneer  at  Lord  Glenarvon,  said  it 
was  vastly  pleasant  to  depend  upon  cer- 
tain people's  promises. 

All  this  time  Calanthafelt  not  grieved: 
Glenarvon  had  said  he  loved  her :  it  was 
enough  :  his  attachment  was  worth  all 
else  beside ;  and  Lord  Avondale's  in- 
creasing neglect  and  coldness  steeled  her 
heart  against  the  crime  of  inconstancy. 

Before  supper,  Glenarvon  took  an  op- 
portunity of  speaking  to  her.  "  If  you 
accept  my  friendship,"  he  said  frowning*, 
i;  I  must  be  obeyed  : — you  will  find  me 
a  master — a  tyrant  perhaps  ; — not  a  slave, 
if  I  once  love,  it  is  with  fervor — with 
madness.  I  must  have  no  trilling,  no 
rivals.  The  being  I  worship  must  be 
k  4 


200  GLENARVON. 

pure  even  in  thought ;  and,  if  I  spare  her, 
think  not  that  it  is  to  let  others  approach 
her.  No,  Lady  Avondale  ;  not  even  what 
appears  most  innocent  to  you,  shall  be 
endured  by  me.  I  shall  be  jealous  of 
every  look,  word,  thought.  There  must 
be  no  shaking  of  hands,  no  wearing  of 
chains,  but  such  as  I  bestow,  and  you 
must  write  all  you  think  and  feel  without 
reserve  or  fear.  Now,  mark  me,  fly  if 
you  have  the  power  ;  but  if  you  remain, 
you  already  know  your  fate. 

Calantha  resolved  to  fly  :  yes,  she  felt 
the  necessity.  To-morrow,  she  said, 
she  would  go.  That  to-morrow  came, 
and  she  had  not  strength.  Glenarvon 
wrote  constantly  :  she  replied  with  the 
same  openness.  "  Your  letters  chill  me," 
he  said,  "  call  me  your  friend,  your 
lover  :  call  me  Glenarvon — Clarence  if 
you  will.  All  these  forms,  these  regula- 
tions are  odious  amongst  those  who  are 
attached.  Say  that  you  love,  beloved 
Calantha:  my  own  heart's  friend,  say  it; 


GLENARAON.  201 

for  I  see  it,  and  know  it."  There  is  no 
greater  crime  in  writing  it  than  in  feeling 
it.  Calantha  said  it  too  soon — too  soon 
she  wrote  it.  "  My  dearest  Clarence,  my 
friend,  my  comforter:"  such  were  the 
terms  she  used.  Shame  to  the  pen,  the 
hand  that  dared  to  trace  them.  Days,  and 
days  passed,  and  soon  Glenarvon  was  all 
on  earth  to  her  ;  and  the  love  he  felt  or 
feigned,  the  only  hope  and  happiness  of 
her  existence. 


202  GLENARVON 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


Lord  Avondale  now  looked  more  and 
more  coldly  on  Calantha  :  but  all  others 
courted  and  flattered  her.  The  Princess 
and  many  others  had  departed.  Mrs. 
Seymour  alone  appeared  to  watch  her 
with  anxiety.  In  vain  Calantha  affected 
the  most  thoughtless  gaiety  :  remorse  and 
suspense  alternately  agitated  her  mind. 
One  evening  she  observed  Lord  Glenar- 
narvon  and  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Seymonr,  in 
earnest  discourse — she  knew  not  then  that 
she  herself  was  the  subject.  "  She  is 
pure,  she  is  innocent/'  said  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour :  "  her  spirits  wild  and  thoughtless, 
may  have  led  her  into  a  thousand  follies  ; 
but  worse,  never  —  never/' —  "  Fierce 
passion  burns  in  her  eye,"  said  Glenar- 
von,  scornfully:  "  the  colour  in  her 
cheeks  varies — 1  love  her  as  well  as  you 


GLENARVON.  203 

can*"  he  continued,  laughing  :  "  but  do 
you  think  she  does  not  love  me  a  little  in 
return  ?" — "  Oh  !  even  in  jest,  do   not 
talk  thus  of  Calantha,"  said  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour :  "  you  alarm  me." — "  There  is  no 
occasion,"   replied    Glenarvon  :   "  calm 
yourself.     1  only  said,    that  were  I  to  at- 
tempt it  I  could  succeed  ;  she  should  be 
ready  to  leave  you,  and  Lord  Avondale, 
her  dear  husband  and  her  babes,  and  her 
retinue,  and  all  else  ;   and  I  could  make 
her  follow  me  as  St.  Clara  did  ;  aye  verily; 
but,  in  truth,  I  will  not."     Mrs.  Seymour 
was  angry ;   she  coloured  :  she  was  hurt. 
"  You  could  not,"  she  replied  with  warmth: 
"  O   I   know  her  well   and  know   you 
could  not.     Whatever  her  faults  she  is  so 
pure,  so  chaste  even  in  thought." — "  She 
loves  me." — "  It  is  false,"  said  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour, still  more  eagerly.      "  Even  if  she 
had  any  foolish  romantic  liking  to  ano- 
ther than  her  husband,  Buchanan  is  ihe 
favourite." — "Buchanan  !"  said  Lord  Gle- 
narvon with  a  sneer.     "  I  will  make  her 
heart  ache  for  this,"  after  which  he  retired. 


204  GLENARVON. 

Calantha  knew  not  then  one  word  of 
what  had  passed  ;  the  next  morning  she 
was  informed  by  Mrs.  Seymour  that  Lord 
GJenarvon  was  gone.  '%  Gone  !  where  ?" 
she  said  rather  in  surprise,  and  agitated. 
"  I  know  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Seymour, 
coldly  enough.  "  I  conclude  to  Belfont : 
his  uncle  Lord  de  Ruthven,  is  arrived 
there.  But,  indeed,  I  am  glad  he  is  gone  : 
— you  have  not  conducted  yourself  well. 
I,  your  aunt,  have  no  doubt  of  you  ;  but 
others  who  know  you  less,  Calantha 
blame  you  more." 

A  letter  was  now  delivered  to  Mrs. 
Seymour  :  she  opened  it :  it  was  from 
GJenarvon  ;  she  was  dreadfully  agitated 
upon  reading  it.  It  contained  these  words: 
— "  As  you  seem  to  doubt  the  confidence 
and  attachment  with  which  your  niece, 
he  Countess  of  Avondale,  has  honoured 
me,  I  enclose  you  one  of  her  own  letters, 
that  you  may  see  my  vanity  alone  did  not 
authorise  me  in  the  conclusion  that  she  was 
attached  to  me.  Her  duplicity  to  me  can 
scarcely  justify  the  means  I  take  of  open 


GLENARVON.  205 

ing  an  aunt's  eyes  ;  but  the  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances of  my  situation  will,  I  hope, 
excuse  it. 

"  Your  most  obedient  servant, 

"  Glenarvon." 

This  letter  enclosed  one  of  Lady  Avon- 
dale's  —  one  which,  however,  she  had 
not  blushed  to  write.  She  read  it  with 
terror  when  Mrs.  Seymour  placed  it  in 
her  hands.  Cruel  Glenarvon  !  could  he 
have  the  heart  thus  to  betray  me — to  my 
own  aunt  too. — Oh  !  had  that  aunt  been 
less  indulgent,  less  kind,  what  had  been 
my  fate  ? 

"  You  are  innocent  yet,  my  child," 
said  Mrs.  Seymour,  placing  her  arms 
around  her  ;  "  and  the  early  conviction 
of  the  meanness  and  wickedness  of  him 
for  whom  you  were  preparing  to  sacrifice 
so  much,  will  render  it  easy  to  reclaim 
yourself  from  your  present  errors,  and  to 
be  less  hasty  in  reposing  confidence 
hereafter." — "  Never,  never,  will  I  pardon 


206  GLENARVON. 

him/'  cried  Calantha  with  indignation. 
M  I  will  not  hate  ;  that  were  too  flattering 
to  his  vanity  :  I  will  not  fly;  that  were  a 
proof  that  there  was  cause  for  it  :  but, 
lowered  to  the  dust  as  I  ought  to  feel — 
humbled  to  the  earth  (and  whilst  she 
spoke,  she  looked  and  felt  more  proudly, 
more  vainly  than  ever),  even  I  can  des- 
pise him.  \V  hat  are  superior  talents,  if 
he  who  possesses  them  can  act  thus  ?  Oh ! 
I  had  rather  die  in  torture,  than  ever  par- 
don this." 

"  Be  less  violent,"  said  Mrs.  Seymour, 
with  a  look  of  heart-broken  tenderness 
and  affection  :  "  that  stubborn  spirit  must 

be  subdued."  —  "  i  will  revenge 

"  Be  calm,  Calantha  :  think  what  you  are 
saying :  how  unfeminine  and  how  pue- 
rile !  Put  off  these  frowns  and  this  idle 
rage,  and  look  reasonably  upon  your 
own  conduct,  not  upon  his." — "  Shall  you 
ever  permit  him  to  enter  these  doors 
again  ?" — "  Had  I  the  power,  assuredly 
never." — "  Oh,  let  him  return  ;  I  care 


GLENARVON.  207 

not;  I  can  see  him  with  the  scorn,  with 
the  indiiFerence  he  deserves.  Do  not 
look  thus,  my  dearest  aunt:  dry  your 
tears:  I  am  not  worth  one  single  tear 
now ;  but  I  will  act  in  future  so  as  to 
silence  even  these  too  just  reproaches/' 

"  Do  you  repent,  Calantha?" — "Do 
not  talk  of  repentance :  1  cannot  feel  it : 
my  sin  is  light  compared  with  his." — 
"  Towards  your  husband/' — "  Oh !  Lord 
Avondale,  he  is  happy  enough :  he  cares 
not." — "  Indeed  he  does,  my  child.  I 
tremble  for  you :  every  hour  of  your 
life  is  a  continual  warfare  and  peril.  One 
danger  no  sooner  ends  than  another 
arises.  Will  you  never  consider  the  du- 
ties of  your  situation,  or  the  character 
you  have  to  form  and  to  preserve  ?" — 
"  Who  is  more  loved  than  I  am?  On 
whom  does  even  the  world  smile  with 
greater  kindness  ?  Beauties,  wits,  the  vir- 
tuous— can  they  cope  with  me  ?  I  am 
every  one's  friend,  and  every  one  loves, 
even  though  they  blame  Calantha."     As 


208  GLENARVON. 

she  said  this,  she  smiled  and  threw  her- 
self on  h^r  aunt's  bosom. 

But  all  this  Calantha  did  but  to  cheer 
her  aunt.  Though  not  false,  she  dreaded 
any  one's  seeing  the  real  state  of  her 
mind:  at  this  moment  she  thought 
Mrs.  Seymour  too  gentle,  and  of  too  ten- 
der a  nature  to  bear  the  violence  of  her 
headstrong  character :  she  knew  it  would 
cause  her  misery  were  she  to  read  her 
heart's  secret,  and  she  smiled  therefore 
and  spoke  with  levity,  whilst  her  soul 
was  in  torture.  But  the  very  moment 
Mrs.  Seymour  had  left  her,  Calantha  gave 
way  to  the  rage  of  fury,  and  the  despon- 
dency she  felt.  To  have  lost  Gleuarvon, 
was  at  this  time  the  real  source  of  her 
regret ; — to  speculate  upon  the  cause  of 
his  sudden  cruelty  and  treachery  her  sole 
occupation. 

At  the  hour  of  dinner  Mrs.  Seymour 
again  entered  her  room ;  but  without  a 
single  reproach.  She  had  been  crying — 
her  eyes  were  swollen  and  red;  but  she 


GLENARVON.  209 

affected  scarcely  to  remember  what  had 
passed,  and  urged  Calantha  to  accompany 
her  to  dinner,  as  her  absence  on  the  day 
of  Lord  Glenarvon's  departure,  might 
appear  strange.  But  Lady  Avondale  stub- 
bornly refused,  and  would  not  speak.  She 
even  appeared  sullen,  that  her  aunt  might 
not  see  she  was  miserable.  She  even  af- 
fected more  anger,  more  violence  than  she 
felt  against  Glenarvon,  that  she  might  dis- 
guise from  herself  and  her  aunt  the  pang 
his  loss  had  given  her.  She  relented  how- 
ever when  she  saw  her  aunt's  grief;  and, 
struggling  with  tears  which  never  come 
till  passion  is  over,  and  which  she  thought 
it  weak  to  display,  she  dressed  and  ap- 
peared at  dinner.  It  was  alone  to  please 
Mrs.  Seymour  she  had  done  so  ;  and, 
solely  engrossed  with  the  past,  and  ut- 
terly indifferent  to  the  mortifying  remarks 
her  melancholy  and  silence  occasioned, 
Calantha  hated  those  who  had  the  unkind- 
ness  to  censure  and  judge  her,  and  re- 
garded her  own  conduct  without  com- 
punction or  condemnation. 


210  GLENARVON. 

Towards  evening  Lord  Arondale  came 
to  her,  and  said  kindly  enough  that  she 
looked  ill.  Then  her  heart  smote  her, 
and  affecting  a  pettish  ill  temper,  which 
she  did  not,  could  not  feel,  she  replied 
that  she  was  well,  and  took  up  a  book, 
as  if  to  read.  May  none  ever  experience 
the  torture  Calantha  felt,  when,  instead 
of  being  offended,  he  gently  pressed  her 
hand.  She  had  rather  he  had  struck  a 
dagger  into  her  heart. 

Upon  retiring  to  rest,  Lady  Avondale 
sent  for  Zerbellini,  and  asked  him  res- 
pecting Lord  Glenarvon.  The  boy  was 
a  constant  favourite  and  playmate  of  his: 
he  carried  notes  and  flowers,  from  each 
to  the  other;  and  artless  as  he  was,  he 
already  felt  delight  in  the  eager  interest 
so  much  mystery  and  secrecy  required. — 
He  told  Lady  Avondale  a  thousand  anec- 
dotes of  Glenarvon ;  but  he  had  told  them 
so  often  that  they  failed  to  please.  He 
then  showed  her  the  presents  he  had  re- 
ceived from  those  who  formerly  professed 
to  like  her.      "  And  did  vou  ever  shew 


GLENARVON.  211 

them  to  Lord  Glenarvon?"  said  Lady 
Avondale !  The  thought  occurring  that 
this  might  have  offended.  "  I  did,"  said 
Zerbellini,  with  a  shrewd  smile. — "And 
was  he  angry  ?" — "  Oh,  not  in  the  least : 
only  the  more  kind;  and  he  did  question 
me  so  }"  and  then  the  boy  repeated  a 
thousand  things  that  he  had  asked,  which 
shewed  Calantha  too  well,  how  eager  he 
was  to  ascertain,  from  other  lips  than 
her's,  every  minute  detail  of  follies  and 
errors  she  had  committed.  There  was 
no  need  for  this. 

Lady  Avondale  felt  indignant ;  for  there 
was  not  a  thought  of  heart  she  desired 
to  conceal  from  him,  or  alas  from  any 
one.  V.  hat  she  had  done  wrong,  she 
herself  had  confessed  without  reserve; 
and  to  be  thus  distrusted,  deeply  grieved 
her.  She  thought  too,  it  lessened  her  re- 
gard ;  it  gave  her  a  worse  opinion  of  Gle- 
narvon  ;  and  this  god — this  idol,  to  whom 
she  had  bowed  so  low,  sunk  at  once  from 
the  throne  of  glory  upon  which  herima- 


212  GLENARVON. 

gination  had  raised  him.  "  If  I  pardon 
this/'  she  cried,  as  she  sent  Zerbellini 
away,  and  hastened  to  bed, — "  if  ever  I 
waste  a  tear,  or  sigh,  or  thought,  on  him, 
again,  may  I  suffer  what  I  deserve. — But 
the  thing  is  impossible/' 

Lady  Mandeville  at  this  time  was  all 
kindness  to  Lady  Avondale.  She  was 
going  from  the  castle ;  and,  as  she  parted, 
she  gave  her  this  advice  :  "  Never  place 
yourself  in  the  power  of  any  man :  love 
of  this  sort  is  apt  to  terminate  in  a  wreck  ; 
and  whoever  puts  most  at  stake  will  be 
the  sufferer."  Lady  Augusta  also  de- 
parted. 


GLENARVON.  213 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


From  that  day,  Lady  Avondale  grew 
more  calm :  a  degree  of  offended  pride 
supported  her;  and  she  resolved,  cost 
what  it  might,  to  continue  firm.  She 
saw,  that  private  communications  were 
taking  place  between  Lady  Margaret,  her 
father,  and  even  her  aunt  and  Glenar- 
von.  He  had  already  contrived  to  inte- 
rest every  individual  in  the  castle  in  his 
affairs. — Lord  Avondale  often  spoke  of 
him  with  praise;  Sir  Richard,  though 
he  said  he  was  a  comical  personage,  ad- 
mired him,  and  the  female  part  of  the 
society  were  all  eager  and  enthusiastic  on 
the  subject. 

Lady  Avondale  experienced  every  feel- 
ing that  can  be  imagined  during  this 
short  period ;  and  received  the  half  con- 
cealed taunts  of   her  acquaintance  with 


214  GLEiYARVON. 

becoming  fortitude — even  their  commi- 
seration for  his  having  left  her.      She 
heard  their  boasts  too  of  what  he  had 
written  to  them,  without  once  repining; 
but  envy,  rancour,  malice,  hatred,   rage 
and  regret — all,  more  or  less,   arose  and 
subsided  in  her  breast,  till  she  heard  one 
morning,  with  a  sort  of  trepidation,  that 
Lord  Glenarvon  was   in    the   adjoining 
room.     Mrs.  Seymour  immediately  came 
to    her.      "  Tell  me   truly,"   she   said, 
"  have  you  any  objection  to  his  dining 
here  ?"      "  Quite  the  contrary,  said  Ca- 
lantha,  with  indifference ;  and  she  waited 
till  she  heard  the  sound   of  the  horses 
galloping  from  the  outer  court;  she  then 
looked  from  the  window,  and  her  heart 
told  her  too  well  that  she  was  not  yet  en  . 
tirely  recovered  from  her  infatuation." 

At  dinner  they  were  to  expect  him; 
and  'till  dinner  Lady  Avon  dale  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  Mrs.  Seymour 
watched  her  with  anxiety. — She  strove 
anxiously  to  disguise  what  she  felt,  and 


GLENARVON.  215 

she  succeeded  better  than  before,  for  habit 
now  rendered  the  effort  less  painful. 
But  Lady  Margaret  whispered  malicously 
in  her  ear,  that  every  thought  and 
feeling  was  more  strongly  exhibited  by 
her,  with  all  her  attempts  to  hide  them 
than  by  most  others,  when  they  wished 
them  to  be  seen.  "  And  I  know/'  she 
added,  unkindly  enough,  "  you  would 
give  any  thing  on  earth  to  be  friends 
with  him  again."  "  With  whom?" 
"  See  he  appears,"  she  said,  "  shall  I 
name  him?" 

Lady  Avondale  had  resolved  to  be  firm. 
There  is  a  degree  of  dignity,  which  every 
proud  mind  can  assume.  To  have  for- 
given so  much  treachery  and  cruelty,  had 
been  contemptible.  She  felt  it,  and  pre- 
pared for  the  encounter.  "  He  will  do 
every  thing  to  regain  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Seymour,  "  but  I  have  confidence  in 
your  present  feelings.  Shew  him,  that 
you  are  not  what  he  imagines;  and  prove 
to  me,  that  I  may  still  be  proud  of  my 


216  GLENARVON. 

child."  Lady  Avondale  had  taken  Gle- 
narvon's  ring-  from  her  finger,  she  had 
placed  upon  her  neck  a  row  of  pearls 
her  husband  had  given  her,  upon  the 
eve  of  her  marriage,  and  thus  decorated, 
she  thought  her  heart  had  likewise  re- 
turned to  its  ancient  allegiance. 

Lady  Avondale  entered  the  dining- 
room.  Lord  Glenarvon  passed  her  at 
the  moment;  he  was  in  earnest  conver- 
sation with  Lady  Margaret,  and  slightly 
bowed  to  her.  She  was  surprised,  she 
had  expected  kindness  and  contrition. 
She  was,  however,  resolved  to  act  up  to 
the  very  strictest  bounds  which  decorum 
prescribed.  With  some  haughtiness, 
gome  appearance  at  least  of  dignity,  she 
seated  herself  as  far  from  him  as  he 
could  desire,  and  by  addressing  herself 
calmly  but  entirely  to  others,  she  sought 
to  attain  that  look  of  unconcern,  which 
he  had  so  readily  assumed. 

Dinner  was  no  sooner  over  than  una- 
ble any  longer  to  conceal  her  vexation, 


GLENARVON.  217 

Lady  Avondale  retired  to  her  room  to 
compose  herself.  Upon  returning,  the 
large  society  were  employed  either  with 
billiards,  cards,  or  work — except  a  few 
of  the  men,  amongst  whom  she  perceived 
Lord  Glenarvon.  Had  he  refrained 
from  speaking  to  her,  she  could  have 
borne  it, — had  he  even  looked  as  grave, 
as  ill  as  usual ;  but  an  unusual  flow  of 
spirits — a  peculiar  appearance  of  health, 
had  taken  place  of  that  languor,  to  which 
he  was  at  times  subject. 

The  evening  and  the  supper  passed 
without  his  saying  one  word  in  apology 
for  his  unkindness,  or  in  the  least  at- 
tending to  her  increasing  irritation. 
Lady  Avondale  affected  unconcern  as 
well  as  she  could,  but.  it  looked  like 
any  thing  else ;  and  in  the  morning  she 
awoke  but  to  suffer  new  humiliations. 
She  saw  him  smile  as  he  named  her  in  a 
whisper  to  Lady  Trelawney.  She  heard 
him  talk  to  others  upon  subjects  he  had 
once  spoken  of  only  to  herself.     Imme- 

Voi,.  II.  L 


218  GLENARVON. 

diately  upon  this  apparent  rupture,  new 
hopes  arose;  new  claims  were  consi- 
dered ;  and  that  competition  for  his  fa- 
vour, which  had  ceased,  began  again. 
Lady  Trelawney  laughed  and  talked 
with  him ;  at  times  turning  her  eye  trium- 
phantly towards  Calantha.  Sophia  con- 
fided her  opinions  to  his  breast ;  affected 
to  praise  him  for  his  present  conduct, 
and  the  tear  of  agony,  which  fell  from 
Calantha's  eye,  excited  at  least  as  much 
indignation  as  it  deserved. 

"  I  have  sacrificed  too  much  for  one 
who  is  heartless/'  she  said;  "  but,  thank 
Heaven,  it  is  yet  time  for  amendment." 
Alas!  Lady  Avondale  knew  not,  as  she 
uttered  these  words,  that  there  is  no  mo- 
ment in  which  it  is  so  difficult  to  act  with 
becoming  dignity  and  firmness,  as  that 
in  which  we  are  piqued  and  trampled 
upon  by  the  object  of  our  devotion .  Gle- 
narvon  well  knew  this,  and  smiled  at  the 
pang  he  inflicted,  as  it  proved  his  power, 
and  exhibited  its  effects  to  all.      Lady 


GLENARVON.  219 

Avondale  summoned  to  her  aid  even  her 
faults — the  spirit,  the  pride  of  her  charac- 
ter, her  very  vanity;  and  rested  her 
hopes  of  firmness  upon  her  contempt  for 
weakness,  her  abhorrence  of  vice.  She 
looked  upon  him,  and  saw  his  attempts 
to  wound,  to  humiliate,  to  grieve;  and 
she  despised  the  man  who  could  have  re- 
course to  every  petty  art  to  torture  one 
for  whom  he  had  professed  so  much.  If 
he  wished  to  expose  her  weakness  to  every 
eye,  too  well  he  had  succeeded. 


l2 


220  GLENARY0N. 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

. 
Few  women  know  how  to  conceal  suc- 
cessful love,  but  none  can  conceal  their 
doubt,  resentment  and  jealousy.  Men 
can  do  both,  and  both  without  a  struggle. 
They  feel  less,  and  fear  more.  But  this 
was  not  the  case  with  Lord  Glenarvon, 
nor  did  he  wish  to  appear  indifferent; 
he  only  wished  Calantha  to  feel  his 
power,  and  he  delighted  in  the  exhibi- 
tion of  it.  In  vain  she  had  formed  the 
best  resolutions,  they  were  now  all  ren- 
dered useless.  Lord  Glenarvon  had  fore- 
stalled her  wise  intention,  no  coldness 
. — no  indifference  she  could  assume, 
had  equalled  that,  which  he  either  af- 
fected or  felt. 

Upon  the  bosom  of  Mrs.  Seymour, 
Calantha  wept  for  her  fault;  it  was  infa- 
tuation,  she  said,   she  was   cured:    the 


GLENARVON.  221 

lesson,  though  somewhat  harsh,  had  not 
been  fruitless.  Again,  she  made  every 
promise,  which  affection  and  repentance 
could  suggest.  She  heard  the  name  of 
her  husband  pronounced,  and  longed  to 
throw  herself  before  him,  and  commend 
herself  to  his  mercy.  I  do  repent,  in- 
deed I  do,  said  Calantha,  repeatedly  in 
the  course  of  the  day  ;  and  she  thought 
her  penitence  had  been  sincere.  Hum- 
bled now,  and  gentle,  she  thought  only 
of  pleasing  her  aunt,  Lord  Avondale, 
and  her  friends.  She  was  desired  to  play 
during  the  evening :  to  shew  her  ready 
obedience  she  immediately  obeyed.  Lord 
Glenarvon  was  in  an  adjoining  room  ; 
he  entered  when  she  began  :  springing 
up,  Lady  Avondale  left  the  harp  ;  then, 
seeing  Lord  Avondale  surprised,  she  pre- 
pared to  tune  it. 

Lord    Glenarvon  approached  and  of- 
fered her  his  hand,  she  refused  it.   "Will 
you  play  ?"  he  said — and  she  turned  the 
key  with  so  much  force  that  it  broke  the 
l3 


222  GLENARVON, 

chords  asunder.  "  You  have  Mound 
them  too  tight,  and  played  upon  them 
too  often/'  he  said.  "  Trifle  not  with 
me  thus — I  cannot  play  now,"  she  re- 
plied. "  Leave  me,  I  entreat  you/' 
"  You  know  not  what  you  have  done," 
he  replied.  "  All  I  ask — all  I  implore  is, 
that  you  will  neither  come  near  me, 
nor  speak  to  me  more,  for  I  am  mad." 
"  Women  always  recover  from  these  pa- 
roxysms," said  he,  gaily.  Calantha  at- 
tempted to  play,  and  did  so  extremely  ill, 
after  which  she  went  to  bed,  happier,  it 
must  be  owned,  for  she  had  seen  in  Lord 
Glenarvon's  manner  that  he  was  not  in- 
different, and  this  rendered  it  more  easy 
for  her  to  appear  so. 

The  next  morning  Lady  Avondale 
went  out  immediately  after  breakfast, 
without  speaking  to  Lord  Glenarvon.  He 
twice  attempted  it,  but  with  real  anger, 
she  refused  to  hear  him.  It  was  late  in 
the  day,  when,  having  sought  for  her 
before  dinner,  he   at  length  found  her 


GLENARVON.  223 

alone.  His  voice  faultered,  his  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears.  "  Lady  Avondale— 
Calantha,"  he  said,  approaching  her, 
"  forgive  me. — I  ask  it  of  you,  and  more, 
if  you  require  it,  I  will  kneel — will  sue 
for  it.  You  can  make  me  what  you 
please — I  am  wholly  in  your  power/' 
"  There  is  no  need  for  this,"  she  said 
coldly. 

"  I  will  not   rise  till  you  forgive  me. 

If  you  knew  all — if but  can   you 

indeed  believe  me  indiffeient,  or  cold? 
Look  at  me  once:  raise  your  eyes  and  be- 
hold him,  who  lives  but  in  you."  "  All 
this  is  useless,  3  ou  have  grieved  me  ;  but 
I  do  not  mean  to  reproach  ;  the  idle  com- 
plainings of  a  woman  are  ever  useless." 
"  To  think  that  she  suffers,"  said  Gle- 
narvon,  "  is  enough.  Look  once — once 
only,  look  upon  me."  "  Let  us  part  in 
peace,"  she  replied :  "  I  have  no  com- 
plaint to  make,  I  have  nothing  to  for- 
give." "  Raise  your  eyes,  and  look — Ca- 
lantha,  look  once  on  me." 

l4 


224  GLEJVARVOtf. 

She  turned  to  him,  she  saw  that  face 
whose  every  feature  was  engraved  deep 
in  her  very  heart — that  smile  of  sweet- 
ness— that  calm  serenity,  she  had  not 
power  to  speak — to  think  ;  and  yet  reco- 
vering from  this  strange  enchantment, 
— "  How  could  you  betray  me  ?"  she 
said.  I  judge  you  not,  but  I  can  never 
feel  either  interest,  or  friendship  again." 
"  Yet,"  said  Glenarvon  gravely,  "  I 
need  both  at  this  time,  for  I  am  miserable 
and  ill  too,  only  I  do  not  wish  to  ex- 
cite your  compassion  by  these  arts,  and  I 
had  rather  die  unforgiven,  than  use  any 
towards  you." 

"  Wherefore  did  you  betray  me  ¥' 
"  Can  you  ask  ?  I  was  deeply  wounded. 
It  is  not  enough  for  me  that  you  love 
me,  all  must  and  shall  know  it.  I  will 
make  every  sacrifice  for  you — run  every 
risk  ;  but  every  risk  and  every  sacrifice 
must  be  shared."  "  Whatever  my  feel- 
ings may  be,"  she  answered  coldly,  "  you 
shall  never  subdue  me  again.     I  may  be 


OLENARVON.  225 

infatuated,  but  I  will  never  be  criminal— 
You  may  torture  me  as  you  please,  if  you 
have  the  power  over  me  which  you  ima- 
gine, but  I  can  bear  torture,  and  none 
ever  yet  subdued  me." 

"  Calantha,"  said  Lord  Glenarvon, 
taking  her  hand  firmly,  and  smiling 
half  scornfully,  "  you  shall  be  my  slave. 
I  will  mould  f  ou  as  I  like  ;  teach  you  to 
think  but  with  my  thoughts,  to  act  but 
with  my  feelings,  you  shall  wait  nor  mur- 
mur— suffer,  nor  dare  complain — ask, 
and  be  rejected — and  all  this,  I  will  do, 
and  you  know  it,  for  your  heart  is  alrea- 
dy mine."  "  If  1  forgive  you,"  she  cried. 
"  If  you  do  not,"  he  said,  approaching 
nearer.  "I  never  will."  "And  'till 
you  do,  though  your  whole  family  should 
enter,  I  will  kneel  here — here,  even  at 
your  feet."  "  You  think  to  menace 
me."  "  I  know  my  empire.  Take  off 
those  ornaments;  replace  what  I  have 
given  you:  this  too  you  shall  wear," 
he  said,  throwing  a  chain  around  her, 
l5 


226  GLENARVON. 

"  Turn  from  me  if  you  can :  the  heart  that 
I  have  won,  you  cannot  reclaim;  and 
though  the  hand  be  thus  denied  me,  if 
the  heart  be  mine  of  what  avail  ?  I  love 
you  to  madness,  he  said,  and  you  distract 
me.  Trust  yourself  entirely  to  me, 
it  is  the  only  means  of  safety  left.  Yes, 
Calantha,  I  will  do  for  you,  what  no  man 
ever  did  before.  If  it  destroy  me,  I  will 
never  lead  you  to  guilt,  only  rely  upon  me, 
be  guided  by  me."  "  You  ran  the  risk," 
she  said,  "  of  our  being  separated  for  ever, 

of  making  my  aunt  miserable.    Of ." 

"  Nonsense,  child,  I  never  risk  any  thing, 
it  was  necessary  your  aunt  should  know  ; 
and  the  fear  of  losing  you  entirely  will 
make  her  readily  consent  to  my  seeing 
you  more  than  ever."  "  Oh  Glenarvon, 
what  guilt!  Think  not  that  my  attachment 
is  such  as  to  bear  it."  "  It  shall  bear  all 
things,"  said  Glenarvon;  "  but  if  you 
sacrifice  what  I  desire,  I  will  conquer 
every  wrong  feeling  for  your  sake.  Our 
friendship  will  then  be  innocent."  "  Not 


GLENARVOW.  227 

absolutely indeed  I  fear  it ;  and 

if "     "  Ah!  leave  these  gloomy 

thoughts.  If  love  should  triumph — if 
you  feel  half  for  me,  what  I  feel  from 
my  soul  for  you,  then  you  shall  accom- 
pany me  from  hence.  Avondale  may  ea- 
sily find  another  wife,  but  the  world 
contains  for  me  but  one  Calantha." 

Lady  Avondale  felt  happy. — Shame  on 
the  guilty  heart  that  dared  to  feel  so ! 
but  alas,  whilst  Glenarvon  thus  addressed 
her,  she  did  feel  most  happy.  In  a  mo- 
ment, the  gloom  that  had  overshadowed 
her  future  hopes,  was  dispelled.  She 
saw  her  lover — her  friend,  more  than 
ever  united  to  her.  He  consented  even 
to  respect  what  remaining  virtue  she  had 
left,  and  from  his  gentle,  his  courteous 
words,  it  was  not  her  wish  to  escape. 
Yet  still  she  resolved  to  leave  him.  Now, 
that  peace  was  again  restored,  that 
her  irritated  mind  was  calm,  that  her  va- 
nity was  flattered,  and  her  pride  satisfied, 
now  the  admonitions  of  her  aunt  recur- 


228  GLENARVON. 

ed ;  and  even  while  her  heart  beat  fondest 
for  him,  she  pronounced  her  own  doom, 
and  declared  to  him  that  she  would  tear 
herself  away  from  him  for  ever.  "  Per- 
haps this  must  be,"  he  said,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause ;  "but  not  yet,  Calantha: 
ah !  not  yet."  As  he  spoke  his  tears  fell 
upon  her  hand. — Oh !  had  he  not  thus 
wept,  Calantha  had  not  loved  him. 
Struggling  with  his  feelings  for  her,  he 
generously  resolved  to  save,  to  spare 
her.  "  Remember  this,"  he  said, 
"  when  they  condemn  me — remember, 
Calantha,  what  I  have  done  for  you ; 
how  I  have  respected  you ;  and  let  not 
their  idle  clamours  prevail." 

Lady  Avondale  was  too  happy  to  feel 
vain.  Glenarvon  loved,  as  she  never 
had  been  loved  before,  every  hour — 
every  moment  of  each  passing  day  he 
seemed  alone  intent,  and  occupied  with 
her;  he  wrote  his  minutest  thoughts; 
he  counselled,  he  did  not  command. 
He  saw  that  power,  ambition,  was  her 


GLENARVON.  229 

ruling  passion,  and  by  affecting  to  be 
ruled,  he  completely  mastered  her — in 
word,  in  look,  in  thought,  he  was  de- 
voted to  her.  Other  men  think  only  of 
themselves;  Glenarvon  conquered  him- 
self a  thousand  times  for  her.  What  is 
a  momentary,  a  degrading  passion  to  the 
enjoyment  she  felt  in  his  society?  It 
only  lowers  the  object  of  its  fancy,  he 
sought  to  raise  her  even  in  her  own  es- 
teem. "  Forgive  her,  pity  us,"  he  said, 
addressing  Mrs.  Seymour,  who  saw  in  a 
moment,  with  alarm,  their  reconcilia- 
tion. "  Drive  us  not  to  despair,  I  will 
respect  her — will  preserve  her,  if  you 
do  not  attempt  to  tear  her  from  me ;  but 
dread  the  violence  of  madness,  if  you 
reduce  us  to  the  last  rash  step.  Oh  dread 
the  violence  of  a  mad  and  incurable  at- 
tachment. 

Calantha's  sole  attention  was  now  to 
hide  from  those  it  might  grieve,  the 
change  which  a  few  days  had  again 
wrought.     She  appeared  at  dinner,  she 


230  GLENARVOtf. 

seated  herself  opposite  to  Glenarvon. 
There  was  no  look  of  exultation  in  his 
countenance,  his  eyes  met  her's  mourn- 
fully. The  diamond  bracelets  that  adorn- 
ed her  arms,  had  been  given  her  by  him; 
thechain  and  locket,  which  contained  his 
dark  hair,  had  been  placed  around  her 
neck  in  token  of  his  regard ;  the  clasp  that 
fastened  the  band  around  her  waist,  was 
composed  of  the  richest  jewels  brought 
by  him  from  distant  countries  ;  and  the 
heart  that  was  thus  girt  round  and  en- 
circled with  his  gifts,  beat  only  for  him, 
regardless  of  every  other  tie.  "  Oh  my 
child  !  my  child  !"  said  Mrs.  Seymour, 
gazing  on  her  in  agony.  "  I  will  never 
reproach  you,  but  do  not  break  my 
heart.  You  are  ill  in  mind  and  health, 
you  know  not  what  you  say  or  do  ;  God 
forgive  and  pardon  you,  my  unhappy  Ca- 
lantha?"  "Bear with  me  afew  moment's/' 
said  Lady  Avondale  much  agitated  :  "  I 
will  part  from  him;  only  give  me  time. 
Fear  me  not :  I  will  neither  leave  you  nor 


GLENARVON.  231 

act  wickedly ;  but  if  you  seek  too  hastily 
to  sever  us,  oh  my  aunt,  you  may  be  the 
means  of  driving*  two  desperate  minds 
to  misery  and  madness/' 

It  may  appear  strange,  but  all  this  time 
the  world  and  friends  appeared  more 
fond  of  Calantha  than  at  any  other:  they 
courted,  they  flattered  her — they  no  longer 
feigned  that  Glenarvon  was  insincere — 
and  they  seemed  to  gaze  with  new  intent, 
new  admiration  upon  the  object  of  his 
attention. — Never  was  she  apparently  so 
beloved,  so  sought  after — in  particular  by 
the  Princess  of  Madagascar,  her  party 
and  her  followers. 


232  GLENARVON. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


A  few  days  previous  to  this  quarrel  and 
reconciliation,  Sir  Everard  St.  Clare  had 
been  thrown  from  his  horse  in  conse- 
quence of  a  tumult,  in  which,  having 
beheld  his  niece,  a  dimness  came  over 
his  eyes,  and  he  was  no  longer  able  to 
support  himself.  The  fall,  it  was  feared, 
had  injured  his  spine.  He  was  confined 
to  his  own  room ;  but  no  one  could  pre- 
vail upon  him  to  lie  upon  his  bed,  or 
admit  Lady  St.  Clare,  who  sat  continually 
sobbing  at  his  door,  lamenting  her  con- 
duct and  imploring  his  pardon. 

Whatever  were  the  sufferings  of  Lady 
Avondale's  mind  at  this  time,  she  yet  re- 
solved to  visit  this  afflicted  family,  as  she 
had  a  real  regard  for  the  doctor  in  spite 
of  his  singularities.  She  was  preparing 
therefore  the  ensuing  day,  to  call  upon 


GLENARVON.  233 

him,  when  a  servant  informed  her  that 
a  young'  gentleman  below  desired  to 
speak  with  her.  Her  heart  beat  upon 
hearing  the  name  Clarence  of  Costolly: 
but  upon  entering  the  room  she  soon  dis- 
covered, in  the  personage  before  her, 
the  doctor's  unhappy  niece,  Elinor,  upon 
whom  every  counsel  was  lost  —  every 
menace  and  punishment  powerless. 

Elinor  had  entered  the  castle  with  a 
look  of  bold  defiance ;  yet  her  lips  trem- 
bled, as  she  twice  vainly  attempted  to  ad- 
dress Lady  Avondale,  who  moved  for- 
ward to  enquire  the  cause  of  her  visit. 
"  I  am  come,"  said  Miss  St.  Clare  with 
haughty  insolence,  "  to  ask  a  favour  of 
you — tell  me  shall  it  be  granted  ?  My  un- 
cle is  ill:  he  has  sent  to  see  me.  This 
may  be  a  mere  feint  to  draw  me  into  his 
power.  I  will  trust  myself  with  no  one 
but  you: — if  you  will  engage  for  me, 
that  I  shall  not  be  detained,  I  will  go  to 
him ;  if  not,  come  what  will,  I  will  never 
more  set  foot  into  his  house. "     "  Your 


234  GLENARVON. 

having  listened  to  the  prayers  of  Sir  Eve- 
rard,"  answered  Lady  Avondale  eagerly, 
"  is  a  proof  to  me  that  you  have  a  kind 
heart,  and  you  are  so  young,  that  1  feel 
sure,  oh  most  sure,  that  you  will  return 
to  a  more  virtuous  course."  "  To  virtue !" 
said  Elinor  with  a  smile  of  scorn,  "  never 
— never/' 

As  she  spoke,  a  letter  dropped  from 
her  bosom.  Lady  Avondale  saw  from 
the  superscription — the  name  of  Glenar- 
von.  Her  heartsick  ned  at  the  sight; 
she  tried  to  conceal  her  emotion  ;  but  she 
had  not  yet  learned  sufficiently  how  to 
dissemble.  Elinor,  with  ill  suppressed 
rage,  watched  Lady  Avondale:  she  could 
scarcely  stand  the  fury  of  her  glance, 
when  in  a  voice,  nearly  choked  with  pas- 
sion, "  Take  it,"  she  said,  throwing  the 
letter  to  her.  "  Yes,  you  shall  give  it  him 
— give  it  to  your  lover.  I  would  have 
hated  you,  I  would  have  injured  you; 
but  I  cannot.  No  wonder  he  admires 
you :  I   could  myself;  but  I  am  misera- 


GLENARVON.  235 

ble."  Lady  Avondale  raised  her  eyes  : 
every  fierce  expression  had  left  Eli- 
nor's countenance :  with  a  subdued  and 
mournful  air,  she  turned  aside  as  if 
ashamed  of  the  weakness  she  had  shewn ; 
then,  taking  a  little  miniature  and  chain 
from  her  neck,  "  He  sent  for  this  too," 
she  cried.  "  He  sent  for  all  he  gave 
me,  to  offer  to  his  new  idol.  Take  it 
then,  Lady  ;  and  tell  him,  I  obeyed  his 
last  command." 

A  tear  dimmed  her  eye  foramoment ;  but 
recovering  herself,  "  He  has  not  power," 
she  cried,  "  to  break  a  heart  like  mine. 
'Tis  such  as  you,  may  die  for  love — I  have 
yet  many  years  to  live."  Lady  Avondale 
sprang  forward  to  return  the  picture — 
the  letter  ;  but  St.  Clare,  with  a  preci- 
pitancy she  was  not  prepared  for,  had 
left  her;  Lady  Avondale  arrived  at  the 
door  of  the  Castle  only  in  time  to  see 
her  gallop  off. 

While  she  was  yet  holding  the  letter 
and  picture  in  her  hand,  Glenarvon  was 


236  GLENARVON. 

announced.  He  looked  at  both  without 
exhibiting  any  symptom  of  surprise,  and 
having  read  the  letter,  shewed  it  to  Ca- 
lantha.  It  greatly  shocked  her.  "  I  am 
so  used,"  he  said  smiling,  "  to  these 
scenes,  that  they  have  lost  all  power  with 
me."  "  Unhappy  Elinor,"  said  Lady 
Avondale.  "  In  good  truth,"  saidGlenar- 
von,"  you  may  spare  your  pity,  Calantha: 
the  lady  has  spirit  enough:  it  is  her  lover 
who  ought  to  claim  compassion.  Now 
do  not  frown,  or  reproach,  or  torment 
me  about  her.  I  know  it  was  wrong 
first  to  take  her  with  me — it  was  wrong 
to  see  her  since  ;  but  never  more,  you 
may  rely  upon  it,  shall  I  transgress ; 
and  if  you  knew  all,  you  would  not 
blame  me.  She  absolutely  forced  herself 
upon  me.  She  sat  at  my  door,  and  wept 
when  I  urged  her  to  return  home.  What 
could  I  do?  I  might  have  resisted. — 
Calantha,  when  passion  is  burning  in 
every  vein — when  opportunity  is  kind 
— and  when  those  who  from  the  modesty 


GLENARVON.  237 

of  their  sex  ought. to  stand  above  us  and 
force  us  from  them,  forget  their  dignity 
and  sue  and  follow  us,  it  is  not  in  man's 
nature  to  resist:  Is  it  in  woman's?"  he 
continued  smiling  archly. 

"I  blame  you  not,"  she  replied;   "  but 
I  pity  her.     Yet  wherefore  not  shew  her 
some  little  kindness?"  ;"  A  look,  a  word 
would  bring  her  back  to  me.     She  mis- 
represents   every   thing :     she  deceives 
herself."     "  Love  is  ever  apt  to  do  so." 
"  Oh  !    my  adored  Calantha,   look   not 
thus    on  me.      You    are   not  like  this 
wretched  girl :    there   is  nothing  femi- 
nine, or  soft,  or  attractive  in  her  ;  in  you 
there  is  every  charm,"      "  You  loved 
her  once  ?"  said  Calantha.     "  It  was  pas- 
sion, phrenzy,  it  was  not  love — not  what 
I  feel  for  my  Calantha."     "  As  you  re- 
gard me,  be  kind  to  her."     "  I  was  very 
kind  once,  was  I  not  ?"  "  Oh  not  in  that 
manner — not  so."  "  How  then,  my  soul  ? 
explain  yourself;  you  shall  instruct  me." 
"  Counsel  her  to  repent."     '  ■  From  the 


238  GLENARVOtf. 

lips  that  first  taught  her  to  err,  how  will 
such  counsel  prevail  ?"  "  Why  take  your 
picture  from  her  ?"  "  To  give  it  to  the  only 
friend  I  have  left."  "  I  shall  send  it  her 
again."  "  She  will  only  laugh  at  you." 
" 1  had  rather  be  the  cause  of  her  laughter, 
than  of  her  tears."  "  Fear  not :  she  is  not 
prone  to  weeping  ;  but  perhaps,"  he  con- 
tinued in  a  tone  of  pique,  "  you  would 
wish  to  give  me  back  also,  as  well  as  the 
portrait."  "  Oh  never — never."  This 
was  Lady  Avondale's  answer  ;  and  Lord 
Glenarvon  was  satisfied. 


GLENARVON.  239 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


Lady  Avondale  sent  the  portrait  to 
Miss  St.  Clare,  and  vainly  endeavoured 
to  restore  her  to  her  uncle's  protection. 
She  again  spoke  of  her  toGlenarvon. 

"  Cannot  I  yet  save  her  ?"  she  said  ; 
**  Cannot  I  take  her  home,  and  sooth 
her  mind,  and  bring  her  back  to  virtue 
and  to  peace  ?"  "  Never  more,"  he  re- 
plied :  "  it  is  past :  her  heart  is  perverted." 
"  Is  there  no  recall  from  such  perver- 
sion ?"  "  None,  none,  my  friend/'  His 
countenance,  whilst  he  spoke,  assumed 
much  of  bitterness.  "  Oh  there  is  no  re- 
call from  guilty  love.  The  very  nature 
of  it  precludes  amendment,  as  these 
beautiful,  these  emphatic  lines  express, 
written  by  the  Scottish  bard,  who  had 
felt  their  truth : 


240  GLENARVON. 

'  The  sacred  lowe  oVeel-plac'd  love, 

Luxuriantly  indulge  it; 
But  never  tempt  th'illicit  rove, 

Tho'  naething  should  divulge  it : 
I  wave  the  quantum  o'  the  sin, 

The  hazard  of  concealing; 
But  och  !    it  hardens  a1  within, 

And  petrifies  the  feeling.'  " 

"  Is  it  indeed  so  !  Alas  !  then,  what 
will  become  of  me  ?"  "  Calantha,  your 
destiny  is  fixed/'  he  cried,  suddenly  start- 
ing as  if  from  deep  thought ;  "  there  is  a 
gulph  before  you,  into  which  you  are 
preparing  to  plunge.  I  would  have  saved 
you  —  I  tried  ;  but  cannot.  You  know 
not  how  to  save  yourself.  Do  you  think 
a  momentary  pause,  a  trifling  turn,  will 
prevent  the  fall  ?  Will  you  now  fly  me  ? 
now  that  you  are  bound  to  me,  and  the 
fearful  forfeiture  is  paid  ?  Oh  turn  not 
thus  away  : — look  back  at  the  journey 
you  have  taken  from  innocence  and 
peace  :  and  fear  to  tread  the  up-hill  path 


GLENARVON.  241 

of  repentance  and  reformation  alone. 
Remember  when  a  word  or  look  were 
regarded  by  you  as  a  crime — how  you 
shuddered  at  the  bare  idea  of  guilt.  Now 
you  can  hear  its  language  with  interest:  it 
has  lost  its  horror :  Ah  soon  it  shall  be 
the  only  language  your  heart  will  under- 
stand. Shrink  not,  start  not,  Calantha  ; 
the  road  you  pursue  is  that  which  I  have 
followed.  See  and  acknowledge  then, 
the  power  I  hold  over  your  heart  ;  and 
yield  to  what  is  already  destined.  You 
imagine,  when  I  speak  of  guilt,  that  you 
can  shrink  from  me,  that  you  can  hate 
me  ;  but  you  have  lost  the  power,  and  let 
me  add,  the  right :  you  are  become  a 
sharer  in  that  iniquity — you  must  be  a 
sharer  in  my  fate.  The  actual  commis- 
sion of  crime  still  excites  horror  ;  but  do 
you  remember  when  you  shuddered  at 
every  approach  to  it?  And  cannot  he 
who  has  triumphed  thus  far  gain  all, 
think  you,  if  it  were  his  desire  ?  Yes, 
you  are  mine — a  being  wholly  relying 
Vol.  II.  M 


242  GLENARVON. 

upon  a  wish,  a  breath,  which  I  may 
chuse  to  kindle.  Avondale's  peace — your 
honour,  are  in  my  hands.  If  I  resign 
you,  my  heart  will  break  in  the  struggle; 

but  if  I  give  way " 

"  Oh  then,"  she  cried,  "  then  are  we 
ruined  for  ever  and  for  ever.  Do  not, 
even  were  I  to  consent,  O  !  do  not  lead 
me  to  wrong.  What  shall  ever  remune- 
rate us  for  the  loss  of  self-approbation  ? 
He  smiled  bitterly.  "  It  is,"  he  said,  "a 
possession,  I  never  yet  cared  greatly  to 
retain."  "  And  is  self-approbation  the 
greatest  of  all  earthly  enjoyments  ?  Is 
man  so  independent,  so  solitary  a  being, 
that  the  consciousness  of  right  will  suffice 
to  him,  when  all  around  brand  him  with 
iniquity,  and  suspect  him  of  guilt  "  He 
paused,  and  laughed.  "  Let  us  be  that 
which  we  are  thought,"  he  cried,  in  a 
more  animated  tone.  "  The  worst  is 
thought ;  and  that  worst  we  will  become. 
Let  us  live  on  earth  but  for  each  other  : 
another  country  will  hide  us  from  the  cen- 


GJLENARVON.  243 

sures  of  the  prejudiced  ;  and  our  very 
dependence  upon  each  other,  will  endear 
us  more  and  more/'  Calantha  with- 
drew her  hand — she  looked  upon  him 
with  fear ;  but  she  loved,  and  she  forgot 
her  alarm. 


m  2 


244  GLENARVOX 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


Strange  as  it  may  appear,  a  husband, 
unless  his  eyes  are  opened  by  the  confes- 
sion of  his  guilty  partner,  is  the  last  to 
believe  in  her  misconduct ;  and  when  the 
world  has  justly  stamped  disgrace  upon 
her  name,  he  shares  in  his  wife's  disho- 
nour, for  he  is  supposed  by  all  to  know, 
and  to  connive  at  her  crime.  But  though 
this  be  a  painful  truth,  experience  every 
day  confirms,  that  a  noble  and  confiding 
husband  is  too  often,  and  too  easily  de- 
ceived. In  the  marriage  state  there  is 
little  love  and  much  habitual  confidence. 
We  see  neglect  and  severity  on  the  part 
of  the  man  ;  and  all  the  petty  arts  and 
cunning  wiles  on  the  side  of  his  more 
frail  and  cowardly  partner.  Indifference 
first  occasions  this  blindness;  infatuation 
increases  it;  and  in  proportion  as  all  in- 


GLENARVON.  245 

terest  is  lost  for  the  object  who  so  de- 
ceives, such  husband  lives  the  dupe  of 
the  wife,  who  despises  him  for  his  blind- 
ness, and  dies  in  the  same  happy  illusion, 
in  which  he  has  so  long  passed  away  his 
life.  He  even  presses  to  his  heart,  as  he 
leaves  them  his  possessions,  the  children 
of  some  deceitful  friend,  who,  under  the 
mask  of  amity  to  himself,  has  fed  upon 
his  fortunes,  and  seduced  the  affections 
of  his  wife. 

Disgusting  as  such  picture  may  be 
thought,  is  it  not,  unhappily  for  us,  daily 
exhibited  to  the  public  view  ?  and  shall 
they  who  tolerate  and  see  it,  and  smile 
in  scorn  at  its  continued  and  increasing 
success,  affect  to  start  with  horror  from 
Calantha's  tale?  or  to  discredit  that  Avon- 
dale  was  yet  ignorant  of  her  guilt  ?  He 
was  besides  ofttimes  engaged  with  the  du- 
ties of  his  profession — nor  thought  that 
whilst  risking  his  life  in  the  service  of  his 
country,  the  woman  he  loved  and  confided 
in,  had  betrayed  him.  How  different 
m  3 


246  GLENARVON. 

was  he  in  mind,  in  person,  and  heart 
from  other  men  !  His  very  nobleness  of 
soul  prevented  him  from  conceiving  what 
some  perhaps  had  soon  observed,  and 
wounded  pride  estranged  him  from  a 
woman  who  now  appeared  avowedly  to 
shun  his  society. 

His  cheeks  were  red  with  the  hue  of 
health  ;  his  eyes  shone  bright  with  spark- 
ling intelligence  ;  he  laughed  the  loud 
heart's  laugh  at  every  merry  jest,  and 
slept  with  unbroken  slumbers,  the  sleep 
of  the  righteous  and  the  just.  Calantha 
looked  upon  him  as  we  look  afar  off  upon 
some  distant  scene  were  we  once  dwelt, 
and  from  which  we  have  long  departed. 
It  awakens  in  our  memory  former  pains 
and  pleasures  ;  but  we  turn  from  it  with 
bitterness  ;  for  the  sight  is  distressing 
to  us. 

Harry  Mowbrey  loved  his  father  and 
followed  him  ;  the  baby  Anabel  held  out 
her  arms  to  him  when  he  passed  ;  but 
Calantha  assumed  a  stern  coldness  in  his 


GLENARVOX.  247 

presence,  and  replied  to  his  few  enquiries 
with   all  the    apparent    insensibility  of 
a  proud  and  offended  mind  :  yet  such  is 
the  imperfection  of  human  nature,  that  it 
is  possible  Lord  Avondale  cherished  her 
the  more  for  her  very  faults.     Certain 
it   is,  that  he  felt    proud   of    her,  and 
every  casual  praise  which,  even  from  the 
lips  of  strangers,  was  bestowed  on  Calan- 
tha,  gave  him  more  delight  than  any  pro- 
fession, however    flattering,   that    could 
have  been  made  to  himself.     To  see  her 
blest  was  his  sole  desire  ;  and  when  he 
observed  the  change  in  her  manner  and 
spirits,   it  grieved,  it  tortured  him  : — he 
sought,   but   in  vain,   to  remove  it.     At 
length  business  of  importance  called  him 
from  her.     "  Write,"  he  said,  at  parting, 
44  write,  as  you  once  used.  My  presence  has 
given  but  little  satisfaction  to  you  ;  I  dare 
not  hope  my  absence  will  create  pain." 
44  Farewell,,,  said  Lady  Avondale,  with  as- 
sumed coldness.  "  There  are  false  hearts 
in  this  world,   and  crimes  are  enacted, 
m  4 


248  GLENARVOX. 

Henry,  at  home  ofttimes,  as  well  as 
abroad.  Confide  in  no  one.  Believe  not 
what  your  own  eyes  perceive.  Life  is  but 
as  the  shadow  of  a  dream.  All  here  is 
illusion.  We  know  not  whom  we  love/' 
How  happy  some  may  imagine — how 
happy  Calantha  must  have  felt  now  that 
Lord  Avondale  was  gone.  Far  from  it. 
She,  for  the  first  time,  saw  her  conduct 
in  its  true  light.  His  departure  filled 
her  with  gloom  :  every  little  act  of  kind- 
ness he  had  once  shewed  her  recurred  ; 
all  his  manly  virtues  :  his  open  unsuspi- 
cious nature  : — it  was  as  if  her  last  hope 
of  safety  were  cut  off ;  as  if  her  good  an- 
gel had  for  ever  abandoned  her  ;  and  with 
a  reserve  and  prudence,  which  in  his 
presence,  she  had  failed  to  assume,  she 
now  turned  with  momentary  horror  from 
the  near  approach  of  crime.  The 
thought  of  leaving  her  home  and  Lord 
Avondale,  had  not  indeed  ever  seriously 
occurred,  although  she  constantly  listened 
to  the  proposal  of  doing  so,  and  aded  in 


GLENARVON.  249 

a  way  to  render  such  step  necessary. 
She  had  seen  Lord  Avondale  satisfied, 
and  whilst  Lord  Glenarvon  was  near  her, 
only  momentary  fits  of  remorse  obtruded 
— no  lasting  fear  occurred — she  formed 
no  view  for  the  future.  To  die  with  him, 
or  to  live  but  for  that  moment  of  time, 
which  seemed  to  concentrate  every  pos- 
sible degree  of  happiness,  this  was  the 
only  desire  of  which  she  had  felt  capable. 
But  now,  she  shuddered — she  paused  : 
— the  baseness  of  betraying  a  noble, 
confiding  husband,  struck  her  mind,  and 
filled  it  with  alarm  ;  but  such  alarm  ap- 
peared only  to  accelerate  her  doom.  "  If 
I  can  resist  and  remain  without  deeper 
guilt,  I  will  continue  here,"  she  cried  ; 
"  and  if  I  fail  in  the  struggle,  I  will  fly 
with  Glenarvon." — This  false  reasoning 
consoled  her.  A  calm,  more  dangerous 
than  the  preceding  agitation,  followed 
this  resolve. 

Glenarvon  had  changed  entirely  in  his 
manner,  in  his  character  ;    all  art,  all 


250  GLENARVON. 

attempt  at  wounding  or  tormenting  was 
passed.  He  seemed  himself  the  sufferer, 
and  Calantha,  the  being  upon  whose  at 
tachment  he  relied,  he  was  as  fearful  of 
vexing  her,  as  she  was  of  losing  him. 
On  earth  he  appeared  to  have  no  thought 
but  her ;  and  when  again  and  again  he 
repeated,  "  I  never  loved  as  I  do  now, — 
oh  never."  It  may  be  doubted  whether 
that  heart  exists  which  could  have  dis- 
believed him.  Others  who  affect  only, 
are  ever  thoughtful  for  themselves  ;  and 
some  plan,  some  wary  and  prudential 
contrivance  frequently  appears,  even  in 
the  very  height  of  their  passion.  The 
enjoyment  of  the  moment  alone,  and  not 
the  future  continuance  of  attachment, 
employs  their  hopes.  But  Glenarvon 
seemed  more  anxious  to  win  every  affec- 
tion of  her  heart ;  to  fix  every  hope  of 
her  soul  upon  himself;  to  study  every 
feeling  as  it  arose,  sift  every  motive,  and 
secure  his  empire  upon  all  that  was  most 
durable,  than   to   win  her  in  the  usual 


GLENARVON.  251 

acceptation  of  the  word.  And  even 
though  jealous  that  she  should  be  ready 
to  sacrifice  every  principle  of  honour 
and  virtue,  should  he  demand  it,  he  had 
a  pride  in  saving  her  from  that  guilt  into 
which  she  was  now  voluntarily  preparing 
to  plunge. 

Day  by  day,  the  thought  of  leaving  all 
for  him  appeared  more  necessary  and 
certain. — She  no  longer  shuddered  at 
the  mention  of  it.  She  heard  him  de- 
scribe their  future  life  —  the  countries 
they  should  visit;  and  it  even  pleased 
her  to  see  that  he  was  sincere  in  his 
intentions.  No  disguise  was  now  re- 
quired :  he  called  not  the  fire  that  burnt 
in  his  heart  by  the  name  of  friendship 
and  of  interest :  "  it  is  love,"  he  cried, 
" — most  guilty — most  unconquerable. 
Hear  it,  mark  it,  and  yet  remain  without 
alarm.  Ah  !  think  not  that  to  share 
it  alone  is  required ;  your  soul  must 
exult,  that  it  has  renounced  every  hope 
beyond ;    and    Glenarvon's    love    must 


252  GLENARVON. 

entirely  fill  your  affections.  Nay  more, 
you  shall  sue  for  the  sacrifice  which  is 
demanded  of  others.  Yourself  shall 
wish  it  ;  for  I  will  never  wrest  from  you 
that  which,  unless  freely  given,  is  little 
worth.  Perhaps,  even  when  you  desire 
to  be  mine.  I,  even  I  shall  spare  you,  till 
maddening  with  the  fierce  fires  that  de- 
vour us,  you  abandon  all  for  me." 

He  now  opened  to  her  the  dark  re- 
cesses of  his  heart ;  deeds  of  guilt  con- 
cealed from  other  eyes,  he  now  dwelt 
upon  to  Calantha  with  horrid  pleasure. 
4:  Shrink  not !  start  not!"  he  exclaimed, 
when  she  trembled  at  each  new  confes- 
sion. "  Proud,  even  of  my  crimes,  shalt 
thou  become,  poor  victim  of  thy  mad 
infatuation  ;  this  is  the  man  for  whom 
thou  leavest  Avondale  !  Mark  me,  Ca- 
lantha,— view  me  as  I  am,  nor  say  here- 
after that  Glenarvon  could  deceive." 
wi  And  do  you  never  feel  remorse  ?"  she 
said.—"  Never."    "  Do  you  believe  ?— " 


GLENARVON.  253 

His  countenance  for  one  moment  altered. 
"  I  know  not,"  he  said,  and  he  was  grave. 
*;  Oh  must  I  become  as  hardened  as 
wicked,"  she  said,  bursting  into  tears*  He 
pressed  her  mournfully  to  his  bosom. 
u  Weep,"  he  replied,  "  I  like  to  see  your 
tears  ;  they  are  the  last  tears  of  expiring 
virtue.     Henceforward  you  will  shed  no 


more." 


Those  who  have  given  way  to  the  vio- 
lence of  any  uncontrouled  passion  know 
that  during  its  influence,  all  other  consi- 
derations vanish.  It  is  of  little  use  to 
upbraid  or  admonish  the  victim  who 
pursues  his  course:  the  fires  that  urge 
him  on  to  his  ruin,  prevent  his  return. 
A  kind  word,  an  endearing  smile,  may 
excite  one  contrite  tear;  but  he  ne- 
ver pauses  to  reflect,  or  turns  his  eyes 
from  the  object  of  his  pursuit.  In  vain 
the  cold  looks  of  an  offended  world, 
the    heavy  censures,    and  the   pointed, 


254  GLENARVON. 

bitter  sarcasms  of  friends  and  depen- 
dants. Misfortunes,  poverty,  pain,  even 
to  the  rack,  are  nothing  if  he  obtain 
his  view.  It  is  a  madness  that  falls  upon 
the  brain  and  heart.  All  is  at  stake  for 
that  one  throw;  and  he  who  dares  all, 
is  desperate,  and  cannot  fear.  It  was 
phrenzy,  not  love,  that  raged  in  Calan- 
tha's  bosom. 

To  the  prayers  of  a  heart-broken  pa- 
rent, Lady  Avondale  opposed  the  ago- 
nizing threats  of  a  distempered  mind. 
"  I  will  leave  you  all,  if  you  take  him 
from  me.  On  earth  there  is  nothing  left 
me  but  Glenarvon. — Oh  name  not  virtue 
and  religion  to  me. — What  are  its  hopes, 
its  promises,  if  I  lose  him."  The  fever 
of  her  mind  was  such,  that  she  could  not 
for  one  hour  rest :  he  saw  the  dreadful 
power  he  had  gained,  and  he  lost  no 
opportunity  of  encreasing  it.  Ah  did 
he  share  it?   In  language  the  sweetest, 


GLENARVOff.  255 

and  the  most  persuasive,  he  worked  upon 
her  passions,  till  he  inflamed  them  be- 
yond endurance. 

"  This,  this  is  sin,"  he  cried,  as  he 
held  her  to  his  bosom,  and  breathed  vows 
of  ardent  burning  love.  "  This  is  what 
moralists  rail  at,  and  account  degrading. 
Now  tell  them,  Calantha,  thou  who  didst 
affect  to  be  so  pure — so  chaste,  whether 
the  human  heart  can  resist  it?  Religion 
bids  thee  fly  me,"  he  cried:  "  every  hope 
of  heaven  and  hereafter  warns  thee  from 
my  bosom.  Glenarvon  is  the  hell  thou 
art  to  shun: — this  is  the  hour  of  trial. 
Christians  must  resist.  Calantha  arise, 
and  fly  me;  leave  me  alone,  as  before  I 
found  thee.  Desert  me,  and  thy  father 
and  relations  shall  bless  thee  for  the  sa- 
crifice: and  thy  God,  who  redeemed  thee, 
shall  mark  thee  for  his  own."  With 
bitter  taunts  he  smiled  as  he  thus  spoke: 

All   day, — every   hour  in   the  day, — 
every  instant  of  passing  time  Glenarvon 


256  GLENARVON. 

thought  but  of  Calantha.  When  near 
him,  she  felt  ecstacy;  but  if  separated, 
though  for  one  moment,  she  was  sul- 
len and  desponding.  He  felt,  he  saw, 
that  the  peace  of  her  mind,  was  gone  for 
ever,  and  he  rejoiced  in  the  thought. 


GLENARVON.  257 


CHAPTER  XXVL 


One  night,  as  she  retired  to  her  room, 
Gondimar  met  her  in  the  passage,  leading 
from  Mrs.  Seymour's  apartment.  "  Lost 
woman,"  he  cried,  fiercely  seizing  her, 
u  you  know  not  what  you  love ; — look  to 
his  hand,  there  is  blood  on  it!  ....  That 
night  was  a  horrid  night  to  Calantha ; 
she  slept,  and  the  dream  that  oppressed 
her,  left  her  feeble  and  disordered.  Th€ 
ensuing  day  she  walked  by  the  shores  of 
the  sea:  she  bared  her  forehead  to  the 
balmy  gales.  She  looked  upon  every 
cheerful  countenance  in  hopes  of  im- 
bibing happiness  front  the  smile  that 
brightened  theirs,  but  it  was  vain. 

Upon  returning,  she  met  Glenarvon. 
They  walked  together  to  the  mountains  : 
they  conversed ;  and  half  in  jest  she  asked 
him  for  his   hand, — ■"  not  that  hand," 


258  GLENARVON. 

she  said,  "  give  me  your  right  hand  ;  I 
wish  to  look  upon  it."  "  I  believe  I 
must  refuse  you,  your  manner  is  so 
strange,"  he  replied.  "  Do  if  you  please, 
for  the  reason  I  wish  to  see  it  is  more  so. 
It  was  a  dream,  a  horrid  dream,  which 
made  me  ill  last  night.  The  effect, 
perhaps  of  what  you  told  me  yesterday." 
"  I  should  like  to  hear  it.  Are  you 
superstitious?"  "  No;  but  there  are 
visions  unlike  all  others,  that  impress  us 
deeply,  and  this  was  one.  I  almost  fear 
to  tell  it  you."  "  I  too  have  dreamt,"  he 
said,  "  shall  I  repeat  my  dream  ?"  "  Not 
now,  I  am  too  sad  for  it :  but  mine,  if 
indeed  you  wish  it,  you  may  hear." 

"  I  dreamt  (but  it  is  absurd  to  repeat 
it)  that  I  was  in  some  far  distant  country. 
J  was  standing  by  the  sea,  and  the  fresh 
air  blew  gently  upon  me,  even  as  it  does 
now;.... it  was  night.  There  was  a 
dirge  sung  as  in  monasteries,  and  friars 
passed  to  and  fro,  in  long  procession 
before  me.     Their  torches  now  and  then 


GLENARVON.  259 

lighted  the  vaults,  and  the  chaunt  was 
mournful,  and  repeatedly  interrupted — 
all  this  was  confused. — That  which  was 
more  striking,  I  remember  better.  A 
monk  in  black  stood  before  me  ;  and 
whilst  he  gazed  upon  me,  he  grew  to 
a  height  unusual  and  monstrous  :  he 
seemed  to  possess  some  authority  over 
me,  and  he  questioned  me  as  to  my 
conduct  and  affections.  I  tried  to  dis- 
guise from  him  many  thoughts  which 
disturbed  me ;  I  spoke  in  a  hurried 
manner  of  others;  I  named  you  not.  He 
shook  his  head ;  and  then  looking  fiercely 
at  me,  bade  me  beware  of  Clarence  de 
Ruthven  (for  so  he  called  you).  I  never 
can  forget  his  voice.  "  All  others  you 
may  see,  you  may  converse  with ;  but, 
Calantha,  beware,"  he  said,  "  of  Clarence 
de  Ruthven  :  he  is  a ....  he  is  a .... " 
"  A  what?"  enquired  Glenarvon  eagerly. 
"  I  dare  not  continue." 

Glenarvon,    however,    insisted   upon 
hearing  this.     "  I  never,  never  can  tell," 


260  GLENARVON. 

said  Calantha,  for  you  look  so  much 
offended — so  serious.  After  all,  what 
nonsense  it  is  thus  to  repeat  a  dream." 
"  That  which  seems  to  have  made  no 
little  impression  upon  Lady  Avondale's 
mind,  cannot  fail  of  awakening  some 
interest  in  mine.  It  is  a  very  strange 
vision,"  he  continued,  fixing  his  eyes  on 
her.  "  These  idle  phantasies  are  but 
repetitions  of  the  secret  workings  of 
the  mind.  Your  own  suspicions  have 
coloured  this.  Go  on,  let  me  hear  all." 
"  Indeed  I  forget ; — it  was  confused.  I 
seemed  in  my  dream  to  doubt  his  words. 
Only  this  I  remember : — he  bade  me 
ask  you  for  your  hand — your  right  hand ; 
he  said  there  was  a  stain  of  blood  on  it ; 
and  in  a  low  solemn  tone,  he  added,  '  he 
will  not  give  it  you  ;  there  is  a  mark 
upon  it ;  he  dare  not  give  it  you  ;'  and  I 
awoke." 

"  To  think  me  every  thing,  however 
bad,  that  your  monk  may  chuse  to  make 
me  out.     Well  foolish  dreamer,  look  at 


GLENARVON.  261 

my  hand :  say,  is  there  a  mark  on  it  ?" 
The  laugh  which  accompanied  this  ques- 
tion was  forced.  Calantha  started  back, 
as  she  observed  that  almost  demoniac 
smile.  His  eyes  glared  upon  her  with 
fierce  malignity ;  his  livid  cheeks  became 
pale  ;  and  over  his  forehead,  an  air  of 
deep  distress  struggled  with  the  violence 
of  passion,  till  all  again  was  calm,  cold, 
and  solemn,  as  before.  She  was  sur- 
prised at  his  manner;  for  although  he 
made  light  of  it,  he  was  certainly  dis- 
pleased, and  much  moved  by  this  foolish 
occurrence. 

Glenarvon  continued  absent  and  irri- 
table during  the  whole  of  the  walk  ;  nor 
ceased  enquiring  oftentimes  that  day  res- 
pecting what  she  had  said.  It  appeared 
to  her  less  extraordinary,  when  she  re- 
membered the  circumstances  concerning 
Linden  :  yet  he  had  so  often  acknow- 
ledged that  event  to  her, — so  often  spoke 
of  him  with  pity  and  regret,  that  had  he 
merely  thought    she    alluded    to   such 


262  GLENARVOJV. 

transaction,  he  had  been  proud  of  the 
effort  he  had  made  to  save  him,  and  of 
the  blood  he  had  shed  upon  that  account. 
Whatever  then  occasioned  this  strange 
perturbation  ; — however  far  imagination 
might  wander,  even  though  it  pictured 
crimes  unutterable, — under  Glenarvon's 
form,  all  might  be  forgiven.  Passion, 
perhaps,  had  misled  its  victim,  and  who 
can  condemn  another  when  maddening 
under  its  trying  influence  !  It  was  not 
for  Calantha  to  judge  him.  It  was  her 
misfortune  to  feel  everything  with  such 
acute  and  morbid  sensibility,  that  what 
in  others  had  occasioned  a  mere  moment 
of  irritation,  shook  every  fibre  around 
her  heart.  The  death  of  a  bird,  if  it  had 
once  been  dear,  made  her  miserable ;  and 
the  slightest  insult,  as  she  termed  it, 
rendered  her  furious.  Severity  but  caused 
a  desperate  resistance,  and  kindness  alone 
softened  or  subdued  her.  Glenarvon 
played  upon  every  passion  to  the  utmost; 
and  when  he  beheld  her,  lost  beyond  all 
recall  he  seemed  to  love  her  most. 


GLEN AR VON.  263 

How  vain  it  were  to  attempt  to  paint 
the  struggles,  the  pangs,  the  doubts,  the 
fears,  the  endless  unceasing  irritation  of  a 
mind  disordered  by  guilty  love.  Remorse 
had  but  little  part  now :  passion  soon 
absorbed  every  feeling,  every  hope ;  and 
to  retain  Glenarvon  was  there  anything 
his  weak  and  erring  victim  had  refused  ? 
Alas !  the  hour  came,  when  even  to  leave 
all  and  follow  him  appeared  incumbent. 
The  very  ruin  such  conduct  must  occasion 
to  Calantha,  engaged  her  more  eagerly  to 
agree  to  the  proposal. 

Lady  Margaret  was  now,  at  times,  en- 
gaged with  him  in  secret  discourses,  which 
occasioned  much  apparent  dissention  be- 
tween them;  but  Calantha  was  not  the 
subject.  "  He  has  the  heart  of  a  fiend," 
Lady  Margaret  would  often  exclaim,  as 
she  left  him  ;  and  Calantha  could  per- 
ceive that,  with  all  her  power  of  dissimu- 
lation ;  she  was  more  moved — more  irri- 
tated by  him,  than  she  ever  had  been 
before  by  any  other.     He  also  spoke  of 


264  GLENARVON. 

Lady  Margaret  with  bitterness,  and  the 
asperity  between  them  grew  to  such 
height,  that  Calantha  apprehended  the 
most  fatal  effects  from  it.  Still,  however, 
the  Duke  wished  to  conciliate  a  danger- 
ous and  malignant  foe ;  and  though  his 
visits  to  the  Castle  were  short,  compared 
with  what  they  had  been,  they  were  as 
frequent  as  ever. 


GLENARVON.  265 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 


It  happened  one  morning  that  Calantha, 
having  been  walking  with  Lord  Gle- 
narvon,  upon  her  return  entered  the 
library  rather  unexpectedly,  and  per- 
ceived Zerbellini  with  the  Count  Gondi- 
mar  and  Lady  Margaret.  They  all  seemed 
in  some  confusion  at  her  entrance.  She 
was  however  too  deeply  occupied  with 
other  thoughts  to  enquire  into  their 
strange  embarrassment ;  and  looking  at 
Glenarvon,  she  watched  the  varying  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance  with  anxious 
solicitude.  At  dinner,  that  day,  he  seated 
himself  near  her.  Mrs.  Seymour's  eyes 
were  filled  with  tears.  "  It  is  too  late," 
he  said,  in  a  low  whisper  :  "be  firm  :  it 
makes  me  mad  to  see  the  arts  that  are 
used  to  separate  us.  Speak  only  to  me — 
think  only  of  me.  What  avail  their  frowns? 
Vol. IL  N 


206 


GLEXARVON. 


their  reproaches  ?  I  am  clearer,  am  I  not 
than  all?" 

Dinner  being  over,  Calantha  avoided 
her  aunt's  presence.  She  perceived  it, 
and  approaching  her,  "  My  child,"  she 
said,  "  do  not  fly  me.  My  unhappy  Ca- 
lantha you  will  break  my  heart  if  you 
act  thus."  At  that  moment  Lady  Mar- 
garet joined  them  ;  "  Ask  Calantha,"  she 
said,  "  now  ask  her  about  the  pearl  neck- 
lace." 

The  pearl  necklace  in  question  was 
one  which  Lord  Avondale  had  given 
her  on  the  eve  of  her  marriage.  She 
was  now  accused  of  having  given  it  to 
Lord  Glenarvon.  It  is  true  that  she  had 
placed  in  his  hands  all  the  jewels  of 
which  she  was  mistress,  that  his  presents 
might  not  exceed  in  value  such  as  she 
had  power  to  offer;  they  had  been  too 
magnificent  otherwise  for  her  to  receive ; 
and  though  only  dear  because  they  were 
his  gifts,  yet  to  have  taken  them  without 
return  had  been  more  pain  than  pleasure : 


GLEtfARVON.  267 

one  smile  of  his  were  worth  them  all — 
one  approving  look,  far  dearer.  This  gift 
of  Lord  Avondale's,  however,  she  had  con- 
sidered as  sacred,  and  neither  Lord  Gle- 
narvon's  love,  nor  her  own  perversion, 
had  led  her  to  touch  it,  She  had  received 
it  when  innocent  and  true  ;  it  was  pain  to 
her  even  to  look  upon  it  now ;  and  when 
she  heard  the  accusation  made  against 
her,  she  denied  it  with  considerable 
warmth ;  for  guilt  but  irritates  the 
mind,  and  renders  the  perpetrator  im- 
patient of  accusation.  "  This  indigna- 
tion is  rather  ill-timed  however/*  said 
Lady  Margaret,  sarcastically  :  "  there  are 
things  more  sacred  than  pearls  thrown 
away  ;  and  if  the  necklace  has  not  been 
given,  it  is,  I  believe,  the  only  thing, 
retained  ." 

Such  unpleasant  conversation  was  now 
interrupted  by  Sophia,  who  entered  the 
room. — "  The  necklace  is  found,"  she 
said;  "  and  who  do  you  think  had 
taken  it  ?"  "  I  care  not,"  said  Calantha 
n  2 


268  GLENARVOX. 

proud  and  offended  at  their  former  sus- 
picions. "  Zerbellini !"  *  Oh  impos- 
sible !"  "  Some  of  Lady  Margaret's  ser- 
vants first  suggested  the  possibility,"  said 
Sophia.  "  His  desk  and  wardrobe  were 
consequently  examined,  and  scarce  giv- 
ing credit  to  the  testimony  of  their  sight, 
the  lost  prize  was  discovered  in  his  silken 
vest."  Calantha  indignantly  resisted  the 
general  belief  that  the  boy  was  the  real 
culprit.  Every  one  left  the  room,  and 
eagerly  enquired  into  the  whole  affair. 
*'  If  ocular  proof  be  necessary  to  con- 
vince you,"  said  Lady  Margaret,  return- 
ing to  Calantha  and  leading  her  from  the 
billiard  room,  accompanied  by  many 
others,  "  you  shall  now  have  it;  and  see," 
»he  cried,  pausing  as  she  entered  the 
boy's  apartment,  "how  soundly  crimi- 
nals can  sleep  !"  "  Aye,  and  how  tran- 
quil and  innocent  they  can  appear/'  con- 
tinued Gondimar  smiling  as  he  stood  by 
the  side  of  the  page's  bed.  Glenarvon's 
countenance,  rendered  more  terrible  bv 


GLENARVON.  203 

the  glimmering  of  the  lamp,  changed  at 
these  words. 

There,  sleeping  in  unsuspicious  peace, 
lay  the  youthful  Zerbellini,  his  cheeks 
blooming,  his  rich  auburn  hair  flowing 
in  clusters  about  his  face,  his  arms  thrown 
over  his  head  with  infantine  and  playful 
grace.  "  If  he  be  guilty,"  said  Calan- 
tha,  looking  earnestly  at  him,  "  how 
much  one  may  be  deceived!"  "  How 
much  one  may  be  deceived !°  said 
the  Duke  turning  back  and  glancing 
his  eye  on  the  trembling  form  of  his 
daughter.  The  necklace  was  produced  : 
but  a  look  of  doubt  was  still  seen  on  every 
countenance,  and  Lord  Glen arvon,  sternly 
approaching  Gondimar,  asked  him  whe- 
ther some  villain  might  not  have  placed 
it  there,  to  screen  himself  and  to  ruin 
the  boy  ?  "I  should  be  loath,"  replied 
the  Italian,  with  an  affectation  of  humi- 
lity, "  very  loath  to  imagine  that  such  a 
wretch  could  exist."  A  glance  of  bitter 
scorn,  was  the  only  reply  vouchsafed. 

n  3 


270  GLENARTON. 

"  We  can  see  the  boy,  alone,  in  the 
morning-,"  said  Sophia  in  a  low  whisper 
to  Calantha  ;  "  there  is  more  in  this  than 
we  know  of.     Be  calm ;  fear  not,  and  to- 
morrow, we  can   with  caution  discover 
all."     "  Do  not  talk  of  to-morrow,"  re- 
plied Calantha  angrily  :  "  an  hour,  a  mo- 
ment is  too  long  to  bear  injustice.    I  will 
plead  with  my  father."      So  saying,  she 
followed  him,  urging  him  to  hear  her. 
"  Consider  the  youth  of  the  child,"  she 
said,  "even   if  guilty,   remember  he  is 
but  young."    4C  His  youth  but  aggravates 
the  crime,"  said  the  Duke,  haughtily  re- 
pulsing her.      "  When  the  young  can 
act  basely,  it  shews  that  the  heart's  core 
is  black.     Plead  not  for  him  :    look  to 
yourself,  child,"  he  fiercely   cried,  and 
left  her.      The  time  was  past  when  a 
prayer  of  Calantha's  was  never  breathed 
in  vain  ;  and  struggling  with  a  thousand 
strong  emotions,   she   fled  to  her  own 
room,  and  gave  vent  to  the  contending 


GLENARVON.  271 

passions,  by  which  she  Mas    so  greatly 
agitated. 

That  night  Lord  Glenarvon  slept  not 
at  the  Castle.  Zerbellini's  guilt  was  now 
considered  as  certain.  The  Duke  himself 
awakeniner  the  child,  asked  him  if  he 
had  taken  the  necklace.  He  coloured 
extremely ;  hid  his  face,  and  then  ack- 
nowledged the  offence.  He  was  ques- 
tioned respecting  his  motive;  but  he 
evaded,  and  would  not  answer.  His  doom 
was  therefore  fixed.  "  I  will  take  him 
from  hence,"  said  Gondimar.  "  He  must 
not  remain  here  a  single  hour ;  but  no  se- 
verity shall  be  shewn  to  so  youthful  an 
ofiender.M 

It  was  at  that  dark  still  hour  of  the 
night,  when  spirits  that  are  troubled 
wake,  and  calmer  eyes  are  closed  in  sleep, 
that  Lady  Margaret  and  Count  Gondimar, 
entering  Zerbellini's  room,  asked  him  if 
he  were  prepared.  "  For  what?"  ex- 
claimed the  boy,  clasping  his  hands  to- 
gether.     "  Oime!    eccelenza   che  vuoif 

n  4 


272  GLENARVON. 

Save  me,"  he  cried,  appealing  to  Lady 
Margaret.  "I  will  not,  cannot  go."  "Will 
no  one  pity  me  ?  Oh  Gondimar  !  are 
these  your  promises — your  kindnesses  ?" 
"  Help  me  to  bear  him  away,"  said 
Gondimar  to  Lady  Margaret.  "  If 
Glenarvon  should  hear  us  ?"  and  force 
was  used  to  bear  the  struggling  boy  from 
the  Castle  ? 

In  the  morning Calantha  was  informed, 
by  Lady  Margaret,  of  the  whole  transac- 
tion. She  said,  however,  that  on  account 
of  his  youth,  no  other  notice  would  be 
taken  of  his  fault,  than  that  of  his  being 
immediately  sent  back  to  his  parents  at 
Florence. 

Calantha  was  unquiet  and  restless  the 
whole  of  the  day.  "  The  absence  of  your 
page,"  said  Lady  Margaret  sarcastically, 
as  she  passed  her,  "  seems  to  have  caused 
you  some  little  uneasiness.  Do  you  ex- 
pect to  find  him  in  any  of  these  rooms  ? 
Have  you  not  been  to  Craig  Allen  Bay, 
or  the  Wizzard's  Glen  ?  Has  the  Chapel 
been  examined  thoroughly  ?" 


GLENARVON.  273 

A  loud  noise  and  murmur  interrupted 
her.  The  entrance  of  the  Count  Gondi- 
mar,  pale  and  trembling",  supported  by 
Lord  Glenarvon  and  a  servant,  gave  a 
general  alarm. — "  Ruffians,"  said  Gon- 
dimar,  fiercely  glancing  his  eyes  around, 
"  attacked  our  carriage,  and  forced  the 
child  from  my  grasp."  "  Where  ? — 
how?"  "About  twenty  miles  hence," 
said  the  Italian.  "  Curse  on  the  dark- 
ness, which  prevented  my  defending  my- 
self as  I  ouolit."  "  Those  honorable 
wounds,"  said  Glenarvon,  "  prove  suffi- 
ciently that  the  Count  wrongs  himself." 
"  Trelawny,"  whispered  Gondimar,  "  do 
me  a  favour.  Fly  to  the  stables  ;  view 
"well  Glenarvon's  steed  ;  mark  if  it  bear 
any  appearance  of  recent  service :  I  strong- 
ly suspect  him  :  and  but  for  his  presence 
at  these  gates,  so  calm,  so  cleanly  ac- 
coutred, I  could  have  staked  my  soul  it 
was  by  his  arm  1  received  these  wounds." 

"  The  horse,"  said  Lord  Trelawny, 
when  he  returned,  "  is  sleek  and  far  dif- 
n  5 


274  GLENARVON. 

ferent  from  the  reeking  steeds  that  fol- 
lowed with  your  carriage."  Glenarvon 
smiled  scornfully  on  the  officious  Lord  : 
then  fixing  his  eye  sternly  upon  Gondi- 
mar,  "  I  read  your  suspicions/'  he  said 
in  a  low  voice,  as  he  passed :  w  they  are 
just.  Now,  serpent,  do  thy  worst :  thou 
art  at  my  mercy."  "  Not  at  thine,"  re- 
plied   Gondimar,    grinding    his    teeth. 

"  By  the  murdered "      "  Say  no 

more,"  said  Glenarvon,  violently  agi- 
tated, while  every  trembling  nerve  attes- 
ted the  agony  he  endured.  "  For  God's 
sake  be  silent.  I  will  meet  you  at  St. 
Alvin's  to-night :  you  shall  investigate  the 
whole  of  my  conduct,  and  you  will  not 
find  in  it  aught  to  give  you  just  offence." 
"  The  ground  upon  which  you  stand 
has  a  crimsoned  dye,"  said  Gondimar, 
with  a  malicious  smile  :  "  look  at  your 
hand,  my  lord. ..."  Glenarvon,  faint  and 
exhausted,  scarce  appeared  to  support 
himself  any  longer;  but  suddenly  col- 
lecting all  his  force?  together,  with  a 


GLENARVON.  275 

struggle,  which  nature  seemed  scarcely 
equal  to  endure,  he  sprung  upon  the 
Italian,  and  asked  him  fiercely  the  mean- 
ing of  his  words.  Gondimar  now,  in  his 
turn,  trembled;  Lord  Trelawney  inter- 
posed ;  and  peace  was  apparently  restored. 


276  GLEXARYOX. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 


The  scene  of  the  morning  had  caused  con- 
siderable speculation.  The  count, though 
slightly  indisposed — appeared  at  dinner  : 
after  which  Lord  Glenarvon  took  a  hasty 
leave.  It  need  not  be  said  what  Calan- 
tha's  feelings  were.  Gondimar  and  Lady 
Margaret  talked  much  together,  during 
the  evening.  Calantha  wrote  in  anxiety 
to  Glenarvon.  No  one  was  now  near  to 
comfort  her.  As  she  retired  slowly  and 
sadly  to  her  room  in  dreadful  suspense, 
O'Kelly,  Glenarvon's  servant,  passed  her 
on  the  stairs.  The  sight  of  his  counte- 
nance was  joy  to  her.  u  My  lord  waits 
to  see  you,  at  the  back  door  on  the  ter- 
race," he  said,  as  he  affected  to  hasten 
away  with  a  portmanteau  on  his  shoulder. 
She  heard  and  marked  the  words,  and 
watching  an  opportunity  hastened  to  the 


GLENARVON.  277 

door.  It  was  locked  ;  but  O'  Kelly  awai- 
ted her  and  opened  it.  To  be  in  the 
power  of  this  man  was  nothing  :  he  was 
Glenarvon's  long  tried  and  faithful  ser- 
vant ;  yet  she  felt  confused  when  she  met 
his  eyes  ;  and  thought  it  an  indignity 
that  her  secret  had  been  betrayed  to  him. 
Glenarvon,  however,  had  commanded  her 
to  trust  him  ;  and  every  command  of  his 
she  too  readily  obeyed.  "  My  lord  is 
going,"  said  the  man.  "Where?"  she 
cried ;  in  the  utmost  agony.  "  From 
Ireland,"  saidO'Kelly.  "  But  he  waits  for 
you  by  yonder  tree,"  she  hastened  for- 
ward . 

"  Ah  speak  to  me,"  she  said,  upon 
seeing  him  :  "  my  heart  is  tortured  ;  con- 
fide at  least  in  me  :  let  me  have  the  corn- 
fort  of  believing  that  I  contribute  to  the 
happiness  of  one  human  being  upon  earth  ; 
I  who  cause  the  misery  of  so  many."  Gle- 
narvon turned  from  her.  "  Tell  me 
the  cause  of  your  distress."  "  They 
will    tear    you    from    me,"       "  'Never, 


278  GLENARVON. 

never,"  she  answered.  "  Look  not  on  me, 
frail,  fading  flowret,"  he  said,  in  a  hollow 
mournful  tone — "ah  look  not  on  me,  nor 
thus  waste  thy  sweets  upon  a  whited  se- 
pulchre,   full  of   depravity    and   death. 
Could'st   thou   read    my  heart — couldst 
thou  see  how  it  is  seared,  thou  would'st 
tremble  and  start  back  with  horror,"  "  I 
have  bound  myself  to  you,"  she  replied, 
"lam  prepared  for  the  worst :  it  cannot 
be  worse  than  the  crime  of  which  I  am 
guilty ;    grieve  not  then   for  me,  I  am 
calm  and  happy — oh  most  happy,  when 
I  am  thus  with  you." 

There  is  a  look  of  anguish,  such  as  a 
slave  might  give  when  he  betrays  his 
master — such  as  a  murderer  in  thought 
might  shew  previous  to  the  commission 
of  the  bloody  act,  in  presence  of  his 
victim  • — such  a  look,  so  sad,  so  terri- 
ble, impressed  a  momentary  gloom  over 
the  beautiful  countenance  of  Glenarvon, 
Yes,  when  she  said  that  she  was  happy, 
at  that  very  time  he  shrunk  from  the  joy 


GLENARVON.  279 

she  professed ;  for  he  knew  that  he  had 
led  her  to  that  which  would  blast  all 
peace  in  her  heart  for  ever. 

"  Calantha,"  at  length  he  said,  "  let 
me  pour  out  the  agonies  of  my  soul, 
to  my  only  friend.  I  have  promised 
your  aunt  to  leave  you :  yes  ;  for  thy 
dear  sake,  I  will  go  ;  and  none  shall 
hereafter  say  of  me,  that  I  led  you  to 
share  my  ruined  fortunes,  or  cast  dis- 
grace upon  your  name!  Whatever  my 
wrongs  and  injuries,  to  others,  let  one 
woman  exist  to  thank  me  for  her  preser- 
vation. It  will  break  my  heart ;  but  I 
will  do  it.  You  will  hear  dreadful  things 
of  me,  when  I  am  away:  you  will  learn 
to  hate,  to  curse  me."  "  Oh  never, 
Glenarvon,  never."  "  I  believe  you 
love  me,"  he  continued  ;  **  and  ere  we 
part,  ere  we  forget  every  vow  given 
and  received  —  every  cherished  hope, 
now  blighted  so  cruelly  for  me,  give 
me  some  proof  of  your  sincerity. 
Others  perhaps  have  been  my  victims ; 


280  GLENARV0N. 

I,  alas  !  am  your's.  You  do  not  know, 
you  cannot  know  what  I  feel,  you 
have  made  me  insensible  to  every  other 
pursuit.  I  seem  to  exist  alone  in  you, 
and  for  you,  and  can  you,  can  you  then 
abandon  me  ?  Go  if  it  be  your  pleasure, 
receive  the  applause  of  the  world,  of 
friends,  of  those  who  affect  the  name  ;  and 
when  they  hear  that  Glenarvon  has  fled,  a 
voluntary  exile  from  his  country  without 
one  being  to  share  his  sorrows,  perishing 
by  slow  degrees  of  a  cruel  and  dangerous 
malady,  which  long  has  preyed  upon  his 
constitution,  then  let  your  husband  and 
your  aunt  triumph  in  the  reflection,  that 
they  have  hastened  his  doom.  And  you, 
wretched  victim,  remember,  that  having 
brightened  for  a  few  short  hours  my  wea- 
ry path,  you  have  left  me  at  the  last  more 
lonely,  more  deserted  even  than  when  first 
you  appeared  before  me.  Oh  Calantha, 
let  others  mock  at  my  agony,  and  doubt 
the  truth  of  one  who  has  but  too  well 
deserved  their  suspicions;  but  do  not  you 


GLENARVON.  281 

refuse  to  believe  me.  Young  as  I  appear, 
]  have  made  many  miserable :  but  none 
more  so  than  myself;  and,  having  cast 
away  every  bright  hope  of  dawning  fame 
and  honor,  I  renounce  even  now  the 
only  being  who  stands  like  a  guardian  an- 
gel between  myself  and  eternal  perdition. 
Oh  canst  thou  doubt  such  love  ?  and  yet 
believing  it,  wilt  thou  consent  that  I  should 
thus  abandon  thee  ?  I  have  sacrificed  for 
thee  the  strong  passions  that,  like  vultures, 
prey  upon  my  heart — fortune,  honor, 
every  hope,  even  beyond  the  grave,  for 
thy  happiness — for  thy  love  !  Ah  say 
canst  thou — wilt  thou  now  abandon 
me  r 

"  Glenarvon,"  Lady  Avondale  replied, 
weeping  bitterly.  "  I  am  much  more  mise- 
rable than  you  can  be  ;  I  have  more  love 
for  you  than  it  is  possible  you  can  feel  for 
me.  I  am  not  worth  half  what  you  inspire. 
I  never  will  consent  to  part."  "  Then 
you  must  accompany  me,"  he  said,  look- 
ing her  full  in  the  face.   "  Alas  !   if  I  do 


282 


GLENARVOxV 


thus,  how  will  yourself  despise  me. 
When  society,  and  those  whose  opipion 
you  value,  brand  her  name  with  infamy 
who  leaves  all  for  you,  where  shall  we 
fly  from  dishonor  ?  how  will  you  bear 
up  under  my  disgrace  ?"  "  I  will  bear  you 
in  my  arms  from  the  country  that  con- 
demns you — in  my  heart,  your  name 
shall  continue  spotless  as  purity,"  he 
replied, — "  sacred  as  truth.  I  will  resist 
every  opposition,  and  slay  every  one  who 
shall  dare  to  breathe  one  thought  against 
you.  For  you  I  could  renounce  and  des- 
pise the  world ;  and  I  will  teach  you  that 
love  is  in  itself  such  ecstacy,  that  all 
we  leave  for  it  is  nothing  to  it." 

"  How  can  I  resist  you  ?"  she  answered. 
"Allow  me  to  hear  and  yet  forget  the  les- 
sons which  you  teach — let  me  look  on 
you,  yet  doubt  you — let  me  die  for  you, 
but  not  see  you  suffer  thus."  "Come  with 
me  now — even  now,"  said  Glenarvon 
fiercely; — "  I  must  make  you  mine  before 
we  part:  then  I  will  trust  you;  but  not 


GLENARVON.  283 

till   then."     He  looked  upon  her  with 
scorn,  as  she  struggled  from  his  grasp. 
"  Calantha,  you  affect  to  feel  more  than 
I  do,"  he  cried;  "  but  your  heart  could 
not  exist  under  what  I   endure.     You 
love! — Oh   you   do    not   know  how  to 
love."  "  Do  not  be  so  cruel  to  me:  look 
not  so  fierce  Glenarvon .  For  you,  for  you,  I 
have  tempted  the  dangers  of  guilt ;  for  you, 
I  have  trembled  and  wept;  and,  believe 
it,  for  you  I  will  bear  to  die."  "  Then  give 
yourself  to  me :  this  very  hour  be  mine." 
^  And  I  am  your's  for  ever :"  "•  But  it 
must  be  your  own  free  act  and  deed.    Fear 
not ;  Lady  Margaret  is  in  my  power ;  I  am 
appointed  to  an  interview  with  her  to-mor- 
row; and  your  aunt  dares  not  refuse  you, 
if  you  say  that  you  will  see  me.     It  is  on 
your  firmness  I  rely:  be  prudent:  it  is 
but  of  late  I  counsel  it.  Deceit  is  indeed 
foreign  to  my  nature  ;   but  what  disguise 
would  I  not  assume  to  see  you  ?" 

O'Kelly    interrupted   this   conference 
by  whispering  something  in  his  ear,— 


284  GLENARVON. 

"  I  will  attend  her  instantly. "  "  Whom?" 
said  Calantha.     "  Oh    no    one."    u  Ah 
speak   truly :  tell  me  what  mean  those 
words — those    mysterious    looks :    you 
smile  :  that  moon  bears  witness  against 
you;  tell  me  all."     "  I  will  trust  you," 
said   Glenarvon.     "  Oh,  my     Lord,   for 
Heaven's  sake  !"  said  O'Kelly  interfering, 
"  remember  your  vows,  I  humbly   en- 
treat."    "  Hear  me,"  said  Glenarvon,   in 
an    authoritative    tone,    repulsing    him. 
"  V\  hat  are  you  all  without  me?  Tremble 
then  at  daring  to   advise,    or  to  offend 
me.     Lady  Avondale  is  mine  ;    we  are 
but  one,  and  she  shall  know  my  secret, 
though  1  were   on   the  hour  betrayed." 
"My  Lady  you  are  lost,"  said  the  man,  "  if 
you  do  not  hasten  home ;  you  are  watched : 
I  do  implore  you  to  return  to  the  castle." 
Lord     Glenarvon   reluctantly   permitted 
her  to  leave  him  ;  he  promised  to  see  her 
on  the  following  morning  ;  and  she  has- 
tened home. 


GLENARTON.  285 


CHAPTER    XXX. 


Unable  to  rest,  Calantha  wrote  during 
the  whole  of  the  night ;  and  in  the  morn- 
ing, she  heard  that  the  Duke  was  in  pos- 
session of  her  letter.  Lady  Margaret 
entered,  and  informed  her  of  this. 

She   also  stated  that  the   note  would 
soon  be   returned  into  her  own  hands, 
and    that     although     much    might    be 
suspected    from    its    contents,     neither 
herself  nor  the  Duke    were  of  opinion 
that    Lord    Avondale     should    at    pre- 
sent   be  informed  of    the    transaction. 
While  Lady  Margaret  was  yet  speaking, 
the  Duke,  opening  the  door,  with  a  severe 
countenance  approached   Calantha,    and 
placing  the  letter  to  Lord  Glenarvon  upon 
the  table,  assured  her,  with  coldness,  that 
he  considered  her  as  her  own  mistress, 
and  should  not  interfere,   Lady  Margaret 


286  GLENARVOBf. 

without  a  word  further  being  uttered  on 
her  part,  left  the  room. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  the  Duke  ap* 
proached  his  daughter.  "  This  is  going 
too  far,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  letter: 
"  there  is  no  excuse  for  you."  She  asked 
him,  with  some  vivacity,  why  he  had 
broken  the  seal,  and  wherefore  it  was  not 
-delivered  as  it  was  addressed.  With  cold- 
ness he  apologized  to  her  for  the  liberty 
he  had  taken,  which  even  a  father's  right 
over  an  only  child,  he  observed,  could 
scarcely  authorise.  "  But,"  continued  he, 
"duty  has  of  late  been  so  much  sacrificed 
to  inclination,  that  we  must  have  charity 
for  each  other.  As  I  came,  however,  by 
your  letter  somewhat  unfairly,  I  shall 
make  no  comments  upon  it,  nor  describe 
the  feelings  that  it  excited  in  my  mind — 
only  observe,  I  will  have  this  end  here  ; 
and  my  commands,  like  your's,  shall  be 
obeyed."  He  then  reproached  her  for 
her  behaviour.  "  I  have  seen  you 
give  way,"  he  said,  "  to  exceeding  low 


GLENARVOTV.  287 

spirits,  and  I  am  desirous  of  knowing1 
why  this  grief  has  suddenly  been  changed 
to  ill-timed  gaiety  and  shameless  effron- 
tery? Will  nothing  cure  you  of  this  love 
of  merriment  ?  Will  an  angry  father, 
an  offended  husband,  and  a  contemning 
world  but  add  to  and  encrease  it?  Shall 
I  say  happy  Calantha,  or  shall  I  weep 
over  the  hardness  of  a  heart  that  is  in- 
sensible to  the  grief  of  others,  and  has 
ceased  to  feel  for  itself?  Alas !  I  looked 
upon  you  as  my  comfort  and  delight;  but 
you  are  now  to  me,  a  heavy  care — a  ne- 
ver ceasing  reproach ;  and  if  you  persist 
in  this  line  of  conduct,  the  sooner  you 
quit  this  roof,  which  rings  with  your  dis- 
grace, the  better  it  will  be  for  us  all. 
Those  who  are  made  early  sacrifices  to 
ambition  and  interest  may  plead  some  ex- 
cuse; but  you  Calantha,  what  can  you 
say  to  palliate  your  conduct?  A  father's 
blessing  accompanied  the  choice  your 
own  heart  made  ;  and  was  not  Avondale 
a  noble  choice  ?  What  quality  is  there, 


288  GLENARVON. 

whether  of  person  or  of  mind,  in  which 
he  is  deficient  ?  I  think  of  him  with 
feelings  of  pride." — "  I  do  so,  too,  my 
father." — "  Go,  poor  deluded  child,"  he 
continued,  in  an  offended  tone,  "  fly  to 
the  arms  of  yoar  new  lover,  and  seek 
with  him  that  happiness  of  which  you 
have  rohbed  me  for  ever,  and  which  I 
fear  you  yourself  never  more  will  know. 
Do  not  answer  me,  or  by  those  proud 
looks  attempt  to  hide  your  disgrace.  I  am 
aware  of  all  you  would  urge  ;  but  am  not 
to  be  swayed  by  the  sophistry  you  would 
employ.  This  is  no  innocent  friend- 
ship. Beware  to  incense  me  by  uttering 
one  word  in  its  defence.  Are  you  not 
taught  that  God,  who  sees  the  heart,  looks 
not  at  the  deed,  but  at  the  motive  ?  In 
his  eye  the  murderer  who  has  made  up 
his  mind  to  kill,  has  already  perpetrated 
the  deed  ;  and  the  adultress  who.  .  .  ." — • 
"  Ah,  call  me  not  by  that  name, my  father: 
I  am  your  only  child.  No  proud  looks 
shall  now  shew  themselves,    or  support 


GLENARVOtf.  289 

me  ;  but  on  my  knees  here,  even  here, 
I  humble  myself  before  you.  Speak  not 
so  harshly  to  me:   I  am  very  miserable." 

"  Consent  to  see  him  no  more.  Say  it, 
my  child,  and  all  shall  be  forgotten — I 
will  forgive  you." — "  I  must  see  him 
once  more — ah !  once  more  ;  and  if  he 
consents,  I  will  obey." — "  Good  God  ! 
do  I  live  to  hear  such  words  ?  Is  it  then 
to  Lord  Glenarvon's  mercy,  and  to  no 
effort  of  your  own,  that  I  am  to  owe 
your  amendment?  See  him  then,  but 
do  it  in  defiance  of  my  positive  com- 
mands:  —  see  him,  Calantha  ;  but  the 
veangeance  of  an  offended  God,  the  male- 
diction of  a  father  fall  on  thee  for  thy 
disobedience: — see  him  if  it  be  thy  mad 
resolve  ;  but  meet  m)  eyes  no  more.  A 
lover  may  be  found  at  any  time  ;  but  a 
father,  once  offended,  is  lost  for  ever  : 
his  will  should  be  sacred ;  and  the  God 
of  Heaven  may  see  fit  to  withdraw  his 
mercy  from  a  disobedient  child."  The 
Duke,  as  he  spoke  these  words,  trembled 

Vol.  II.  O 


i 


290  GLENARVON. 

with  passion,  and  darting  an  angry  eye 
upon  Calantha,  left  her.  The  door  closed. 
She  stood  suspended  —  uncertain  how  to 
act. — 

At  length  recovering,  she  seized  a  pen, 
and  wrote  to  Glenarvon. — "  I  am  indeed 
WTetched ;  but  let  me,  at  all  events,  spare 
$ou.  Come  not  to  the  Castle.  Write  to 
me:  it  is  all  I  ask.  I  must  quit  you  for 
ever.  Oh,  Glenarvon,  I  must  indeed  see 
you  no  more  ;  or  involve  all  whom  I  love, 
and  yourself,  who  art  far  dearer,  in  my 
disgrace.  Let  me  hear  from  you  im- 
mediately. You  must  decide  for  me : 
I  have  no  will  on  earth  but  your's — no 
hope  but  in  the  continuance  of  your 
love.  Do  not  call  me  weak.  Write  to 
me :  say  you  approve ;  for  if  you  do  not, 
I  cannot  obey." 

Having  sent  her  letter  with  some  fear, 
she  went  to  Mrs.  Seymour,  who  was  far 
from  well,  and  had  been  some  days  con- 
fined to  her  room.  She  endeavoured  to 
conceal  from  her  what  had  passed  in  the 


GLENARVON.  291 

morning  respecting  her  father.  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour spoke  but  little  to  her,  she  seemed 
unequal  to  the  task  imposed  upon  her  by 
others,  of  telling  Calantha  that  which  she 
knew  would  cause  her  pain.  She  was 
dreadfully  agitated,  and  holding  her 
niece's  hand,  seemed  desirous  she  should 
not  leave  her  for  any  length  of  time. 

Towards  noon,  Calantha  went  out  for  a 
few  moments,  and  near  the  Elm  wood 
met  Glenarvon.  "Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake!" 
she  cried,  "  do  not  come  here  :  some 
one  may  see  you." —  "  And  if  they  do," 
he  said  calmly,  "  what  of  that?" — "I  can- 
not stay  now: — for  your  sake  I  cannot: — 
meet  me  to-night." — "  Where  ?"  How?" 
— "  At  the  Chapel."—"  At  what  hour  ?" 
— "  At  twelve." — "  That  is  too  early." — 
"  Atthree." — "  I  dare  not  come." — "  Then 
farewell." —  "  Glenarvon  !"  He  turned 
back.  "  I  cannot  be  thus  trifled  with," 
he  said.  "  You  have  given  yourself  to 
me :  I  was  not  prepared  for  this  wavering 
and  caprice." — "  Oh,  you  know  not  what 
o  2 


292  GLENARVON. 

has  passed/'— "  I  know  all." — "  My 
aunt  is  ill/'  He  smiled  contemptuously. 
"  Act  as  you  think  right,"  he  said;  "  but 
do  not  be  the  dupe  of  these  machina- 
tions."— "  She  is  really  ill :  she  is  incapa- 
ble of  art."— "  Go  to  her,  then."—"  And 
you — shall  I  see  you  no  more?" — "  Ne- 
ver."— "  I  shall  come  to-night." — "  As 
you  please." — 6J  At  all  events,  I  shall  be 
there,  Glenarvon . — Oh  look  not  thus  on 
me.  You  know,  you  well  know  your 
power:  do  not  lead  me  to  infamy  and  ruin." 
Glenarvon  seized  Calantha's  hand, 
which  he  wrung  with  violence.  Passion 
in  him  was  very  terrible :  it  forced  no 
fierce  words  from  his  lips ;  no  rush  of 
blood  suffused  his  cheeks  and  forehead  ; 
but  the  livid  pale  of  suppressed  rage  spread 
itself  over  every  feature :  even  his  hands 
bore  testimony  to  the  convulsive  effort 
which  the  blood,  receding  to  his  heart, 
occasioned.  Thus  pale,  thus  fierce,  he 
gazed  on Calanthawith disdain.—"  Weak, 
timid  being,  is  it  for  this  1  have  renounced 
so   much? — Is   it   for    such  as  you  that 


GLE1VARV0N.  293 

I  have  consented  to  live  ?  How  different 
from  her  I  once  loved.  Go  to  the  parents 
for  whom  I  am  sacrificed  ;  call  back  the 
husband  who  is  so  preferred  to  me ;  note 
well  his  virtues  and  live  upon  his  cares- 
ses : — the  world  will  admire  and  praise 
you.  I  knew  how  it  would  be  and  am 
satisfied.  Then  with  a  rapid  change  of 
countenance  from  malice  to  bitter  an- 
guish, he  gazed  on  her,  till  his  eyes  were 
filled  with  tears :  while  his  lips  faltered 
as  he  said  farewell.  Calantha  approached 
too  near  :  he  pressed  her  to  his  heart. 
"  I  am  yours,"  she  said,  half  suffocated. 
"  Nor  parents,  nor  husband,  nor  fear  of 
man  or  Heaven  shall  ever  cause  me  to 
leave  you." — "You  will  meet  me  to-night 
then."— "  I  will."— "  You  will  not  play 
upon  my  irritated  feelings  by  penitential 
letters  and  excuses — you  are  decided,  are 
you  ?  Say  either  yes  or  no  ;  but  be  firm 
to  either." — "  I  will  come  then,  let  dis- 
grace or  death  be  the  consequence." 
o  3 


294  GLENAIlVOft 


CHAPTER     XXXI. 


In  the  course  of  the  day,  Glenarvon  wrote 
to  CaJantha,  "  I  have  never  sought  to 
win  you  to  me  after  the  manner  other 
men  might  desire/'  he  said.  "  I  have 
respected  your  opinions  ;  and  I  have  re- 
sisted more  than  woman's  feelings  can 
conceive.  But  Calantha  you  have  shared 
the  struggle.  I  have  marked  in  your  eye 
the  fire  of  passion,  in  the  quivering  of 
your  lip  and  changing  complexion,  the 
fierce  power  which  destroyed  you.  When 
in  the  soft  language  of  poetry,  I  have 
read  to  you,  or  spoken  with  the  warmth 
I  knew  not  how  to  feign,  you  have  turned 
from  me,  it  is  true  ;  but  pride  more 
than  virtue,  inclined  your  firm  resis- 
tance. Every  principle  in  your  heart 
is  shaken  ;  every  tie  that  ought  to  bind 
thee  most,  is  broken  ;  and  I,  who  should 


&LENARV0N.  295 

triumph  at  my  success,   weep  only  for 
thy  fall.     I   found  thee  innocent,  confi- 
ding and  sincere  :  I  leave  thee — but*  oh 
God !  wilt  thou  thus  be  left  ?    wilt  thou 
now  that  thy  soul   itself  partakes  in  thy 
guilt,  wilt  thou   forsake  me  ?     Upon  this 
night,"  continued  Glenarvon,  "you  have 
given  me  a  solemn  promise  to  meet  me 
in   secret :    it  is  the  first  time  conceal- 
ment has  been  rendered  necessary.     I 
know  your  nature  too  well,  not  to  be  con- 
vinced that  you  are  already  preparing  to 
retract.     Do  so,   if  it  be  your  will : — I 
wish  you  not  to  take  one  step  without 
fully  appreciating  its  consequences,   and 
the  crime  incurred.     I   have  never   dis- 
guised to  you  the  guilt  of  our  attachment 
since  the  moment  in  which  I  felt  assured 
of  my  own  sentiments.     I  wished  you  to 
feel  the  sacrifice  you  were  making  :    how 
otherwise  could   I  consider  it  as  any  ? 
my  love  is  worth  some  risk.     Every  one 
knows  my  weakness;  and  did  you   feel 
half  what  you  inspire,   you   would   be 
o  4 


296  GLENARVON. 

proud,  you  would  glory  in  what  you  now 
attempt  to  hide.  The  woman  I  love, 
must  see,  must  hear,  must  believe  and 
confide  in  no  other  but  me.  I  renounce 
every  other  for  you. — And,  now  that  I 
claim  you  as  my  own,  I  expect  the  fulfil- 
ment of  your  many  professions.  Shew 
me  that  you  can  be  firm  and  true :  give 
yourself  to  me  entirely  :  you  are  mine  ; 
and  you  must  prove  it.  I  am  preferred 
before  every  earthly  being  in  my  Calan- 
tha's  heart — my  dearest,  my  only  friend. 
Of  this  indeed  I  have  long  ceased  to  enter- 
tain a  single  doubt ;  but  now  I  require 
more.  Even  in  religious  faith — even  in 
hopes,  in  reliance  upon  the  mercy  of  God, 
I  cannot  bear  a  competitor  and  a  rival. 

"  There  is  a  rite  accounted  infamous 
amongst  christians  : — there  is  an  oath 
which  it  is  terrible  to  take.  By  this,  by 
this  alone,  I  will  have  you  bound  to  me — 
not  here  alone,  but  if  there  be  a  long  here- 
after then  shall  we  evermore  be  linked 
together  :    then  shall  you  be  mine  far 


GLENARVON.  297 

more,  far  dearer  than  either  mistress  or 
bride,  ft  is,  I  own,  a  mere  mockery  of 
superstition  :  but  what  on  earth  deserves 
a  higher  name  ?  Every  varying  custom 
and  every  long-established  form,  whether 
in  our  own  land,  or  those  far  distant 
tracts  which  the  foot  of  man  has  rarely 
traversed,  deserves  no  higher  name.  The 
customs  of  our  forefathers — the  habit  of 
years,  give  a  venerable  and  sacred  ap- 
pearance to  many  rites  ;  but  all  is  a 
dream,  the  mere  colouring  of  fancy,  the 
frail  perishable  attempts  of  human  inven- 
tion. Even  the  love  we  feel,  Calantha — 
the  beaming  fires  which  now  stimulate 
our  hearts,  and  raise  us  above  others  is 
but  illusion — like  the  bright  exhalations 
which  appear  to  mislead,  then  vanish  and 
leave  us  more  gloomy  than  before." 

Calantha's  eyes  were  fixed  ;  her  hand 
was  cold  ;  no  varying  colour,  no  trepi- 
dation shewed  either  life  or  vigour ;  there 
was  a  struggle  in  her  mind  ;  and  a  voice 
seemed  to  call  to  her  from  her  inmost 
o  5 


298  GLENARVOtf. 

soul :  "  For  the  last  time,  Calantha,  it 
seemed  to  say,  I  warn  thee,  for  the  last 
time  I  warn  thee.  Oh  hear  the  voice  of 
conscience  as  it  cries  to  thee  for  the  last 
time  ! — go  not  to  thy  ruin  :  plunge  not 
thy  soul  into  the  pit  of  hell ;  hurl  not  de- 
struction upon  thy  head.  What  is  this 
sin  against  thy  religion  ?  How  canst  thou 
throw  off  thy  faith  and  reliance  upon  thy 
God  ?  It  is  a  mere  mockery  of  words  ; 
a  jealous  desire  to  possess  every  avenue 
of  thy  heart's  affections,  to  snatch  thee 
from  every  feeling  of  remorse  and  virtue; 
to  plunge  thee  into  eternal  perdition. 
Hear  me  :  by  thy  mother's  name  I  call : 

go  not  to  thy  soul's  ruin  and  shame" 

"  Am  I  mad,  or  wherefore  is  my  soul 
distracted  ?  Oh  Glenarvon,  come  again 
to  me :  my  comforter — my  heart's  friend, 
oh  leave  me  not.  By  every  tie  thou  art 
bound  to  me  :  never,  never  will  I  forsake 
thee.  What  are  the  reproaches  of  con- 
science— what  the  fancied  pangs  of  re- 
morse, to  the  glory,  of  being  thine?  Re- 


GLENARVON.  299 

turn  Glenarvon,  adored,  beloved.  Thy 
presence  is  the  light  of  life  :  existence 
without  thee  would  not  be  worth  the  pur- 
chase.— Come  all  the  woes  that  may,  upon 
me,  never  will  1  forsake  Glenarvon/' 

The  nurse  entered  Calantha's  room, 
bearing  her  boy  in  her  arms.  She  would 
not  look  on  him: — "  Take  him  away," 
she  said  ;  "  take  him  to  my  aunt."  The 
child  wished  to  stay : — for  the  first  time 
he  hung  about  her  with  affection ;  for 
he  was  not  of  that  character,  and  seldom 
shewed  his  love  by  infantine  fondness 
and  caresses.  She  started  from  his  gen- 
tle grasp,  as  if  from  something  terrible: 
"  Take  him  away,"  she  shrieked  to  the 
affrighted  woman,  "  and  never  let  him 
come  near  me  more." 

There  are  many  whose  eyes  may  glance 
ppon  these  pages,  who  will  regard  with 
indignation  the  confession  here  made 
respecting  the  character  of  Calantha.  But 
it  is  as  if  those  who  had  never  known 
sickness  and  agony  mocked  at  its  power 


300  GLENARVON. 

—  as  if  those  who  had  never  witnessed  the 
delirious  ravings  of  fever  or  insanity  rea- 
soned upon  their  excess,  they  must  not 
judge  who  cannot  understand. 

Driven  to  despair — guilty  in  all  but 
the  last  black  deed  that  brands  the  name 
and  character  with  eternal  infamy,  Calan- 
tha  resolved  to  follow  Glenarron.  How 
indeed  could  she  remain  !  To  her  every 
domestic  joy  was  forever  blasted  ;  and 
a  false  estimate  of  honour  inclined  her  to 
believe,  that  it  was  right  in  her  to  go. — 
But  not  to-night,  she  said.  Oh  not  like  a 
culprit  and  a  thief  in  the  midst  of  the 
night,  will  I  quit  my  father's  house,  or 
leave  my  aunt  sick  and  ill  to  grieve  her- 
self almost  to  death  for  my  sake. 

Preserving,  during  the  evening,  a  sul- 
len silence,  an  affectation  of  offended 
pride,  Calantha  retired  early  ;  looked 
once  upon  the  portraits  of  her  husband 
and  mother ;  and  then  turned  from  them 
in  agony.  "  He  was  all  kindness  to  me 
— all  goodness:  he  deserved  a  happier 


GLENARVON.  301 

fate.  Happier !  alas  he  is  blest :  I  alone 
suffer — I  alone  am  miserable  ;  never, 
never  can  I  behold  him  more."  These 
were  the  last  words  Calantha  uttered,  as 
she  prepared  for  an  interview  she  dreaded. 
It  was  now  but  twelve  o'clock  :  she  threw 
herself  upon  her  bed,  and  waited  in  tre- 
pidation and  alarm  for  the  hour  of  three. 
A  knock  at  the  door  aroused  her.  It  was 
O'Kelly  ;  but  he  waited  not  one  instant : 
he  left  a  gold  casket  with  a  ring,  within 
was  a  letter :  "  My  beloved,"  it  said,  "I 
wait  for  thee.  Oh  repent  not  thy  pro- 
mise !"  Nothing  else  was  written.  The 
hand  she  well  knew  :  the  signature  was, 
"  Ever  and  thine  alone,  Glenarvon." 


302  GLENARVON. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 


It  was  past  three  o'clock,  when  Calantha 
opened  the  cabinet  where  the  page's 
clothes  were  formerly  kept,  and  drew 
from  thence  his  mantle  and  plumed  hat  ; 
and,  thus  disguised,  prepared  herself  for 
the  interview.  She  slowly  descended  the 
stairs  :  the  noisy  revels  of  the  servants 
might  still  at  intervals  be  heard  :  in  a 
moment  she  glided  through  the  apart- 
ments and  passages,  till  she  found  her- 
self at  the  door  which  led  to  the  terrace. 
It  opened  heavily,  and  closed  again  with 
a  loud  noise.  Alarmed,  lest  she  should 
be  discovered,  she  new  with  rapidity 
over  the  terrace  and  lawn,  till  she  ap- 
proached the  wood,  and  then  she  paused 
to  take  breath,  and  to  listen  if  an  were 
silent. 

Then   she  walked   fearfully   onwards. 
The  first  night  on  which  she  had  met 


GLEXARVOK.  303 

Glenarvon  the  moon  was  bright  and  full, 
and  the  whole  sce^ie  was  lighted  by  its 
rajs;  but  now,  it  was  on  the  wane — the 
silver  crescent  shone  alone,  and  the 
clouds  continually  passing  over  it,  cast 
fearful  shadows  upon  the  grass.  She 
found  herself  in  the  thickest  part  of  the 
wood.  She  heard  a  hollow  murmur: 
it  was  but  the  alders,  waving  in  the  wind, 
which  made  a  tremulous  noise,  like  voices 
whispering  at  a  distance.  She  passed 
on,  and  the  recollection  that  it  was  to 
Glenarvon  that  she  was  hastening,  and 
that  it  was  probably  for  the  last  time, 
made  her  indifferent  to  her  fate,  and  ren- 
dered her  fearless.  Besides,  the  despe- 
rate and  the  guilty  never  fear:  a  deeper 
feeling  renders  them  callous  to  all  beside 
— a  spirit  of  defiance  deadens  in  th^m 
the  very  edge  of  apprehension.  She  j M  o- 
ceeded  to  the  appointed  place.  The  sea 
dashed  against  the  cliff  below;  and  the 
bleak  wind  whistled  through  the  ruined 
chapel  as  it  came  in  hollow  blasts  over 
the  heath. 


304  GLENARVON. 

Calantha  perceived  Glenarvon.  He 
was  leaning  upon  one  of  the  broken 
rocks:  he  viewed,  unawed,  the  melan- 
choly scene  before  him.  No  supersti- 
tious terrors  had  power  to  shake  his  soul: 
misery  had  done  its  utmost  to  subdue 
him.  Nor  hope,  nor  prosperity,  could 
afford  him  comfort,  or  remove  his  de- 
jection. In  the  first  transports  of  joy 
at  seeing  him,  she  darted  towards 
him;  but  when  she  marked  the  pale- 
ness of  his  cheeks,  the  stillness  of 
his  attitude,  she  started  back,  and  ad- 
vanced slowly  :  for  she  feared  to  disturb 
him. 

The  evening  breeze  had  blown  back 
his  dark  locks,  and  bared  his  pale  fore- 
head, upon  which  the  light  of  the  moon- 
beam fell.  She  gazed  upon  him;  and 
while  she  contemplated  the  beautiful  ma- 
jesty of  his  figure,  his  fixed  and  mourn- 
ful eyes,  his  countenance  so  fraught  with 
feeling,  she  approached  him.  4t  My 
friend,  my  lover/'  she  said.     "  Ah!  my 


GLENARVON. 


305 


little  trembling  page,  my  Zerbellini,  wel- 
come to  my  heart,"  he  answered:  "  I 
knew  you  would  not  fail ;  but  I  have 
waited  for  you  till  every  bright  illusion 
of  hope  has  been  changed  into  visions  of 
despondency  and  fear.  We  meet  now  : 
but  is  it  indeed  to  part  no  more !  Glenar- 
von  is  your's,  and  shall  never  be  severed 
from  you." 

"  Ah!  triumph  over  yourself  and 
me,"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  in 
alarm.  "  Ask  any  sacrifice  but  this. 
Do  not  make  me  contemptible  to  you  and 
to  myself."  "  Calantha,  the  time  for  safety 
is  past:  it  is  too  late  now.  I  have  linked 
my  soul  to  your's ;  I  love  you  in  defiance 
of  myself;  I  know  it  to  be  guilt,  and  to 
be  death ;  but  it  must  be.  We  follow 
but  the  dark  destiny  that  involves  us ;  we 
cannot  escape  from  fate.  For  you  alone 
I  live : — be  now  but  mine.  They  tell  you 
of  misery,  of  inconstancy,  of  lover's  per- 
juries, from  the  olden  time ;  but  you  shall 
prove  them  false.     You  leave  much,  it  is 


306  GLEfrARVOtf., 

true — rank,  fame  and  friends,  a  home 
and  the  dearest  ties  of  a  mother's  heart — 
children ;  but  have  you  not  embittered 
all  that  you  relinquish !  Say  that  I  yield 
you  up  and  fly, — to  what  fate  shall  I  then 
consign  you !  to  what  endless  repining, 
unjoyous  solitary  hours — remorse,  re* 
gret,  the  bitter  taunt  of  friends,  the  in- 
sulting scorn  of  strangers,  and,  worse  than 
all— O!  worse  than  all  the  recoiling 
heart  can  endure,  the  unsuspicious  confi- 
dence and  caresses  of  an  injured  hus- 
band, of  him  you  have  already  betrayed. 
O  Calantha,  turn  from  these  to  a  lover's 
bosom;  seek  for  comfort  here;  and 
now,  even  now,  accompany  me  in  my 
flight. 

"  I  will  leave  all  for  you: — I  love  but 
you :  be  you  my  master."  Scarce  had 
she  uttered  the  impious  oath  which  bound 
her  to  him,  when  her  heart,  convulsed 
with  terror,  ceased  to  beat.  "  Ti's  but  in 
words — oh  God !  'tis  but  in  words,  that 
thy  guilty  servant  has  offended.  No — even 


GLfiNARVON.  30? 

in  the  mad  infatuation  of  passion,  the 
fear  of  thy  vengeance  spake  terrors  into 
her  soul,  and  ingratitude  for  all  thy  favours 
was  not  to  be  numbered  with  her  sins." 
But  the  step  she  had  taken  was  terrible. 
She  considered  herself  as  no  longer  under 
the  protection  of  her  father,  she  had  dis- 
obeyed his  sacred  command,  she  had 
broken  her  solemn  promise ;  she  trem- 
bled exceedingly ;  and  fear  for  one  mo-* 
tnent  overpowered  her.  Lord  Glenar* 
von  looked  upon  her,  mournfully,  as  if 
sorry  for  the  sin  which  he  had  cast  upon 
her  soul.  "  Now,"  he  said,  "  you  will 
look  back  upon  these  moments,  and  you 
will  consider  me  with  abhorrence.  I  have 
led  you  with  me  to  ruin  and  remorse." 
"  On  me — on  me,  be  the  sin  ;  let  it  fall 
upon  me  alone,"  she  replied ;  "  but  if,  after 
this,  you  forsake  me,  then  shall  the  ven- 
geance of  Heaven  be  .satisfied — the  mea- 
sure of  my  crime  be  at  its  fulK  It  is  not 
in  my  power — I  cannot  forsake  you  now: 
I  will  go  with  you,  Glenarvon,  if  it  were 


308  GLENTARVON. 

to  certain  death  and  ruin.  lam  yours  alone. 
But  this  night  I  must  return  home/'  she 
said.  "I  will  not  leave  my  father  thus — I 
will  not  cause  my  aunt's  death."  "  If  you 
leave  me  now  I  shall  lose  you."  "OGlenar- 
von,  let  me  return ;  and  after  seeing  them 
once  again,  I  will  follow  you  firm  until 
death." 

He  placed  a  ring  upon  her  finger,  "It  is 
a  marriage  bond,"  he  said ;  "  and  if  there 
be  a  God,  let  him  n-  w  bear  witness  to  my 
vows: — I  here,  uncompelled  by  menace, 
unsolicited  by  entreaty,  do  bind  myself 
through  life  to  you.  No  other,  in  word  or 
thought,  shall  ever  hold  influence  or  power 
over  my  heart.  This  is  no  lover's  oath — no 
profession  which  the  intoxication  of  pas- 
sion may  extort :  it  is  the  free  and  solemn 
purpose  of  a  soul  conquered  and  enchain- 
ed by  you.  Oh  Calantha,  beloved,  adored, 
look  upon  me,  and  say  that  you  believe  me. 
Lean  not  upon  a  lover's  bosom,  but  upon 
a  friend,  a  guardian  and  protector,  a 
being  wholly  relying  on  your  mercy  and 


GLENARVON.  309 

kindness.     My  love,  my  soul,   look  yet 
once  upon  me." 

"  Why  fall  our  tears  ?  Is  it  in  terror  of 
approaching  evil,  or  in  regret  for  invo- 
luntary error  ?  My  bosom's  comfort, 
my  soul's  idol,  leek  not  thus  coldly  on 
me  ;  for  I  deserve  it  not.  Your  will  is 
mine :  lead  me  as  it  delights  your  fancy  : 
I  am  a  willing  slave."  "  If  you  abandon 
me,"  said  Calantha,  in  tears.  u  May 
the  curse  of  God  burn  my  heart  and  con- 
sume me !  may  every  malediction  and 
horror  fall  tenfold  upon  my  head  !  may 
frenzy  and  madness  come  upon  my 
senses  !  and  tortures  in  this  world  and 
the  next  be  my  portion,  if  ever  I  change 
towards  you  !" 

With  words  like  these,  Glenarvon  si- 
lenced her  as  she  returned  to  the  castle  ; 
and,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  untroubled 
sleep — such  sleep  as  in  better  days  she 
once  enjoyed,  fell  upon  all  her  senses, 
quieted  every  passion,  and  obliterated, 
for  a  few  hours,  the  scenes  of  guilt  which 
tortured  her  with  their  remembrance. 


310  .GLENARVON. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 


To  wake  is  terrible  when  the  heaviness  of 
sin  is  upon  us  ! — to  wake,  and  see 
every  object  around  us  the  same  as  be- 
fore ;  but  to  feel  that  we  are  utterly 
changed  !  I  am  still  in  a  father's  house, 
she  thought,  as  late  the  ensuing  morning 
she  opened  her  eye.  "  My  name  is  not 
yet  branded  with  disgrace  ;  but  I  belong 
alone  upon  earth  to  Glenarvon.  Mrs. 
Seymour  sent  for  her  :  the  nurse  entered 
with  the  children.  But*  Calantha  looked 
upon  the  ring  and  trembled. 

Lady  Avondale  ordered  her  horses,  and, 
dressing  in  haste,  entered  Mrs.  Seymour's 
room.  Never  had  she  found  it  easy  to 
deceive  till  that  moment.  To  tell  her  the 
truth  had  been  to  kill  her  :  she  feigned 
therefore  with  ease,  for  her  aunt's  life  re- 
quired it,  and  she  herself  was  desperate. 


GLENARVON.  311 

"Have  you  kept  your  resolution,  my  Ca- 
lantha  ?"  —  "  Yes,"  she  replied,  nor 
blushed  at  affirming  it.  "  Two  days, 
and  you  have  not  seen  Glenarvon  ?"  Is 
this  possible  ? — "  I  thought  one  had  kil- 
led me,"  replied  Calantha ;  "  but  I  look 
well  ;  do  I  not  ?"  and  she  hurried  from 
her  aunt's  presence. 

Her  horses  awaited  :  she  rode  out  the 
whole  of  the  day  :  it  seemed  to  her  as 
if  a  moment's  pause  or  rest  would  have 
been  agony  unutterable.  And  yet,  when 
the  spirit  is  heavy  there  is  something  un- 
pleasant in  the  velocity  of  motion  :  throw- 
ing, therefore,  the  reins  upon  her  well- 
trained  steed,  she  paced  slowly  over  the 
mountain's  side,  lost  in  reflections  which 
it  had  been  pain  to  interrupt. 

Suddenly  a  horse  and  rider,  in  full 
speed,  darting  along  the  moor,  approached 
and  crossed  upon  her  path.  "  Whither 
ride  you  Lady,  so  slow  ?"  said  Miss  St. 
Clare,  whom  she  now  recognized,  scarce 
reining  in  her  swift-footed  charger.  "  And 


312  GLENARVON. 

whither  ride  you,   Lady,  so  fast  ?"   said 
Calantha,  courteously  returning  her   sa- 
lute.    "   To   perdition,"   cried  Elinor ; 
"  and  they  that  wish  to  follow  must  ride 
apace."     The  hat  and  plume  of  sacred 
green,  the  emerald  clasp,  the  gift  of  Gle- 
narvon,  were  all  but  too  well  observed 
by  Calantha.     Deeply  she  blushed  as  St. 
Clara,  fixing   her  dark  eyes   upon  her, 
asked  her  respecting  him,  "  Is  thy  young 
lover  well  ?"  she  said  :   "  and  wilt  thou 
be  one  of  us  ?     He  slept  last  night  at  Bel- 
font  :  he  could  not  rest  :  didst  thou  ?  " 
Saying  which,  she  smiled,  and  rode  away. 
Oppressed  with   many   bitter  doubts, 
Calantha  returned   to  the   Castle  ;    and 
what  is  strange,   she  felt  coldly  towards 
Glenarvon.     On  her  return,  she  found 
letters  from  him  far  the  most  ardent,   the 
most  impassioned  she  had  yet  received. 
He  spoke  with  grief  of  her  unkindness  : 
he   urged   her  by  every  tie  most   dear, 
most  sacred,  to  see  him  and  fly  with  him. 
Yet,  thai  night,  she  went  not  to  meet 


GLENARVON.  313 

him ;  she  wrote  not  kindly  ;  she  loved 
not.  She  retired  early  ;  and  her  thoughts 
were  painful  and  terrible.  But  such  is 
the  inconsistency  of  the  human  heart ; 
her  coldness  seemed  but  to  encrease  his 
ardour.  She  received  that  night,  the 
warmest  the  most  unguarded  letters  ;  she 
even  now  dreaded  the  violence  of  his  at- 
tachment. Remorse,  she  felt,  had  taken 
the  place  of  passion  in  her  own  heart:  for 
all  within  was  chilled,  was  changed. 

As  she  thus  sat  in  sullen  silence,  unwil- 
ling to  think — unable  to  forget,  she  heard 
a  step  stealing  along  the  passage  ;  and  in 
a  moment  Glenarvon  entered  her  apart- 
ment. "  We  are  lost,"  she  cried.  "  I 
care  not/'  he  said,  "  so  that  I  but  see 
you." — "  For  Heaven's  sake,  leave  me." 
— "  Speak  lower,"  he  said,  approaching 
her  :  "  be  calm,  for  think  you  that  when 
you  have  risked  so  much  for  me,  I  dare 
not  share  the  danger.  After  all,  what  is 
it  ?  Whoever  enters  must  do  it  at  their 
peril :  their  life  shall  pay  the  forfeit  :     I 

Vol.  II.  P. 


314  GLENARVON. 

am  armed/' — "  Glenarvon  !  how  terrible 
are  your  looks  :  I  love  you  ;  but  I  fear 
you." 

"  Do  you  remember/'  he  replied, 
"  that  day  when  I  first  told  you  of 
my  love  ?  You  blushed  then,  and  wept : 
did  you  not  ?  But  you  have  forgotten  to 
do  either  now.  Why,  then,  this  strange 
confusion  ?" — "  I  am  sick  at  heart.  Leave 
me/' — "  Never  !  O  most  loved,  most  dear 
of  all  earthly  beings,  turn  not  thus  away 
from  me  ;  look  not  as  if  you  feared  to 
meet  me  ;  feel  not  regret  ;  for  if  it  be  a 
crime,  that  be  on  me,  Calantha — on  me 
alone.  I  know  how  men  of  the  world 
can  swear  and  forswear :  I  know,  too, 
how  much  will  be  attempted  to  sever  you 
from  me  :  but  by  that  Being  in  whose 
sacred  eye  we  stand  ;  by  all  that  the  hu- 
man heart  and  soul  can  believe  and  che 
rish,  I  am  not  one  of  that  base  kind,  who 
would  ever  betray  the  woman  that  trusted 
in  me,  Even  were  you  unfaithful  to  me, 
I  could  not  change.  You  are  all  on  earth 


GLENARVON.  315 

that  I  love,  and,  perhaps  what  is  better 
worth,  that  I  esteem  and  respect — that  I 
honor  as  above  every  other  in  goodness, 
purity,  and  generous,  noble  feelings.  O  ! 
think  not  so  humbly  of  yourself:  say  not 
that  you  are  degraded.  My  admiration 
of  you  shall  excuse  your  error:  My  faith- 
ful attachment  whilst  existence  is  given 
to  either  of  us  shall  atone  for  all.  Look 
on  me,  my  only  friend  ;  dry  up  the  tears 
that  fall  for  an  involuntary  fault ;  and 
consider  me  as  your  protector,  your  lover, 
your  husband/' 

There  required  not  many  words,  not 
many  protestations.  Calantha  wept  bit- 
terly ;  but  she  felt  happy.  "  If  you  change 
now,"  she  said,  "  what  will  become  of 
me  ?  Let  me  go  with  you,  Glenarvon, 
from  this  country  :  I  ask  not  for  other 
ties  than  those  that  already  bind  us.  Yet 
I  once  more  repeat  it,  I  know  you  must 
despise  me." — "  What  are  words  and 
vows,  my  heart's  life,  my  soul's  idol,  what 
are  they  ?  The  false,  the  vain,  the  worldly- 
p2 


316  GLENARVON. 

minded  have  made  use  of  them  ;  but  I 
must  have  recourse  to  them,  Calantha, 
since  you  can  look  at  me,  and  yet  mis- 
trust me.  No  villany  that  ever  yet  existed, 
can  exceed  that  which  my  falsehood  to 
you  would  now  evince.  This  is  no  com- 
mon worldly  attachment :  no  momentary 
intoxication  of  passion.  Often  I  have 
loved  :  many  I  have  seen  ;  but  none  ever 
sacrificed  for  me  what  you  have  done  ; 
and  for  none  upon  earth  did  I  ever  feel 
what  I  do  for  you.  I  might  have  made 
you  mine  long  ago  :  perhaps  I  might  have 
abused  the  confidence  shewn  me,  and 
the  interest  and  enthusiasm  1  had  created ; 
but,  alas !  you  would  then  have  despised 
me.  I  conquered  myself ;  but  it  was  to 
secure  you  more  entirely.  I  am  jour's 
only  :  consent  therefore  to  fly  with  me. 
make  any  trial  you  please  of  my  truth. 
What  I  speak  I  have  written  :  my  letters 
you  may  shew,  my  actions  you  may  ob- 
serve and  sift.  I  have  not  one  thought 
that  is  unknown  to  you — one  wish,    one 


GLENARVON.  317 

hope  of  which  you  are  not  the  first  and 
sole  object.  Many  disbelieve  that  I  am 
serious  in  my  desire  that  you  should  ac- 
company me  in  my  flight.  They  know 
me  not :  I  have  no  views,  no  projects. 
Men  of  the  world  look  alone  to  fortune, 
fame,  or  interest ;  but  what  am  I  ?  The 
sacrifice  is  solely  on  your  part  :  I  would 
that  it  were  on  mine.  If  even  you  re- 
fuse to  follow  me,  I  will  not  make  this  a 
plea  for  abandoning*  you  :  I  will  hover 
around,  will  protect,  will  watch  over  you. 
Your  love  makes  my  happiness  :  it  is  my 
sole  hope  in  life.  Even  were  you  to  change 
to  me,  I  could  not  but  be  true  to  you." 

Did  Glenarvon  really  wish  Calantha  to 
accompany  him  :  he  risked  much  ;  and 
seemed  to  desire  it.  But  there  is  no  un- 
derstanding the  guileful  heart ;  and  he 
who  had  deceived  many,  could  assu- 
redly deceive  her.  Yet  it  appears,  that 
he  urged  her  more  than  ever  to  fly 
with  him  ;  and  that  when,  at  length  she 
said  that  her  resolution  was  fixed — that 
p  3 


318  GLENARVON. 

she  would  go,  his  eyes  in  triumph  gloried 
in  the  assurance  :  and  with  a  fervour  he 
could  not  have  feigned  he  called  her  his. 
Hitherto,  some  virtuous,  some  religious 
hopes  had  still  sustained  her  ;  now  all 
ceased  ;  perversion  led  the  way  to  crime, 
and  hardness  of  heart  and  insensibility 
followed . 

One  by  one,  Glenarvon  repeated  to 
her  confessions  of  former  scenes.  One 
by  one,  he  betrayed  to  her  the  confidence 
others  had  reposed  in  his  honour.  She 
saw  the  wiles  and  windings  of  his  mind, 
nor  abhorred  them :  she  heard  his  mockery 
of  all  that  is  good  and  noble  ;  nor  turned 
from  him.  is  it  in  the  nature  of  guilty 
love  thus  to  pervert  the  very  sonl  ?  Or 
what  in  so  short  a  period  could  have  ope- 
rated so  great  a  change  ?  1  ill  this  period 
the  hope  of  saving,  of  guarding,  of  re- 
claiming, had  led  her  on  :  now  frantic 
and  perverted  passion  absorbed  all  other 
hopes. 

Calantha  had  read  of  love,   and  felt  it ; 


GLENARVON.  319 

she  had  laughed  at  the  sickening  rhapso- 
dies of  sentiment,  and  turned  with  dis- 
gust from  the  inflammatory  pages  of 
looser  pens;  but,  alas  !  her  own  heart  now 
presented  every  feeling  she  had  most  ab- 
horred ;  and  it  was  in  herself  she  found 
the  reality  of  all  that,  during  her  whole 
existence,  she  had  looked  upon  with  con- 
tempt and  dislike.  Every  remaining 
scruple  left  her ;  she  still  urged  delay  ; 
but  to  accompany  her  master  and  lover 
was  now  her  firm  resolve. 


320  GLENARVON. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


Glenarvon  had  retired  unperceived  by 
any,  on  the  evening  he  had  visited  her, 
in  her  apartment.  The  following  day 
he  appeared  at  the  castle  ;  they  both 
avoided  each  other  :  she  indeed  trembled 
at  beholding  him.  "  Meet  me  at  the 
chapel  to  night,"  he  whispered.  Alas  ! 
she  obeyed  too  well. 

They  were  returning  through  the 
wood :  she  paused  one  moment  to  look 
upon  the  sea  :  it  was  calm  ;  and  the  air 
blew  soft  and  fresh  upon  her  burning 
forehead. — What  dreadful  sight  is  that?... 
a  female  figure  passing  through  the 
thicket  behind,  with  a  hasty  step  ap- 
proached them,  and  knelt  down  as  if  im- 
ploring for  mercy.  Her  looks  were  wild  ; 
famine  had  stamped  its  hollow  prints  in 
furrows  on  her  cheeks  :   she  clasped  her 


GLENARTON.  321 

hands  together ;  and  fixing  her  eyes  wild* 
ly  upon  Glenarvon,  remained  in  silence. 

Terrified,  Calantha  threw  herself  for 
safety  at  his  feet ;  and  he  clasping  her 
closely  to  his  bosom  saw  but  her.  "  Oh  ! 
Glenarvon,"  she  cried,  "  look,  look  ;  it 
is  not  a  human  form  :  it  is  some  dreadful 
vision,  sent  to  us  by  the  power  of  Heaven, 
to  warn  us."  "  My  soul,  my  Calantha, 
fear  not :  no  power  shall  harm  you." 

Turning  from  her,  Glenarvon  now  gazed 
for  one  moment  on  the  thin  and  ghastly 
form,  that  had  occasioned  her  terror. 
"  God  bless  you."  cried  the  suppliant. 
He  started  at  the  hollow  sound.  It  seemed 
to  him  indeed  that  the  awful  blessing 
was  a  melancholy  reproach  for  his  broken 
faith.  He  started,  for  in  that  emaciated 
form,  in  that  wild  and  haggard  eye,  he 
thought  he  recognized  some  traces  of  one 
whom  he  had  once  taken  spotless  as 
innocence  to  his  heart, — then  left  a  prey 
to  remorse  and  disappointment,  For  the 
p  5 


322  GLENARVON. 

sake  of  that  resemblance*,  he  offered  mo- 
ney to  the  wretch  who  implored  his  mercy, 
and  turned  away,  not  to  behold  again  so 
piteous,  so  melancholy  a  spectacle. 

Intently  gazing  upon  him,  she  uttered 
a  convulsive  groan,  and  sunk  extended 
on  the  earth.  Calantha  and  Glenarvon 
both  flew  forward  to  raise  her.  But  the 
poor  victim  was  no  more  :  her  spirit  had 
burst  from  the  slight  bonds  that  yet  re- 
tained it  in  a  world  of  pain  and  sorrow. 
She  had  g-azed  for  the  last  time  upon  the 
lover  ^  ho  had  robbed  her  of  all  happi- 
ness through  life;  and  the  same  look, 
which  had  first  awakened  love  in  her 
bosom,  now  quenched  the  feeling,  and 
with  it  life  itself.  The  last  wish  of  her 
heart,  was  a  blessing,  not  a  curse  on 
him  who  had  abandoned  her :  and  the 
tear  that  he  shed  unconsciously  over  a 
form  so  altered,   that  he  did  not  know 


*  See  Chaucer's  Troilus  and  Creseide. 


GLENARVON.  323 

her,  was  the  only  tear  that  blessed  the 
last  hour  of  Calantha's  once  favorite  com- 
panion Alice  Mac  Allain. 

Oh  !   need  a  scene  which  occasioned 
her  every  bitter  pang  be  repeated  ? — need 

it  be  said  that,  regardless  of  themselves  or 
any  conclusions  which  their  being  toge- 
ther at  such  an  hour  might  have  oc- 
casioned :  they  carried  the  unconscious 
girl  to  the  door  of  the  castle,  where 
O'Kelly  was  waiting  to  receive  them. 
Every  one  had  retired  to  rest ;  it  was 
late  ;  and  one  of  Calantha's  maids  and 
O'Kelly  alone  remained  in  fearful  anxiety 
watching  for  their  return. 

Terrified  at  the  haggard  looks,  and  life- 
less form  before  her,  Calantha  turned  to 
Glenarvon.  But  his  countenance  was 
changed;  his  eyes  were  fixed.  "  It  is 
herself,"  he  cried ;  and  unable  to  bear 
the  sight,  a  faintness  came  over  him : — the 
name  of  Alice  was  pronounced  by  him. 
O*  Kelly  understood  his  master.  "  Is  it 
possible?"  he  exclaimed,  and  seizing  the 


324  GLENARVON. 

girl  in  his  arms,  he  promised  Calan- 
tha  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  restore  her, 
and  only  implored  her  to  retire  to  her 
own  apartment :  fct  For  my  master's  sake, 
dear  Lady,  be  persuaded/'  he  said.  He 
was  indeed  no  longer  the  same  subser- 
vient strange  being,  he  had  shewn  him- 
self hitherto ;  he  seemed  to  assume  anew 
character,  on  an  occasion  which  called 
for  his  utmost  exertion  :  he  was  all  acti- 
vity and  forethought,  commanding  every 
thing  that  was  to  be  done,  and  awaken- 
ing Lord  Glenarvon  and  Calantha  to  a 
sense  of  their  situation. 

Although  Lady  Avon  dale  was  at  last 
persuaded  to  retire,  it  may  be  supposed 
that  she  did  not  attempt  to  rest ;  and 
being  obliged  in  some  measure  to  inform 
her  attendant  of  what  had  passed,  she 
sent  her  frequently  with  messages  to 
O'Kelly  to  inquire  concerning  her  unhap- 
py friend.  At  last  she  returned  with  a 
few  lines,  written  by  Lord  Glenarvon. 
"  Calantha,"  he  said,   "  you  will  now 


GLENARVON.  325 

learn  to  shudder  at  my  name,  and  look 
upon  me  with  horror  and  execration. 
Prepare  yourself  for  the  worst : — it  is 
Alice  whom  we  beheld.  She  came  to 
take  one  last  look  at  the  wretch  who  had 
seduced,  and  then  abandoned  her : — 
she  is  no  more.  Think  not,  that  to 
screen  myself,  I  have  neglected  the 
means  of  preserving  her. — Think  me  not 
base  enough  for  this  ;  but  be  assured 
that  all  care  and  assistance  have  been  ad- 
ministered. The  aid  of  the  physician, 
however,  is  vain.  Calm  yourself,  Ca- 
lantha :  I  am  very  calm." 

The  maid,  as  she  gave  this  note,  told 
Calantha  that  the  young  woman,  whom 
Mr.  O'Kelly  had  discovered  at  the  door 
of  the  castle,  was  poor  Miss  Alice — so 
altered,  that  her  own  father,  she  was  sure, 
would  not  know  her.  "  Did  you  see 
her  ?"  "  O  yes,  my  Lady:  Mr.  OTCelly 
took  me  to  see  her,  when  I  carried  the 
message  to  him :  and  there  I  saw  my 
Lord  Glenarvon  so  good,  so  kind,  doing 


326  GLENARVON. 

every  thing  that  was  needed  to  assist  her, 
so  that  it  would  have  moved  the  heart 
of  any  one  to  have  seen  him."  While 
the  attendant  thus  continued  to  talk, 
her  young  mistress  wept,  at  having  at 
length  dismissed  her,  she  opened  the 
door  listening  with  suspense  to  every 
distant  noise. 

It  was  six  in  the  morning,  when  a 
loud  commotion  upon  the  stairs  aroused 
her.  Hurrying  down,  she  beheld  a 
number  of  servants  carrying  some  one 
for  air,  into  one  of  the  outer  courts.  It 
was  not  the  lifeless  corpse  of  Alice.  From 
the  glimpse  Calantha  caught,  it  appeared 
a  larger  form,  and,  upon  approaching  still 
nearer,  her  heart  sickened  at  perceiving 
that  it  was  the  old  man,  Gerald  Mac  Al- 
lain,  who  having  arisen  to  enquire  into 
the  cause  of  the  disquiet  he  heard  in 
the  house,  had  been  abruptly  informed 
hy  some  of  the  servants,  that  his  daugh- 
ter had  been  discovered  without  any  signs 
of  life,  at  the  gates  of  the  castle.  O'Kelly 


GLENARVON.  826 

and  the  other  attendants   had    presssd 

forward  to  assist  him. 

Calantha  now  leaving  him  in  their 
hands,  walked  in  trembling  alarm, 
through  the  hall,  once  more  to  look  upon 

her  unhappy  friend.  There  leaning  against 
one  of  the   high   black   marble   pillars, 
pale,  as  the  lifeless  being  whom,  stretched 
before  him,  he  still,  continued  to  contem- 
plate, she  perceived  Glenarvon.  His  eyes 
were  fixed :   in  his  look  there   was   all 
the  bitterness  of  death  ;   his  cheek  was 
hollow :  and  in  that  noble  form,  the  wreck 
of  all  that  is  great  might  be  traced.  "  Look 
not  thus,"  she  said,     "  Oh  Glenarvon:  it 
pierces  my  heart  to  see  you  thus :  grief 
must  not  fall  on  one  like  you."     He  took 
her  hand,   and  pressed    it  to  his  heart ; 
but  he  could  not  speak.    He  only  pointed 
to  the  pale   and   famished  form   before 
him  ;   and  Calantha  perceiving  it,  knelt 
down  by  its  side   and  wept   in  agony  : 
"  There  was  a  time,"  he  said,  "  when  I 
could  have  feared  to  cast  this  sin  upon 


328  GLENARVON. 

my  soul,  or  rewarded  so  much  tender- 
ness and  affection,  as  I  have  done.  But 
I  have  grown  callous  to  all  :  and  now  my 
only,  my  dearest  friend,  I  will  tear  my- 
self away  from  you  for  ever.  I  will  not 
say  God  bless  you  : — I  must  not  bless 
thee,  who  have  brought  thee  to  so  much 
misery.  Weep  not  for  one  unworthy  of 
you  : — I  am  not  what  you  think,  my  Ca- 
lantha.  Unblessed  myself,  I  can  but  give 
misery  to  all  who  approach  me.  All  that 
follow  after  me  come  to  this  pass  ;  for 
my  love  is  death,  and  this  is  the  reward 
of  constancy.  Poor  Alice,  but  still  more 
unhappy  Calantha,  my  heart  bleeds  for 
you  :  for  myself,  I  am  indifferent. 

Gerald  now  returned,  supported  by 
O'Kelly.  The  other  servants,  by  his 
desire,  had  retired  ;  and  when  he  ap- 
proached the  spot  where  his  child  was 
laid,  he  requested  even  O'Kelly  to  leave 
him.  He  did  so  ;  and  Mac  Allain  ad- 
vanced towards  Lord  Glenarvon.  "  For- 
give a  poor  old  man,"  he  said  in  a  fal- 
tering voice  :    "I  spoke  too   severely. 


GLENARVOtf.  329 

my  lord  :  a  father's  curse  in  the  agony  of 
his  first  despair  shall  not  be  heard.  Oh 
lady  Calantha,"  said  the  old  man,  turning 
to  her,  "  lord  Glenarvon  has  been  very 
noble  and  good  to  me  ;  my  sons  had 
debts,  and  he  paid  all  they  owed  :  they 
had  transgressed  and  he  got  them  pardon- 
ed. You  know  not  what  I  owe  to  my  lord ; 
and  yet  when  he  told  me,  this  night,  as  I 
upbraided  the  wretch  that  had  undone 
my  child  and  was  the  cause  of  her  dishonor 
and  death,  that  it  was  himself  had  taken 
her  from  my  heart;  I  knelt  down  and 
cursed  him.  Oh  God,  Oh  God  !  pardon 
the  agony  of  a  wretched  father,  a  poor 
old  man  who  has  lived  too  long." 

Calantha  could  no  longer  master  her 
feelings  ;  her  sobs,  her  cries  were  bitter 
and  terrible.  They  wished  to  bear  her  for- 
cibly away.  O'Kelly  insisted  upon  the 
necessity  of  her  assuming  at  least  some 
self  command ;  and  whispering  to  her,  that, 
if  she  betrayed  any  violent  agitation,  the 
whole  affair  must   be  made   public :  he 


330  GLENARVON. 

promised  himself  to  bring  her  word  of 
every  minute  particular,  if  she  would  for  a 
few  hours  at  least  remain  tranquil.  "  I 
shall  see  you  again,"  she  said,  recovering 
herself  and  approaching  Lord  Glenarvon 
before  she  retired  :  "  You  are  not  going?" 
"  Going  !"  he  replied  :  "  undoubtedly  I 
shall  not  leave  the  castle  at  this  moment  ; 
it  would  look  like  fear  ;  but  after  this,  my 
dearest  friend,  I  do  not  deceive  myself, 
you  cannot,  you  ought  not  more  to  think 
of  me."  "  I  share  your  sorrows,"  she 
said  :  "  you  are  most  miserable  ;  think 
not  then,  that  1  can  be  otherwise."  "  And 
can  you  still  feel  any  interest  for  one  like 
me  ?  If  I  could  believe  this,  even  in  the 
bitterness  of  affliction,  I  should  still  feel 
comfort :  but,  you  will  learn  to  hate  me." 
"  Never.  Oh  would  that  I  could  ;  but  it  is 
too  late  now.  I  love  ^ou,  Glenarvon, 
more  than  ever  even  were  it  to  death  ; — 
Depend  on  me."  Glenarvoi*  pressed  her 
hand  in  silence ;  then  followingher,  "  tor 
your  dear  sake,  I  will  live,"  he  said.  "  Vou 


GLENARVON.  331 

are  my  only  hope,    now   you   will  not 
believe!     how  from  my  soul   I  honour 

you." 

Calantha  threw  herself  upon  her  bed  ; 
but  her  agitation  was  too  great  to  allow  of 
her  recurring  in  thought  to  the  past,  and 
fatigue  once  again  occasioned  her  taking 
a  few  moment's  resl. 


332  CLENARVOtt, 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 


When  Lady  Avondale  awoke  from  her 
slumbers,  she  found  the  whole  castle  in  a 
state  of  confusion.  Lady  Margaret  had 
twice  sent  for  her.  Every  one  was  occupied 
with  this  extraordinary  event.  Her  name, 
and  Lord  Glenarvon's  were  mentioned 
together,  and  conjectures,  concerning  the 
whole  scene,  were  made  by  every  indi- 
vidual. 

At  Gerald  Mac  Allain's  earnest  entrea- 
ties, the  body  of  Alice  was  conveyed  to 
his  own  house,  near  the  Garden  Cottage. 
He  wished  no  one  to  be  informed  of  the 
particulars  of  her  melancholy  fate.  He 
came,  however,  a  few  days  after  her  remo- 
val, to  ask  for  Calantha.  She  was  ill ;  but 
admitted  him  immediately.  They  talked 
together  upon  all  that  had  occurred.  He 
gave  her  a  letter  and  a  broach,  which 


GLENARVON.  .       333 

had  be  en  found  upon  the  body.  The  letter 
was  addressed  to  Lord  Glenarvon.  There 
was  also  a  lock  of  hair,  which  seemed,  from 
the  fineness  of  its  texture,  to  belong-  to  a 
child.  The  letter  was  a  mournful  congra- 
tulation on  his  supposed  marriage  with  a 
lady  in  England,  written  at  some  former 
period:  it  wished  him  every  happiness,  and 
contained  no  one  reproach.  rJ  he  broach 
consisted  of  a  heart's  ease,  which  she  en- 
treated him  sometimes  to  wear  in  re- 
membrance of  one,  who  had  loved  h  m 
truly.  "  Heart's  ease  to  you — mats  triste 
pensee  pour  moi"  was  engraved  upon  it. 
"  You  must  yourself  deliver  these,"  said 
Mac  Allain  looking  wistfully  at  Calantha. 
She  promised  to  do  so. 

Mac  Allain  then  drew  forth  a  larger 
packet  which  was  addressed  to  himself. 
"  I  have  not  yet  read  it,"  he  said.  "  I 
am  not  able  to  see  for  my  tears  ;  but  it 
is  the  narration  of  my  child's  sorrows ;  and 
when  I  have  ended  it,  I  will  give  it  to 
you,   my  dear  Lady,  and  to  any   other 


334  GLENARVON 

whom  you  may  wish.  "Oh  Mac  Allain!" 
said  Lady  Avondale,  "  by  every  tie  of 
gratitude  and  affection  which  you  profess, 
and  have  shewn  our  family,  do  not  let 
any  one  read  this  but  myself: — do  not 
betray  Lord  Glenarvon.  He  feels  your 
sufferings:  he  more  than  shares  them. 
For  my  sake  I  ask  you  this.  Keep  this 
transaction  secret ;  and,  whatever  may  be 
suspected,  let  none  know  the  truth. — 
Say:  may  I  ask  it?" 

Calantha's  agitation  moved  him  great- 
ly. He  wept  in  bitter  anguish.  "  The 
destroyer  of  my  child,"  he  said,  "  will 
lead  my  benefactress  into  misery.  Ah! 
my  dear  young  Lady,  how  my  heart 
bleeds  for  you."  Impatiently,  she  tnrned 
away.  "  Will  your  hear  my  entreaties," 
she  said.  "  You  may  command ;  but 
the  news  of  my  child's  death  is  spread  : 
many  are  talking  of  it  already:  I  cannot 
keep  it  secret."  "  Only  let  not  Lord 
Glenarvon's  name  appear."  Mac  AUain 
promised  to  do  all  in  his  powe  to  silence 


GLENARVON.  335 

every  rumour;  and,  with  the  help  of 
O'Kelly,  he,  in  some  measure  succeeded. 
The  story  believed  was,  that  Mr.  Bucha- 
nan first  had  carried  Alice  with  him  to 
England,  where  she  had  fallen  into 
poverty  and  vice.  No  further  enquiry 
was  made;  but  Lord  Glenarvon  himself 
confided  to  many,  the  secret  which  Ca- 
lantha  was  so  eager  to  conceal. 

The  narrative  of  Alice's  sufferings 
may  be  omitted  by  those  who  wish  not 
to  peruse  it.  Lord  Glenarvon  desired  to 
read  it  when  Calantha  had  ended  it. 
He  also  took  the  broach,  and  pressing 
it  to  his  lips,  appeared  very  deeply  af- 
fected. After  this  for  a  short  time  he  ab- 
sented himself  from  the  castle.  The 
following  pages,  written  by  Alice,  were 
addressed  to  her  only  surviving  parent. 
No  comment  is  made  on  them  ;  no  a- 
pology  offered  for  their  insertion.  If 
passion  has  once  subdued  the  power 
of  reason,  the  misery  and  example  of 
others  never  avail,  nor  would  they  even 


336  GLENARVON. 

were  we  certain  of  a  similar  fate.  If 
every  calamity  we  may  perhaps  deserve, 
were  placed  in  view  before  us,  we 
should  not  pause — we  should  not  divert 
our  steps.  To  love,  in  defiance  of  virtue 
is  insanity,  not  guilt.  To  attempt  the 
safety  of  its  victims,  were  a  generous  but 
useless  effort  of  unavailing  interference. 
It  is  like  a  raging  fever,  or  the  tempest's 
fury — far  beyond  human  aid  to  allay  or 
restore.  (  a! an tha  read,  however,  the  his- 
tory of  her  friend,  and  wept  her  fate. 

ALICE'S    NARRATIVE. 

"  My  dear  and  honoured  father, 

"  To  you  I  venture  to  address  this  short 
history  of  my  unhappy  life,  and  if  suffer- 
ings and  pain  can  in  part  atone  for  my 
misconduct,  I  surely  shall  be  forgiven  by 
you ;  but  never,  while  existence,  however 
miserable,  is  prolonged,  never  shall  I 
forgive  myseif.  Perhaps  even  now,  the 
rumour  01  my  disgrace  has  reached  you, 


6LEXARVON.  337 

and  added  still  severer  pangs  to  those  you 
before  endured.     But  oh!    my  father,   I 
have  in  part,  expiated  my  offences.  Long 
and  severe  sorrows  have   followed  me, 
since  I   left  your  roof,  and  none  more 
heart  rending — oh !  none  to  compare  with 
the  agony  of  being  abandoned  by  him, 
for  whom  I  left  so  much.  You  remember, 
my   dear   father,   that,    during   the   last 
year,  which  I  passed  at  the  castle,   the 
attention  which  Mr.  Buchanan  had  paid 
me,  was   so   marked,  that  it  occasioned 
the  most  serious  apprehensions   in  Lady 
Margaret,  on  his  account.     Alas!  I  con- 
cealed  from  every   one,  the  true  cause 
of  my  encreasing  melancholy;    and  felt 
happy  that  the  suspicions  of  my  friends 
and  protectors  were  thus  unintentionally 
misled.     I  parted  with  Linden,  nor  told 
him  my  secret.     I  suffered  the  severest 
menaces  end  reproofs,  witheut  a  murmur ; 
for  I  knew  myself  guilty,  though  not  of 
the  crime  with  which  I  was  charged.    At 
Sir  Everard  St.  Clare's  I  found  means  to 
Vol.  II.  Q 


338  GLENARVOiV. 

make  my  escape,  or  rather,  the  mad  at- 
tachment of  one  far  above  me,  removed 
every  obstacle,  which  opposed  his  wishes 
and  my  own. 

"But  it  is  time  more  particularly  to  ac- 
quaint you,  my  dear  father,  by  what  acci- 
dent I  first  met  with  Lord  Glenarvon,  to 
whom  my  fate  was  linked — whose  attach- 
ment once  made  me  blessed — whose  incon- 
stancy has  deprived  me  of  every  earthly 
hope.  Do  you  remember  once,  when  I  ob- 
tained leave  to  pass  the  day  with  you,  that 
my  brother,  Garlace,  took  me  with  him  in 
his  boat,  down  the  river  Allan,  and  Roy 
and  yourself  were  talking  eagerly  of  the 
late  affray  which  had  taken  place  in  our 
village.  I  then  pointed  out  to  3011  the 
ruins  of  St.  Alvin  Priory,  and  asked 
you  the  history  of  its  unhappy  owners. 
That  evening,  when  yourself  and  Roy 
were  gone  on  shore,  my  brother  Gar- 
lace fixing  the  sail,  returned  with  me 
flown  the  current  with  the  wind  :  and  as 
we  passed  near  the  banks  from   behind 


GLEN  All  VON.  339 

the  rocks,  we  heard  soft  low  notes,  such 
as  they  say  spirits  sing  over  the  dead  ; 
and  as  we  turned  by  the  winding  shore, 
we  soon  perceived  a    youth    who  was 
throwing  pebbles  into  the  stream,  and 
ever  whilst  he  threw  them,    he  conti- 
nued singing  in  that  soft,  sweet  manner 
I  have  said.     He  spoke  with  us,  and  the 
melancholy  sound  of  his  voice,  attracted 
us  towards  him.   We  landed  close  by  the 
place  near  which  he  stood.     He  accom- 
panied us  to  the  front  of  the  castle  ;  but 
then  entreating  us  to  excuse  his  proceed- 
ing further,  he  retired  ;  nor  told  us  who 
he  was.     From  that  day,   I   met  him  in 
secret.     Oh  !  that  I  had  died  before  I  had 
met  with  one  so  young,  so  beautiful,  but 
yet  so  utterly  lost.     Nothing  could  save 
him :  my  feeble  help  could  not  reclaim 
him :    it  was   like  one   who   clasped   a 
drowning  man,  and  fell  with  him  in  the 
struggle :    he  had   cast  sin   and  misery 
upon  his  soul.     Never  will  I  soil  these 
pages  with  the  record  of  what  he  uttered; 
Q  2 


340  GLENARVON. 

his  secrets  shall  be  buried  as  in  a  sepul- 
chre ;  and  soon,  most  soon  shall  I  perish 
with  them 

Calantha  paused  in  the  narrative ;  she 
gasped  for  breath ;  and  wiping  away  the 
tears  which  struggled  in  her  eyes:  "  If 
he  treated  my  friend  wiih  unkindness," 
she  said,  "  dear  as  he  has  hitherto  been 
to  me,  I  will  never  behold  him  more." 
She  then  proceeded. 

"  All  enjoyment  of  life  has  ceased : — I 
am  sick  at  heart.  The  rest  of  my  story  is 
but  a  record  of  evil .  To  exhibit  the  strug- 
gles of  guilty  love,  is  but  adding  to  the 
crime  already  committed.  I  accuse  him 
of  no  arts  to  allure:  he  did  but  follow  the 
impulse  of  his  feelings:  he  sought  to  save 
— he  would  have  spared  me  :  but  he  had 
not  strength.  O  my  father,  you  know 
Lord  Glenarvon — you  have  felt  for  him, 
all  that  the  most  grateful  enthusiasm  could 
feel ;  and  for  the  sake  of  the  son  whom 
he  restored  to  you,  }ou  must  forgive  him 
the   ruin   of  an   ungrateful  child,   who 


GLLNARVON.  341 

rushed  forward  herself  to  meet  it.  Unused 
to  disguise  my  sentiments,  I  did  not  at- 
tempt even  to  conceal  them  from  him ; 
and  when  he  told  me  I  was  dear,  I  too 
soon  shewed  him,  how  much  more  so  he 
was  to  me.  For  when  the  moment  of 
parting  for  ever  came,  when  I  saw  my 
Lord,  as  I  thought,  for  the  last  time,  you 
must  not  judge  me — you  cannot  even  in 
fancy  imagine,  all  I  at  that  hour  endured — 
I  left  my  country,  my  home — I  gave  up 
every  hope  on  earth  or  heaven  for  him. 
Heaven  in  mercy  pardon  me,  for  I  have 
suffered  cruelly ;  and  you,  my  father, 
when  you  read  these  pages,  bless  me, 
forgive  me.  Turn  not  from  me,  for  you 
know  not  the  struggles  of  my  heart — 
you  can  never  know  what  I  have  en- 
dured." 

Calantha  breathed  with  greater  diffi- 
culty; and  paused  again.  She  paced  to 
and  fro  within  her  chamber,  in  strong 
agitation  of  mind.  She  then  eagerly  re- 
turned to  peruse  the  few  remaining  pages, 


-342  GLENARVON. 

written  by  her  miserable,  her  infatuated 
friend.—"  She  was  not  guilty,"  she  cried. 
"  The  God  of  Heaven  will  not,  does  not 
condemn  her.  Oh  she  was  spotless  as 
innocence  compared  with  me." 

"  There  were  many  amongst  Lord  Gle- 
narvon's  servants  who  were  acquainted 
with  my  secret.  Through  every  trouble 
and  some  danger  I  followed  him;  nor 
boast  much  of  having  felt  no  woman's 
fear;  for  who  that  loves  can  fear.  I  will 
not  dwell  upon  these  moments  of  my 
life:  they  were  the  only  hours  of  joy, 
which  brightened  over  a  career  of  mise- 
ry and  gloom.  Whilst  loved  by  the  object 
of  one's  entire  devotion — whilst  sur- 
rounded by  gaiety  and  amusement,  the 
voice  of  conscience  is  seldom  heard; 
and,  I  will  confess  it,  at  this  time  I  fancied 
myself  happy.  I  was  Glenarvon's  mis- 
tress; and  I  knew  not  another  wish  upon 
earth.  In  the  course  of  the  three  years, 
passed  with  him  in  England  and  in  Italy, 
I  became  mother  of  a  child,  and  Clare, 


GLENARVON.  343 

my  little  son,  was  dear  to  his  father.    But 
after  his  birth,  he  forsook  me." 

We  were  in  England  at  the  time,  at 
the  house  of  one  of  his  friends,  when 
he  first  intimated  to  me  the  necessity  of 
his  leaving  me.  He  had  resolved,  he 
said,  to  return  to  Florence,  and  I  was  in 
too  weak  a  state  of  health  to  permit  of 
my  accompanying  him.  I  entreated,  I  im- 
plored for  permission  to  make  the  attempt. 
He  paused  for  some  time,  and  then,  as  if 
unable  to  refuse  me,  he  consented — reluc- 
tantly, I  will  own  it;  but  still  he  said 
that  I  should  go.  He  never  appeared 
more  fond,  more  kind  than  the  evening 
before  his  departure.  That  evening,  I 
supped  with  him  and  his  friends.  He 
seemed  tired ;  and  asked  me  more  than 
once  if  I  would  not  go  to  rest.  His  ser- 
vant, a  countryman  of  ours,  by  name 
O'Kelly,  brought  me  a  glass  with  some- 
thing in  it,  which  he  bade  me  drink ;  but  I 
would  not.  Lord  Glenarvon  came  to  me^ 
and  bade  me  take  it.  "  If  it  were  poison," 
Q  4 


#44  GLENARVON. 

I  said  fondly,  "  I  would  take  it  from 
your  hands,  so  that  I  might  but  die  upon 
your  bosom."  "  It  is  not  poison,"  he  said, 
"  Alice,  but  what  many  a  fine  lady  in 
London  cannot  rest  without.  You  will 
need  repose  ;  you  are  going  a  long  jour- 
ney, to-morrow  ;  drink  it  love  ;  and 
may  est  thou  sleep  in  peace."  I  took  the 
draught  and  slumbered  even  whilst  re- 
posing in  his  arms 

Oh  my  father,  he  left  me.  —  I  awoke 
to  hear  that  he  was  gone — to  feel  a  misery 
J  never  can  describe.  From  that  day,  I 
fell  into  a  dangerous  illness.  I  knew  not 
what  I  said  or  did.  I  heard  on  recovering, 
that  my  lord  had  taken  another  mistress, 
and  was  about  to  marry  ;  that  he  had 
provided  for  me  with  money  ;  that  he  had 
left  me  my  child.  I  resolved  to  follow  ; 
— I  recovered  in  that  hope  alone.  1  went 
over  to  Ireland  : — the  gates  of  the  abbey 
were  shut  against  me.  Mr.  Hard  Head,  a 
friend  of  my  lord's  whom  I  once  named 
to  you',  met  me  as  I  stood  au  helpless 


GLENARVON.  345 

outcast,  in  my  own  country  ;  he  spoke  to 
me  with  kindness.  I  thought  he  had 
been  my  friend  but  it  proved  otherwise. 
I  madly  sought  to  enter  the  gates  which 
were  closed  against  me. — O'Kelly  passed 
me : — I  knelt  to  him.  Was  he  man — 
had  he  human  feelings  ?  In  mercy, 
oh  in  mercy  hear  me,  let  me  behold 
him  again.  I  wrote,  I  know  not  what  I 
wrote.  My  letters,  my  threats,  my  sup- 
plications were  answered  with  insult — 

every  thing  was  refused  me 

"  It  was  at  night,  in  the  dark  night,  my 
father,  that  they  took  my  boy — my  Clare, 

and  tore  him  from  my  bosom 

Yes,  my  sleeping  boy  was  torn  by  ruffian 
hands  from  my  bosom.  Oh  !  take  my 
life,  but  not  my  child.  Villains  !  by 
what  authority  do  you  rob  me  of  my 
treasure  ?  Say,  in  whose  name  you  do 
this  cruel  deed  ?  "  It  is  by  order  of  our 
master,  Lord  Glenarvon."  I  heard  no 
more ;  yet  in  the  convulsive  grasp  of 
Q5 


.346  GLENARVON, 

agony,  I  clasped  him  to  my  breast. 
"  Now  tear  him  from  his  mother,"  I 
cried,  "if  you  have  the  heart;"  and  my 
strength  was  such  that  they  seemed  asto- 
nished at  my  power  of  resistance.  They 
knew  not  the  force  of  terror,  when  the 
heart's  pulse  beats  in  every  throb,  for 
more  than  life.  The  boy  clung  to  me 
for  support.  "  Save,  save  me,"  he  cried. 
I  knelt  before  the  barbarians — my  shrieks 
were  vain — they  tore  him  from  me. — I 
felt  the  last  pressure  of  his  little  arms — 
my  Clare — my  child — my  boy. — Never, 
oh  never,  shall  I  see  him  again.  Oh 
wretched  mother!  my  boy,  my  hope  is 
gone. — How  often  have  I  watched  those 
bright  beaming  eyes,  when  care  and 
despondency  had  sunk  me  into  misery ! — 
how  oft  that  radiant  smile  has  cheered 
when  thy  father  cruelly  had  torn  my 
heart!  now  never,  never,  shall  I  behold 
him  more 

Linden  had  heard  of  my  disgrace  and 


GLENARVON.  347 

misery;  he  had  written  to  me,  but  he 

knew  not  where  I  was.  ^ 

I  will  sail  to-morrow,  if  I  but  reach 
Cork. — I  have  proved  the  ruin  of  a  whole 
family. — I  hear  Linden  has  enlisted  with 
the  rioters.  A  friend  of  his  met  me  and 
spoke  to  me  of  him,  and  of  you  my 
father.  He  promised  to  keep  my  secret: 
yet  if  he  betrays  me,  I  shall  be  far  away 
before  you  hear  of  my  fate. — I  grieve  for 
the  troubles  of  my  country. — All  the  mal- 
contents flock  together  from  every  side  to 
Belfont.  Lord  Glenarvon  hears  their 
grievances: — his  house  is  the  asylum  of 
the  unfortunate: — I  alone  am  excluded 
from  its  walls. — Farewell  to  Ireland,  and 
to  my  dear  father. — I  saw  my  brother 
Garlace  pass ;  he  went  through  the  court 
to  St.  Alvin,  with  many  other  young  men. 
They  talked  loudly  and  gaily:  he  little 
thought  that  the  wretch  who  hid  her  face 
from  them  was  his  sister — his  own — his 
only  sister,  of  whom  he  was  once  so  fond. 
I  saw  Miss  St.  Clare  too ;  but  I  never  saw 
Glenarvon * 


348  Olenarvon. 

From  my  miserable  Lodging,  Cork, 
Thursday  Night. 

"  The  measure  of  my  calamity  is  at  its 
full.  The  last  pang  of  a  breaking  heart 
is  over. — We  sailed:  a  storm  has  driven 
us  back.  I  shall  leave  Ireland  no  more. 
The  object  of  my  voyage  is  over :    I  am 

returned  to  die what  more  is  left 

me I  cannot  write I   have 

lost  every  thing. " 

Sunday. 

"  I  have  been  very  ill. — When  I  sleep 
fires  consume  me  :  I  heard  sweet  music, 
such  as  angels  sing  over  the  dead  :  there 
was  one  voice  clear  and  soft  as  a  lute 
sounding  at  a  distance  on  the  water  :  it 
was  familiar  to  me  ;   but  he  fled  when  I 

followed 

Every  one  talks  of  Lord   Glenarvon. — 
Yes,  he  is  come  back — he  is  come  back 

to  his  own  country  covered  with  glory. 

A  bride  awaits  him,   I  am    told. — He  is 
happy ;  and  I  shall  not  grieve,   if  I  see 


GLENARVON.  349 

him — yes,  if  I  see  him  once  more  before  I 
die : — it  is  all  I  ask. .  .1  am  so  weak  I  can 
scarcely  write  ;  but  my  father,  my  dear 
father,  I  wish  to  tell  you  all. — I  will 
watch  for  him  among  the  crowd 


Tuesday  night,  Belfont. 

"  I  walked  to  Belfont ; — and  now  the 
bitterness  of  death  is  passed. — I  have  seen 
that  angel  face  once  again — I  have  heard 
that  sweetest  voice,   and  I  can  lie  down 
and  die  ;   for   I   am  happy  now.  —  He 
passed  me  ;   but  oh  !   bitter,  bitter  sight 
to  me,  he  turned  from  me,  and  looked 
upon  another.      They  tell  me  it  was  my 
preserver  and  benefactress :  they  say  it 
was  Lady  Avondale.     He  looked  proud 
of  her,  and  happy  in  himself. — I  am  glad 
he  looked  happy  ;  but  yet  I  thought  he 
turned  his  eyes  on  me,  and  gazed  upon 
me  once  so  sadly,  as  if  in  this  mournful 
countenance  and  altered  form,  he  traced 
the  features  of  her  whom  he  had  once 
loved  so  well. — But  no — it  could  not  be ; 


350  GLENARVON. 

— he  did  not  know  me ;  and  I  will  see 
him  again.  II  he  will  but  say,  "  Alice: 
God  bless  you,"  I  shall  die  satisfied. — 
And  if  my  child  still  lives,  and  comes 
again  to  you,  so  cold,  so  pale — take  him 
to  your  heart,  dear  father,  and  forgive  his 
mother — I  am  ill,  and  cannot  write. 
They  watch  me  ;  my  pencil  is  almost 
worn  out,  and  they  will  give  me  no  other. 
— I  have  one  favor  to  ask,  and  it  is  this  : 
— when  1  came  to  Dublin,  I  gave  all 
the  money  I  had  to  buy  this  broach — 
take  it  to  Lady  Avondale.  They  say 
she  is  very  good,  and  perhaps,  when  she 
hears  how  ill  1  am,  she  will  pardon  my 
faults,  and  give  it  for  me  to  Lord  Glenar- 
von. — I  shall  wait  for  him  every  day  in 
the   same  wood,   and  who  knows  but   I 

may  see  him  again 

And  Alice  did  see  him  again  ; —  and 
she  did  kneel  to  him ; — and  she  received 
from  his  hands  the  relief  he  thought  she 
craved ; — and  the  unexpected  kindness 
broke  her  heart. — She  died  ; and  she 


GLENAJRVON.  351 

was  buried  in  the  church  near  Belfont. 
There  was  a  white  stone  placed  upon  her 
grave,  and  her  old  father  went  daily  there 
and  wept ;  and  he  had  the  tree  that  now 
grows  there  planted  ;  and  it  was  railed 
around,  that  the  cattle  and  wild-goats, 
might  not  destroy  it." 

"Take  the  band  from  my  head,"  said 
Calantha.     "  Give    me  air.     This  kills 

me "  She   visited   the  grave    of 

Alice:  she  met  Mac  Allain  returning  from 
it,  they  uttered  not  one  word  as  they 
passed  each  other.  The  silence  was  more 
terrible  than  a  thousand  lamentations. . . . 
Lady  Margaret  sent  for  Calantha.  She 
looked  ill,  and  was  much  agitated.  "  It 
is  time,"  said  Lady  Margaret,  to  speak 
to  you.  "  The  folly  of  your  conduct," — 
"  Oh  it  is  past  folly,"  said  Calantha 
weeping.  Lady  Margaret  looked  upon 
her  with  contempt.  "  How  weak,  and 
how  absurd  is  this.  Whatever  your  er- 
rors, need  you  thus  confess  them  ?  and 


352  GLENARVON. 

whatever  your  feelings,  wherefore  betray 
them  to  the  senseless  crowd  ?" 

"  Calantha,"  said  Lady  Margaret  in  a 
hollow  tone,  "  I  can  feel  as  deeply  as 
yourself.  Nature  implanted  passions  in 
me,  which  are  not  common  to  all  ;  but 
mark  the  difference  between  us : — a  strong 
mind  dares  at  least  conceal  the  ravages 
the  tempest  of  its  fury  makes.  It  as- 
sumes that  character  to  the  vulgar  herd 
which  it  knows  is  alone  capable  of  im- 
posing restraint  upon  it.  Every  one  sus- 
pects me,  but  none  dare  reproach  me. 
You,  on  the  contrary,  are  the  butt  against 
which  every  censure  is  levelled  :  they 
know  that  your  easy  nature  can  pardon 
malignity  and  the  hand  that  insults  you 
to-day  will  crave  your  kindness  to-mor- 
row. When  you  are  offended,  with  pue- 
rile impotence  and  passionate  violence, 
you  exhibit  the  effects  of  your  momen- 
tary rage  ;  and  by  breaking  of  tables,  or 
by  idle  words,  shew  your  own  weakness. 
Thus    you    are    ever  subdued    by    the 


GLENARYON.  353 

very  exhibition  of  your  passions.  And 
now  that  you  love,  instead  of  rendering 
him  you  love  your  captive,  you  throw 
yourself  entirely  in  hispowei,  and  will 
deeply  rue  the  confidence  you  have 
shewn.  Has  he  not  already  betrayed  you. 
You  know  not  Glenarvon.  His  heart, 
black  as  it  is,  I  have  read  and  studied. 
Whatever  his  imagination  idolizes,  be- 
comes with  him  a  sole  and  entire  interest. 
At  this  moment  he  would  fly  with  you 
to  the  extremity  of  the  earth,  and  when 
he  awakes  from  his  dream,  he  will  laugh 
at  you,  and  at  himself  for  his  absurdity. 
Trust  not  that  malignant  and  venomed 
tongue.  The  adder  that  slumbers  in  the 
bosom  of  him  who  saved  it,  recovers,  and 
bites  to  the  heart  the  fool  that  trusted  it. 
Warned  on  all  sides,  beware  !  and  if  no- 
thing else  can  save  you,  learn  at  least 
who  this  Glenarvon  is,  what  he  has  done, 

He  is " 

"  Lord  Glenarvon,"  said  a  servant :  at 
that  very  instant  the  door  opened,  and  he 


354  GLENARVON. 

entered.  He  started  at  seeing  Calantha, 
who,  greatly  embarrassed,  durst  not  meet 
his  eyes.  It  seemed  to  her,  that  to  have 
heard  him  spoken  of  with  unkindness 
was  a  sort  of  treachery  to  an  attachment 
like  their's.  Lady  Margaret's  words  had 
wounded  and  grieved  her  ;  but  they  had 
not  shaken  her  trust ;  and  when  she 
looked  upon  him  and  saw  that  beautiful 
countenance,  every  doubt  left  her.  Before 
she  quitted  the  room,  she  observed  how- 
ever, with  surprise,  the  smile  of  enchant- 
ing sweetness,  the  air  of  kindness,  even 
of  interest,  with  which  Lady  Margaret 
received  him ;  and  one  jealous  fear  cross- 
ing her  fancy,  she  lingered  as  if  re- 
proachfully enquiring  what  meant  these 
frequent  visits  to  her  Aunt.  Glenarvon, 
in  a  moment,  read  the  doubt : — "Yes,"  he 
cried,  following  her,  "  you  are  right :  if 
ever  I  have  loved  another  with  idolatry 
it  was  thy  Aunt ;  but  be  assured  I  loved 
in  vain.  And  now  Calantha,  I  would 
agree,  whilst  existence  were  prolonged. 


GLENARVON, 


355 


to  see  her  no  more,  sooner  than  cause 
you  one  hour's  uneasiness.  Be  satisfied 
at  least,  that  she  abhors  me." 

"  None  of  this  whispering,"  said  Lady 
Margaret,  smiling  gently,  at  least  in  my 
presence.  "  I  never  loved  before  as  now" 
said  Glenarvon,  aloud.  "  Never,"  said 
Lady  Margaret,  with  an  incredulous  and 
scornful  smile.  "No,"  said  Glenarvon,  still 
gazing  on  Calantha  ;  "  all  is  candour,  in- 
nocence, frankness  in  that  heart ;  the  one 
I  idolized,  too  long,  was  like  my  own — ut- 
terly corrupted."  "You  wrong  the  lady," 
said  Lady  Margaret  carelessly.  "  She  had 
her  errors,  I  acknowledge  ;  but  the  cold- 
ness of  Glenarvon's  heart,  its  duplicity, 
its  malignity,  is  unrivalled."  Calantha, 
deeply  interested  and  agitated,  could  not 
quit  the  room.  Glenarvon  had  seized 
her  hand;  his  eyes,  fixed  upon  her, 
seemed  alone  intent  on  penetrating  her 
feelings:  she  burst  into  tears:  he  ap- 
proached her.  "  You  shall  not  tear  her 
from  me,"    he  said,  to  Lady  Margaret, 


356  GLENARVOX. 

4  She  goes  with  me  by  Heaven  ;  she  is 
bound  to  me  by  the  most  sacred  oaths  : 
we  are  married  ;  are  we  not  dearest  ?" 
4<  Have  you  confessed  to  her,"  said  La- 
dy Margaret  contemptuously  ?  "  Every 
thing." 

"  She  loves  you  no  doubt  the  better 
for  your  crimes."  "  She  loves  me,  I 
do  believe  it,  in  defiance  of  them," 
said  Glenarvon,  in  an  impassioned  tone, 
"  and  may  the  whole  world,  if  she 
wishes  it,  know  that  by  every  art,  by 
every  power  1  possess,  I  have  sought 
her  :  provided  they  also  know,"  he  con- 
tinued with  a  sneer,  "  that  I  have  won 
her.  She  may  despise  me  ; — you  may 
teach  her  to  hate  ;  but  of  this  be  assured 
— you  cannot  change  me.  Never,  never 
was  I  so  enslaved.  Calantha,  my  soul, 
look  on  me. — Glenarvon  kneels  to  you. 
I  would  even  appear  humble — weak  if  it 
but  gratify  your  vanity  ;  for  humility  to 
you  is  now  my  glory — my  pride." 

64  Calantha,"    said  Lady  Margaret,  in 
a  protecting  tone,  "  are  you  not  vain  :' 


GLENARVON.  357 

"  This  Glenarvon  has  been  the  lover  of 
many  hundreds  ;  to  be  thus  preferred  is 
flattering.  Shall  I  tell  you,  my  dear 
niece,  in  what  consists  your  superiority  ? 
You  are  not  as  fair  as  these  ;  you  are  not 
perhaps  as  pure  ;  but  you  are  loved 
more  because  your  ruin  will  make  the 
misery  of  a  whole  family,  and  your  dis- 
grace will  cast  a  shade  upon  the  only  man 
whom  Glenarvon  ever  acknowledged  as 
superior  to  himself —  superior  both  in 
mind  and  person.  This,  child,  is  your 
potent  charm — your  sole  claim  to  his  ad- 
miration. Shew  him  some  crime  of 
greater  magnitude,  point  out  to  him  an 
object  more  worth  the  trouble  and  pain 
of  renderinge  miserable,  and  he  will 
immediately  abandon  you." 

Glenarvon  cast  his  eyes  fiercely  upon 
Lady  Margaret.  The  disdain  of  that 
glance  silenced  her,  she  even  came  for- 
ward with  a  view  to  conciliate  :  and  af- 
fecting an  air  of  playful  humility — "  1 
spoke  but  from  mere  jealousy,"  she  said. 
4t  What  woman  of  my  age  could  bear  to 


358  GLENARV01Y. 

see  another  so  praised,  so  worshipped  in 
her  presence.  It  is  as  if  the  future  heir 
of  his  kingdom  were  extolled  in  presence 
of  the  reigning  sovereign.  Pardon  me, 
Glenarvon.  I  know,  I  see  you  love  her/' 
"  By  my  soul  I  do;"  and  look,  he  cried 
exultingly,  "  with  what  furious  rage  the 
little  tygress  gazes  on  you.  She  will 
harm  you.  I  fear,"  he  continued  laugh- 
ing, "  if  I  do  not  carry  her  from  your 
presence.  Come  then  Calantha :  we  shall 
meet  again/*  he  said,  turning  back  and 
pausing  as  they  quitted  Lady  Margaret's 
apartment.  The  tone  of  his  voice,  and 
his  look,  as  he  said  this  was  peculiar : 
nor  did  he  for  some  moments  regain  his 
composure. 

Lady  Margaret  spoke  a  few  words  to 
Calantha  that  evening.  "  I  am  in  the 
power  of  this  man,"  she  said,  u  and  you 
soon  will  be.  He  is  cold,  hard  and  cruel. 
Do  any  thing  :  but,  if  you  have  any  re- 
gard for  yourself,  go  not  with  him."  "  I 
know  his  history,  his  errors,"  said  Ca- 


GLENARVON.  359 

lantha  ;  w  but  he  feels  deeply."     "  You 
know  him,"  said  Lady  Margaret,  with  a 
look  of  scornful  superiority:  "  as  he  wish- 
es you    to  believe  him,    he    even  may 
exaggerate,werethat  possible,  his  crimes, 
the  more  to  interest  and  surprise.     You 
know  him,  Calantha,  as  one  infatuated 
and  madly  in  love  can  imagine  the  idol 
of  its  devotion.     But  there  will  come  a 
time  when  you  will  draw  his  character 
with  darker  shades,  and  taking  from  it 
all  the  romance  and  mystery  of  guilt,  see 
him,  as    I  do,  a    cold 'malignant  heart, 
which  the  light  of  genius,  self-love  and 
passion,  have  warmed  at  intervals;  but 
which,  in  all  the  detail  of  every-day  life, 
sinks  into  hypocrisy  and  baseness.  Crimes 
have  been  perpetrated  in  the  heat  of  pas- 
sion, even  by  noble  minds ;  but  Glenarvon 
is   little,   contemptible  and  mean,     lie 
unites  the  malice  and  petty  vices  of  a  wo- 
man, to  the  perfidy  and  villany  of  a  man. 
You  do  not  know  him  as  I  do." 

"  From  this  hour,"  said  Calantha,  in- 


360  GLENARVOX. 

dignation  burning  in  her  bosom,  "  we 
never  more,  Lady  Margaret,  will  inter- 
change one  word  with  each  other.  I  re- 
nounce you  entirely ;  and  think  yon  all 
that  you  have  dared  to  say  against  my 
loved,  my  adored  Glenarvon." 

Lady  Margaret  sought  Calantha  before 
she  retired  for  the  night,  and  laughed  at 
her  for  her  conduct.  "  Your  rage,  your 
absurdity  but  excite  my  contempt.  Ca- 
lantha, how  puerile  this  violence  appears 
to  me ;  above  all,  how  useless.  Now, 
from  the  earliest  day  of  my  remembrance, 
can  any  one  say  of  me  that  they  beheld 
me  forgetful  of  my  own  dignity,  from  the 
violence  of  my  passions.  Yet  I  feci, 
think  you  not, and  have  made  others  feel. 
Your  childish  petulance  but  operates 
against  yourself.  What  are  threats,  blows 
and  mighty  words  from  a  woman?  When 
I  am  offended,  I  smile;  and  when  I  stab 
deepest,  then  I  can  look  as  if  1  had  for- 
given. Your  friends  talk  of  you  with 
kindness  or  unkindness  as  it  suits  their 


GLENARVON.  361 

fancy  :    some  love  ;  some  pity,  but  none 
fear    Calantha.       Your     very    servant", 
though   you  boast  of  their   attachment, 
despise  and  laugh  at  you.  Your  husband 
caresses  you  as  a  mistress,  but  of   your 
conduct  he  takes  not  even  heed.     What  is 
the  affection  of  the  crowd?  what  the  love 
of  man?  make  yourself  feared!  Then,  if 
you  are  not  esteemed,  at  least  you  are  out- 
wardly honoured,  and  that  reserve,  that 
self-con troul,    which   you    never  sought 
even  to  obtain,  keeps  ordinary  minds  in 
alarm.     Many  hate  me  ;  but  who  dares 
even  name  me  without  respect.  Yourself, 
Calantha>  even  at  this  moment,  are  ready 
to  fall  upon  my  bosom  and  weep,  because 
I  have  offended  you.    Come  child — your 
hand.     I  fain  would  save  you,  bur  you 
must  hear   much  that  pains  you,  before  1 
can  hope  even  to  succeed.    Only  remem- 
ber: 'si  vous  vous  faites  brebis  le  lonp  vous 
manger  a9  "    She  smiled  as  she  said  this, 
and  Calantha,  half  offended,  gave  her  the 
hand  for  which  she  solicited. 
Vol.  II.  R 


362  GLENARVON 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 


Mrs.  Seymour  was  now  extremely  un- 
well, the  least  agitation  was  dreaded  for 
her.  Calantha  was  constantly  enquiring 
after  her  ;  but  could  not  bear  to  remain 
long  in  her  presence.  Yet  at  night  she 
watched  by  her,  when  she  did  not  know 
of  it ;  and  though  she  had  ceased  to 
pray  for  herself,  she  prayed  for  hn\ 
Could  it  be  supposed  that,  at  such  a  mo- 
ment, any  personal  feelings  would  engage 
Calantha  to  add  to  her  uneasiness.  Alas ! 
she  sought  in  the  last  resources  of  guilt 
to  alleviate  every  apprehension  she  might 
cherish  ;  she  feigned  a  calm  she  felt  not ; 
she  made  every  promise  she  meant  not 
to  fulfil;  she  even  spoke  of  Glenarvon 
with  some  severity  for  his  conduet  to 
Alice  ;  and  when  Mrs.  Seymour  rejoiced 
at  her  escape,  she  pressed  her  hand  and 


*LENARV0N.  363 

wept.  Lady  Margaret,  from  the  day  of 
their  quarrel,  cold  and  stern,  ever  arose 
to  leave  the  room  when  Calantha  entered 
it,  and  Mrs.  Seymour,  seeing  resentment 
kindling  in  her  niece's  eye,  in  the  gentlest 
manner,  urged  her  to  bear  with  her  aunt's 
humour. 

Lord  Glenarvon  had  not  written  to  Ca- 
lantha for  some  days,  he  had  left  the 
castle :  and  she  laboured  under  the  most 
painful  suspense.  The  narrative  of  Alice's 
sufferings  was  still  in  her  possession.  At 
length  he  sent  for  it.  "  My  Calantha,'' 
he  said,  in  a  letter  she  received  from  him, 
"  My  Calantha,  I  have  not  heard  from 
you,  and  my  misery  is  the  greater,  as  I 
fear  that  you  are  resolved  to  see  me  no 
more.  I  wish  for  the  narrative  in  your 
possession  ;  I  know  the  impression  it 
must  make ;  and  strange  as  it  may  ap- 
pear, I  almost  rejoice  at  it.  It  will  spare 
you  much  future  sorrow ;  and  it  can 
scarce  add  one  pang  to  what  I  already 
suffer.  Had  you  accompanied  me,  it 
r  2 


364  GLENARVON* 

was,  I  will  now  acknowledge,  my  firm 
resolve  to  have  devoted  every  moment  of 
my  life  to  your  happiness — to  have  seen, 
to  have  thought,  to  have  lived,  but  for 
you  alone.  I  had  then  dared  to  presume, 
that  the  excess  of  my  attachment  would 
remunerate  you,  for  all  the  sacrifices  you 
might  be  compelled  to  make ;  that  the 
fame  of  Glenarvon  would  hide,  from  Hie 
eyes  of  a  censorious  world,  the  stigma  of 
disgrace,  which  must,  I  fear,  involve  you  ; 
and  that,  at  all  events,  in  some  other 
country,  we  might  live  alone  for  each 
other. — The  dream  is  past ;  you  have 
undeceived  me  ;  your  friends  require  it : 
be  it,  as  you  and  as  they  desire.  I  am 
about  to  quit  Ireland.  If  you  would  see 
me  before  I  go,  it  must  be  on  the  instant. 
What  are  the  wrongs  of  my  country  to 
me?  Let  others,  who  have  wealth  and 
power,  defend  her : —  let  her  look  to 
English  policy  for  protection  ;  to  English 
justice  for  liberty  and  redress.  Without 
a  friend,  even  as  I  first  set  foot  upon  these 
shores,  I  now  abandon  them." 


GLEXARVON.  365 

"  Farewell,  Calantha.  Thou  art  the 
last  link  which  yet  hinds  me  to  life,  ft 
was  for  thy  sake — for  thine  alone,  that  I 
yet  forbore.  It  is  to  save  thee,  that  I 
now  rush  onward  to  meet  my  fate:  grieve 
not  for  me.  I  stood  a  solitary  being  till 
I  knew  you.  1  can  encounter  evils  when 
I  feel  that  I  alone  shall  suffer.  Let  me 
not  think  that  I  have  destroyed  you. 
But  for  me,  you  might  have  flourished 
happy  and  secure.  O  why  would  you 
tempt  the  fate  of  a  ruined  man  ? — I  en- 
treat you  to  send  the  papers  in  your  pos- 
session. I  am  prepared  for  the  worst. 
But  if  you  could  bring  yourself  to  be- 
lieve the  agony  of  my  mind  at  this  mo- 
ment, you  would  still  feel  for  me,  even 
though  in  all  else  chilled  and  changed. — 
Farewell,  dearest  of  all  earthly  beings — 
my  soul's  comforter  and  hope,  farewell." 
"  I  will  go  with  thee  Glenarvon,  even 
should  my  fate  exceed  Alice's  in  misery 
— I  never  will  forsake  thee." 

A   servant    entered   at   that    moment, 
r  3 


366  GLENARVON. 

and  told  her  that  Lord  Glenarvon  was 
below — waiting  for  the  answer.  "  Take 
these  papers/'  said  Calantha,  and  with 
them  she  enclosed  a  ring  which  had 
been  found  upon  Alice :  "  Give  them 
yourself  to  Lord  Glenarvon  :  I  cannot 
see  him. — You  may  betray  me,  if  it  is 
your  inclination  ;  I  am  in  your  power  ; 
but  to  save  is  not.  Therefore,  do  not 
attempt  it.  .  . ."  The  attendant  had  no 
difficult  task  in  executing  this  errand. 
She  met  Lord  Glenarvon  himself,  at  the 
door  of  the  library. 

Upon  alighting  from  his  horse,  he  had 
enquired  for  Lady  Margaret  Buchanan  ; 
before  she  was  prepared  to  receive  him, 
the  papers  were  delivered  into  his  hands; 
he  gave  them  to  O* Kelly  ;  and  after  pay- 
ing a  shorter  visit  to  Lady  Margaret  than 
at  first  he  had  intended,  he  returned  to 
the  inn  at  Belfont,  to  peruse  them.  First 
however  he  looked  upon  the  broach,  and 
taking  up  the  ring,  he  pressed  it  to  his 
lips  and  sighed,   for  he   remembered  it 


GLENARVON.  3@7 

and  her  to  whom  it  had  been  given. 
Upon  this  emerald  ring,  the  words  : 
"  Eterna  fede"  had  been  inscribed.  He 
had  placed  it  upon  his  little  favourite's 
hand,  in  token  of  his  fidelity,  when  first 
he  had  told  her  of  his  love  ;  time  had 
worn  off  and  defaced  the  first  impression ; 
and"  Eterno  dolor"  had  been  engraved 
by  her  in  its  place — thus  telling  in  few 
words  the  whole  history  of  love — "the  im- 
mensity of  its  promises — the  cruelty  of  its 
disappointment." 

Calantha  was  preparing  to  answer  Gle- 
narvon's  letter  :  her  whole  soul  was  ab- 
sorbed in  grief,  when  Sophia  entered  and 
informed  her  that  the  Admiral  was  ar- 
rived. It  was,  she  knew,  his  custom  to 
come  and  go  without  much  ceremony ; 
but  his  sudden  presence,  and  at  such  a 
moment,  overpowered  her.  Perhaps  too, 
her  husband  might  be  with  him  !  she 
fell :  Sophia  called  for  assistance«  "  Good 
Heavens!  what  is  the  matter  ?"  she  said, 
*6  You  have  just  kilt  my  lady,"  said  the 
r  5 


368  GLENARVON. 

nurse;  "  but  shell  be  better  presently ; 
let  her  take  her  way— let  her  take  her 
way/'  And  before  Calantha  could  com- 
pose herself,  Sir  Richard  was  in  her 
room.  She  soon  saw  by  his  hearty  open 
countenance,  that  he  was  perfectly  igno- 
rant of  all  that  had  occurred;  and  to 
keep  him  so,  was  now  her  earnest  endea- 
vour. But  she  was  unused  to  deceit :  all 
her  attempts  at  it  were  forced  :  it  was  not 
in  her  nature;  and  pride  alone,  not  bet- 
ter feeling  prevented  its  existence. 


GLENARVON.  369 


CHAPTER   XXXVII 


Sir  Richard  apologized  for  his  abrupt 
appearance :  and  told  Calantha  that  he 
had  been  with  Lord  Avondale  to  visit  his 
relations  at  Monteith,  where  he  had  left 
him  employed,  as  he  said,  from  morning 
till  night,  with  his  troops  in  quelling  dis- 
turbances and  administeringjustice,  which 
he  performed  but  ill,  having,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  too  kind  a  heart.  He  then  as- 
sured her  that  her  husband  had  promised 
to  meet  him  on  the  present  day  at  the  cas- 
tle, and  enquired  of  her  if  she  knew  where- 
fore his  return  had  been  delayed.  She 
in  reply  informed  him,  that  he  had  no 
intention  of  joining  them,  and  even  pro- 
duced his  last  cold  letter,  in  which  he 
told  her  that  she  might  visit  him  at  Alleu- 
water,  at  the  end  of  the  month,  with  the 
children,  if  all  continued  tranquil  in 
r  5 


370  GLENARVON. 

those  quarters.  She  spoke  this  in  an  em- 
barrassed manner;  her  colour  changed 
repeatedly  ;  and  her  whole  appearance 
was  so  dissimilar  from  that  to  which  the 
Admiral  had  been  accustomed,  that  he 
could  not  but  observe  it. 

Sir  Richard,  having-  with  seeming  care- 
lessness, repeated  the  words,  "  He'll  be 
here  this  week,  that's  certain/'  now  ad- 
dressed himself  to  the  children,  telling 
Harry  Moivbrey  the  same,  "And  per- 
haps he'll  bring  you  toys."  "He'll  bring 
himself,"  said  the  child,  "  and  that's 
better  "  "  Right,  my  gallant  boy,"  re- 
turned the  Admiral ;  "and  you  are  a  fine 
little  fellow  for  saying  so."  Thus  encou- 
raged, the  chdd  continued  to  prattle. 
"  I  want  no  toys  now,  uncle  Richard. 
Si  e  1  have  a  sword,  and  a  seal  too.  Will 
you  look  at  the  impression: — the  harp 
means  Ire'and:  'Independence'  is  the 
motto ;  we  have  no  crown ;  we  want  no 
kings."  "  Asid  who  gave  you  this  seal?" 
said  Sir  iiidiard,  fiercely.     "  Clarence 


GLENARVON.  371 

Glenarvon,"  replied  the  boy,  with  a  smile 

of  proud  exultation.      "  D n  your 

sword  and  your  seal,"  said  the  Admiral. 
"  I  like  no  rebel  chiefs,  not  I;"  and  he 
turned  away.  "  Are  you  angry  with 
me,  uncle  Richard  ?"  "  No,  I  am  sick, 
child — I  have  the  head  ache."  The  Ad- 
miral had  observed  Caiantha's  agitation, 
and  noted  the  boy's  answers;  for  he  left 
the  room  abruptly,  and  was  cold  and 
cross  the  rest  of  the  day. 

Colonel  Donallan  having  invited  the 
whole  family  and  party,  to  his  seat  at 
Cork,  Lady  Trelawney  and  the  rest  of 
the  guests  now  left  the  castle.  It  was 
possibly  owing*  to  this  circumstance  that 
the  Admiral,  who  was  not  a  remarkably 
keen  observer,  had  opportunity  and  lei- 
sure to  watch  Calantha's  conduct.  In 
a  moment  she  perceived  the  suspicion 
that  occurred;  but  as  he  was  neither 
'very  refined,  nor  very  sentimental,  iv 
occurred  without  one  doubt  of  her  ac- 
tual guilt,  or  one  desire  to  save  her  from 


372  GLENARVOtf. 

its  consequences: — it  occurred  with  hor- 
ror, abhorrence  and  contempt.  Unable 
to  conceal  the  least  thing  or  to  moderate 
his  indignation,  he  resolved,  without  de- 
lay, to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  taxing 
her  with  her  ill  conduct.  In  the  mean  time 
she  felt  hardened  and  indfferent ;  and, 
instead  of  attempting-  to  conciliate,  by 
haughty  looks  and  a  spirit  of  defiance, 
she  rendered  herself  hateful  to  every 
observer.  That  compassion,  which  is 
sometimes  felt  and  cherished  for  a  young 
offender,  could  not  be  felt  for  her ;  nor 
did  she  wish  to  inspire  it.  Desperate  and 
insensible,  she  gloried  in  the  cause  of 
her  degradation ;  and  the  dread  of  causing 
her  aunt's  death,  and  casting  disgrace 
upon  her  husband's  name,  alone  retained 
her  one  hour  from  Glenarvon. 

On  the  very  day  of  the  Admiral's  ar- 
rival, he  heard  enough  concerningCalan- 
tha  to  excite  his  most  vehement  indigna- 
tion ;  and  at  the  hour  of  dinner,  therefore, 
as  he  passed  her  he  called  her  by  a  name 


GLENARVON.  373 

too  horrible  to  repeat.  Stung  to  the 
soul,  she  refused  to  enter  the  dining- 
room  ;  and,  hastening  with  fury  to  her 
own  apartment,  gave  vent  to  the  storm  of 
passion  by  which  she  was  wholly  over- 
powered. There,  unhappily,  she  found 
a  letter  from  her  lover — all  kindness,  all 
warmth.  "  One  still  there  is,"  she  said, 
"  who  loves,  who  feels  for  the  guilty, 
the  fallen  Calantha."  Every  word  she 
read,  and  compared  with  the  cold  neg- 
lect of  others,  or  their  severity  and  con- 
tempt. There  was  none  to  fold  her  to 
their  bosom,  and  draw  her  back  from 
certain  perdition.  She  even  began  to 
think  with  Glenarvon,  that  they  wished 
her  gone.  Some  feelings  of  false  honor, 
too,  inclined  her  to  imagine  that  she 
ought  to  leave  a  situation,  for  which  she 
now  must  consider  herself  wholly  unfit. 

But  there  was  one  voice  which  still  re- 
called her  : — it  was  her  child's.  "  My  boy 
will  awake,  and  find  me  gone — he  shall 
never  have  to  reproach  his  mother/'  And 


S74  GLENARVON. 

she  stood  uncertain  how  to  act.  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour, to  her  extreme  astonishment,  was 
the  only  person  who  interrupted  these  re- 
flections. She  was  the  last  she  had  expected 
to  do  so.  She  had  read  in  the  well-known 
lineaments  of  Calantha's  face  : — that  face 
which,  as  a  book,  she  had  perused  from 
infancy,  some  desperate  project : — the  ir- 
ritation, the  passionate  exhibition  of  grief 
was  past — she  was  calm.  Sophia,  at  Mrs. 
Seymour's  request,  had  therefore  written 
to  Calantha.  She  now  gave  her  the  letter. 
But  it  was  received  with  sullen  pride  : — 
"  Read  this,  Lady  Avondale,"  she  said, 
and  left  Ihe  room.  Calantha  never  looked 
at  her,  or  she  might  have  seen  that  she 
was  agitated  ;  but  the  words — "  Read 
this,  Lady  Avondale,"  repressed  all  emo- 
tion in  her.  It  was  long  before  she  could 
bring  herself  to  open  Sophia's  letter.  A 
servant  entered  with  dinner  for  her. 
"  The  Admiral  begs  you  will  drink  a 
glass  of  wine,"  he  said.  She  made  no 
answer  ;  but  desired  her  maid  to  take  it 


GLENARTOX.  375 

away,  and  leave  her.  She  did  not  even 
perceive  that  Mac  Allain,  who  was  the 
bearer  of  this  message,  was  in  tears. 

Sophia's  letter  was  full  of  common- 
place truisms,  and  sounding  periods — 
a  sort  of  treatise  upon  vice,  beginning 
with  a  retrospect  of  Calantha's  past  life, 
and  ending  with  a  cold  jargon  of  worldly 
considerations.  A  few  words,  written  in 
another  hand,  at  the  conclusion,  affected 
her  more :— they  were  from  her  aunt,  Mrs. 
Seymour.  "  You  talk  of  leaving  us,  of 
braving  misfortunes,  Lady  Avondaie," 
she  said  :  "  you  do  not  contemplate,  you 
cannot  conceive,  the  evils  you  thus  deride. 
I  know  ;  yes,  well  1  know,  you  will  not 
be  able  to  bear  up  under  them.  Ah  !  be- 
lieve me,  Calantha,  guilt  will  make  the 
proudest  spirit  sink,  and  your  courage 
will  fail  you  at  the  moment  of  trial.  Why 
then  seek  it  ? — My  child,  time  flies  ra- 
pidly, and  it  may  no  longer  be  permitted 
you  to  return  and  repent.  You  now  fly 
from  reflection  ;  but  it  will  overtake  yoa 


376  GLENARVON. 

when  too  late  to  recall  the  emotions  of 
virtue.  Ah !  remember  the  days  of  your 
childhood  ;  recollect  the  high  ideas  you 
had  conceived  of  honor  and  purity 
i — what  disdain  you  felt  for  those  who 
willingly  deviated  from  the  line  of  duty  : 
— how  true,  how  noble,  how  just  were 
all  your  feelings.  You  have  forsaken  all ; 
and  you  began  by  forsaking  him  who 
created  and  protected  you  !  What  won- 
der, then,  that  having  left  your  religion 
and  your  God,  you  have  abandoned  every 
other  tie  that  held  you  back  from  evil  ! 
Say,  where  do  you  mean  to  check  your 
course?  Are  you  already  guilty  in  more 
than  thought  ? — No,  no  ;  I  will  never 
believe  it ;  but  yet,  even  if  this  were  so, 
pause  before  you  cast  public  dishonor 
upon  your  husband  and  innocent  chil- 
dren. Oh  1  repent,  repent,  it  is  not  yet 
too  late." 

"  It  is  too  late,"  said  Calantha,  spring- 
ing up,  and  tearing  the  letter:  "  it  is  too 
late  ;"    and  nearly   suffocated  with   the 


GLENARVON,  377 

agony  of  her  passionate  grief.  She  gasped 
for  breath.  "  Oh  !  that  it  were  not.  I 
cannot — I  dare  not  stay  to  meet  the  eyes 
of  an  injured  husband,  to  see  him  un- 
suspicious, and  know  that  I  have  betrayed 
him.  This  is  too  hard  to  bear  : — a  death 
of  torture  is  preferable  to  a  continuance 
of  this  ;  and  then  to  part,  my  aunt  knows 
not,  nor  cannot  even  conceive,  the  tor- 
ture of  that  word.  She  never  felt  what 
I  do — she  knows  not  what  it  is  to  love, 
and  leave  ....  These  words  comprise 
every  thing,  the  extremes  of  ecstacy  and 
agony.  Oh  !  who  can  endure  it.  They 
may  tear  my  heart  to  pieces  ;  but  never 
hope  that  I  will  consent  to  leave  Glenar- 
von." 

The  conciousness  of  these  feelings,  the 
agitation  of  her  mind,  and  the  dread  of 
Lord  Avondale's  return,  made  her  meet 
Sophia,  who  now  entered  her  apartment 
with  some  coldness.  The  scene  that  fol- 
lowed need  not  be  repeated.  All  that  a 
cold  and  common-place  friend  can  urge, 


378  GLEN/UIVON. 

to  upbraid,  vilify  and  humiliate,  was  ut- 
tered by  Miss  Seymour  ;  and  all  in  vain. 
She  left  her  therefore,  with  much  indig- 
nation ;  and,  seeing  that  her  mother  was 
preparing  to  enter  the  apartment  she  had 
quitted:  "  O!  go  not  to  her/'  she  said  ; 
"  you  will  find  only  a  hardened  sinner  ; 
you  had  best  leave  her  to  herself.  My 
friendship  and  patience  are  tired  out  at 
last  ;  I  have  forborne  much  ;  but  1  can 
endure  no  more.  Oh  !  she  is  quite 
lost."  "  She  is  not  lost,  she  is  not  har- 
dened, "  said  Mrs.  Seymour,  much  agi- 
tated. •'  She  is  my  own  sister's  child ; 
she  will  yet  hear  me." 

"  Calantha,"  said  Mrs.  Seymour,  ad- 
vancing, "  my  child;"  and  she  claspsed 
her  to  her  bosom.  She  would  have 
turned  from  her,  but  she  could  not.  u  I 
am  not  come  to  speak  to  you  on  any  un- 
pleasant subject,"  she  said.  "  I  cannot 
speak  myself,  answered  Calantha,  hiding 
her  face,  not  to  behold  her  aiu.t :  "  all  I 
ask  of  you  is  not  to  hate  me  ;  and  God 


GLENARVON,  379 

reward  you  for  your  kindness  to  me :  I 
can  say  no  more  ;  but  I  feel  much." 
"  You  will  not  leave  us,  dear  child  ?" 
M  Never,  never,  unless  I  am  driven  front 
you — unless  I  am  thought  unworthy  of 
remaining  here."  "  You  will  be  kind 
to  your  husband,  when  he  returns — you 
will  not  grieve  him."  "  Oh !  no,  no  : 
I  alone  will  suffer;  I  will  never  inflict  it 
upon  him  ;  but  I  cannot  see  him  again  ; 
he  must  not  return  ;  you  must  keep  him 
from  me.  I  never. ..."  "  Pause,  my 
Calantha:  make  no  rash  resolves.  I  came 
here  not  to  agitate,  or  to  reproach.  I  ask 
but  one  promise,  no  other  will  I  ever 
exact : — you  will  not  leave  us."  This 
change  of  manner  in  her  aunt  produced 
the  deepest  impression  upon  Lady  Avon- 
dale.  She  looked,  too,  so  like  her  mother, 
at  the  moment,  that  Calantha  thought  it 
had  been  her.  She  gave  her  her  hand:  she 
could  not  speak.  "  And  did  they  tell  me 
she  was  hardened  r"    said  Mrs.  Seymour, 


380  GLENARVO^V. 

"  I  knew  it  could  not  be  :  my  child,  my 
own  Calantha,  will  never  act  with  cruelty 
towards  those  who  love  her.  Say  only 
the  single  words,  "  I  will  not  leave  you," 
and  I  will  trust  you  without  one  fear." 
"  I  will  not  leave  you!"  said  Calantha, 
weeping  bitterly,  and  throwing  herself 
upon  her  aunt's  bosom.  "  If  it  break 
my  heart,  I  will  never  leave  you,  unless 
driven  from  these  doors  !"  Little  more 
was  said  by  either  of  them.  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour was  deeply  affected,  and  so  was 
Calantha. 

After  she  had  quitted  her,  not  an  hour 
had  elapsed,  when  Sir  Richard,  without 
preparation,  entered.  His  presence  stifled 
every  good  emotion — froze  up  every  tear. 
Calantha  stood  before  him  with  a  look  of 
contempt  and  defiance,  he  could  not  bear. 
Happily  for  her,  he  was  called  away,  and 
she  retired  early  to  bed.  "  That  wife  of 
Avondale's  has  the  greatest  share  of  impu- 
dence," said  the  Admiral,  addressing  the 


GLENARVON.  381 

company,  at  large,  when  he  returned  from 
her  room,  "  that  ever  it  was  my  fortune 
to  meet.  One  would  think,  to  see  her, 
that  she  was  the  person  injured ;  and  that 
we  were  all  the  aggressors.  Why,  she 
has  the  spirit  of  the  very  devil  in  her  ! 
but  I  will  break  it,  I  warrant  you." 


382  GLENARVON. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


The  next  morning,  regardless  of  the 
presence  of  the  nurses  and  the  children, 
who  were  in  Lady  Avondale's  apartment : 
regardless,  indeed,  of  any  consideration, 
but  that  which  rage  and  indignation  had 
justly  excited,  the  Admiral  again  entered 
Calantha's  room,  and  in  a  high  exulting 
tone,  informed  her  that  he  had  written  to 
hasten  her  husband's  return.  "  As  to 
Avondale  d'ye  see,"  he  continued,  "  he 

is  a  d d  fine  fellow,  with  none  of  your 

German  sentiments,  not  he:  and  he  will 
no  more  put  up  with  these  goings  on, 
than  I  shall;  nor  shall  you  pallaver  him 
over:  for  depend  upon  it,  I  will  open  his 
eyes,  unless  from  this  very  moment  you 
change  your  conduct.  Yes,  my  Lady 
Calantha,  you  look  a  little  surprised,  I 
see,  at  hearing  good  English  spoken  to 


GLENARVON.  383 

you ;  but  I  am  not  one  who  can  talk  all 
that  jargon  of  sensibility,  they  prate 
round  me  here.  You  have  the  road  open ; 
you  are  young,  and  may  mend  yet ;  and 
if  you  do,  I  will  think  no  more  of  the 
past.  And  as  to  you,  Mrs.  Nurse,  see 
that  these  green  ribbands  be  doffed.  I 
prohibit  Lord  Mowbrey  and  Lady  Anna- 
bel from  wearing  them.  I  hate  these  re- 
bellious party  colours.  1  am  for  the 
King,  and  old  England ;  and  a  plague  on 
the  Irish  marauders,  and  my  Lord  Gle- 
narvon  at  the  head  of  them — who  will 
not  take  ye,  let  me  tell  you,  lady  fair,  for 
all  your  advances.  I  heard  him  say  so 
myself,  aye,  and  laugh  too,  when  the 
Duke  told  him  to  be  off,  which  he  did, 
though  it  was  in  a  round  about  way  ;  for 
they  like  here,  to  press  much  talk  into 
what  might  be  said  in  a  score  of  words. 
So  you  need  not  look  so  mighty  proud  ; 
for  I  shall  not  let  you  stir  from  these 
apartments,  do  you  see,  till  my  nephew 
comes;  and  then,  God  mend  you,  or  take 


384  GLENARVOX. 

you,  for  we  will  not  bear  with  these  pro- 
ceedings, not  we  of  the  navy,  whatever 
your  land  folks  may  do." 

"  Sir  Richard,"  said  Calantha,  "  you 
may  spare  yourself  and  me  this  un kind- 
ness,— I  leave  this  house  immediately. 
I  leave  your  family  from  this  hour  ;  and 
I  will  die  in  the  very  streets  sooner  than 
remain  here.  Take  this,"  she  said,  throw- 
ing the  marriage  ring  from  her  hand  ; 
"  and  tell  your  nephew  I  never  will  see 
him  more:  tell  him,  if  it  is  your  pleasure, 
that  I  love  another,  and  had  rather  be  a 
slave  in  his  service,  than  Lord  Avondale's 
wife.  1  ever  hated  that  name,  and  now 
I  consider  it  with  abhorrence."  "  Your 
Ladjship's  words  are  big  and  mighty," 
cried  Sir  Richard  ;  "  but  while  this 
goodly  arm  has  a  sinew,  and  this  most 
excellent  door  has  a  key,  )ou  shall  not 
stir  from  hence."  As  he  yet  spoke,  he 
advanced  to  the  door  ;  but  she,  darting 
before  him,  with  a  celerity  he  had  not 
expected,   left   him,    exclaiming  as  she 


GLENARVON.  385 

went,  "  you  have  driven  me  to  this  :  tell 
them  you  have  done  it" 

In  vain  the  Admiral  urged  every 
one  he  met  to  pursue  Calantha.  The 
moment  had  been  seized,  and  no  power 
can  withstand,  no  after  attempt  can  re- 
gain the  one  favorable  moment  that  is 
thus  snatched  from  fate.  The  castle  pre- 
sented a  scene  of  the  utmost  confusion 
and  distress.  Miss  Seymour  was  indig- 
nant ;  the  servants  were  in  commotion  ; 
the  greatest  publicity  was  given  to  the 
event  from  the  ill  judged  indiscretion  of 
the  Admiral.  Mrs.  Seymour  alone  was 
kept  in  ignorance ;  the  Duke  coldly,  in 
reply  to  the  enquiry  of  what  was  to  be 
done,  affirmed  that  no  step  should  be 
taken,  unless,  of  herself,  the  unhappy  Ca- 
lantha returned  to  seek  the  pardon  and 
protection  of  those  friends  whom  she  had 
so  rashly  abandoned,  and  so  cruelly  mis- 
used.    Yet,   notwithstanding  the  prohi- 

vol.ii.  s 


386  GLENARVON. 

bition,  every  place  was  searched,  every 
measure  to  save  was  thought  of,  and  all 
without  success. 

Sir  Richard  then  sat  down  with  Anna- 
bel in  his  arms,  and  the  little  boy  by  his 
side,  crying  more  piteously  than  the  nurse 
who  stood  opposite  encreasing  the  general 
disturbance,  by  her  loud  and  ill-timed 
lamentations.  "  If  my  Lord  had  not 
been  the  best  of  husbands,  there  would 
have  been  some  excuse  for  my  Lady/' 
"  None,  nurse — none  whatever,"  sobbed 
forth  Sir  Richard,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
audible,  between  passion  and  vexation. 
"  She  was  a  good  mother,  poor  Lady  : 
that  I  will  say  for  her."     "  She  was  a 

d d  wife  though,"  cried  Sir  Richard; 

"  and  that  I  must  say  for  her."  After 
which,  the  children  joining,  the  cries  and 
sobs  were  renewed  by  the  nurse,  and  Sir 
Richard,  with  more  violence  than  at  first. 
"  I  never  thought  it  would  have  come  to 
this,"    said  the  nurse,  first  recovering. 


GLENARVON.  387 

'  Lord,  ma'am,  I  knew  it  would  end  ill, 

when  I  saw  those  d d  green  ribbands. 

Who  would  have  thought  such  a  pretty 
looking  gentleman  would  have  turned 
out  such  a  villain  !"  "  He  is  no  gentle- 
man at  all,"  said  Sir  Richard  angrily. 
"  He  is  a  rebel,  an  outcast.  Shame  upon 
him."  And  then  again  the  nurse's  cries 
checked  his  anger,  and  he  wept  more 
audibly  than  before. 

"  Would  you  believe  it,  after  all  your 
kindness,"  said  Sophia,  entering  her 
mother's  room,  "  Calantha  is  gone."  At 
the  words,  "  she  is  gone,"  Mrs.  Seymour 
tainted ;  nor  did  she  for  some  time  recover ; 
but  with  returning  sense,  when  she  saw 
not  Calantha,  when  asking  repeatedly  for 
her,  she  received  evasive  answers ;  terror 
again  overcame  her — she  was  deeply  and 
violently  agitated.  She  sent  for  the  chil- 
dren ;  she  clasped  them  to  her  bosom. 
They  smiled  upon  her ;  and  that  look, 
was  a  pang  beyond  all  others  of  bitter- 
s  2 


388  GLENARVON. 

ness.  The  Admiral,  in  tears,  approached 
her  ;  lamented  his  interference  ;  yet 
spoke  with  just  severity  of  the  offender. 
"  If  I  know  her  heart,  she  will  yet  re- 
turn/' said  Mrs.  Seymour.  "She  will 
never  more  return "  replied  Sophia. 
"  How  indeed  will  she  dare  appear,  after 
such  a  public  avowal  of  her  sentiments — 
such  a  flagrant  breach  of  every  sacred 
duty.  Oh,  there  is  no  excuse  for  the 
mother  who  thus  abandons  her  children 
— for  the  wife  who  stamps  dishonour  on 
a  husband's  fame — for  the  child  that 
dares  to  disobey  a  father's  sacred  will  \" 
"  Sophia,  beware.  Judge  not  of  others — 
judge  not  ;  for  the  hour  of  temptation 
may  come  to  all.  Oh  judge  her  not," 
said  Mrs.  Seymour,  weeping  bitterly  ; 
"  for  she  will  yet  return." 

Towards  evening  Mrs.  Seymour  again 
enquired  for  Calantha.  They  told  her 
she  had  not  been  heard  of;  her  agitation 
proved  too  well  the  doubt  she  entertained. 


GLENARVON.  389 

<e  Send  again,"  she  continually  said,  and 
her  hand,  which  Lady  Margaret  held  in 
hers,  became  cold  and  trembling.  They 
endeavoured  to  comfort  her  ;  but  what 
comfort  was  there  left  ?  They  tried  to 
detain  her  in  her  own  apartment  ;  but 
the  agony  of  her  sufferings  was  too  great; 
— her  feeble  frame — her  wasted  form, 
could  ill  endure  so  great  a  shock.  The 
Duke,  affected  beyond  measure,  endea- 
voured to  support  her.  "  Pardon  her, 
receive  her  with  kindness,"  said  Mrs. 
Seymour,  looking  at  him.  "  I  know  she 
will  not  leave  you  thus :  I  feel  that  she 
must  return."  "  We  will  receive  her 
without  one  reproach,"  said  the  Duke. 
"I,  too,  feel  secure  that  she  will  return." 
"  I  know  her  heart :  she  can  never  leave 
us  thus.  Go  yourself,  Altamonte,"  said 
Lady  Margaret. — "  Let  me  go,"  "  Where 
would  you  seek  her?"  "  At  Lord  Gle- 
narvon's,"  said  Mrs.  Seymour,  faintly. 
"  Oh!  she  is  not  there,"  said  the  Duke, 
s  3 


390  GLENARVON. 

"  She  never  will  act  in  a  manner  we  must 
not  pardon."  Mrs.  Seymour  trembled  at 
these  words — she  was  ill,  most  ill  •  and 
they  laid  her  upon  the  bed,  and  watched 
in  silence  and  agony  around  her. 

The  Duke  repeated  sternly  :  I  trust 
she  is  not  gone  to  Lord  Glenarvon— all 
else  I  can  forgive. 


END    OF    VOL.    II, 


LONDON  :     PRINTED    BY    SCHULZE    AND    DEAN, 
13,    POLAND    STREET. 


UNIVER9ITY  OF  •LUNOI9-URBANA 


3  0112  047658320 


9 


ME1