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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ca4aafb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68754 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68754) diff --git a/old/68754-0.txt b/old/68754-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f9598c4..0000000 --- a/old/68754-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4573 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Glenarvon, Volume 1 (of 3), by -Caroline Lamb - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Glenarvon, Volume 1 (of 3) - -Author: Caroline Lamb - -Release Date: August 15, 2022 [eBook #68754] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLENARVON, VOLUME 1 (OF -3) *** - - - -Transcriber’s Note: - - Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have - been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - The following are possible misspellings: - benshees - combated - controul - empassioned/impassioned - encrease/increase - Glenaa/Glanaa - innoxtious - Mounteagle/Monteagle - Mowbrey/Mowbray - overweaning/overweening - pretentions - Trelawny/Trelawney - - Chapter IX is missing in the numbering sequence. - - “beaten tract” should possibly be “beaten track” - - Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. - - - - - GLENARVON. - - IN THREE VOLUMES. - - VOL. I. - - LONDON: - PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN, - 1816. - - London: Printed by Schulze and Dean, - 13, Poland Street. - - - - - Disperato dolor, che il cor mi preme - Gía pur pensando, pria che ne favelle. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -In the town of Belfont, in Ireland, lived a learned physician of the -name of Everard St. Clare. He had a brother, who, misled by a fine -but wild imagination, which raised him too far above the interests of -common life, had squandered away his small inheritance; and had long -roved through the world, rapt in poetic visions, foretelling, as he -pretended, to those who would hear him, that which futurity would more -fully develop.—Camioli was the name he had assumed. - -It was many years since Sir Everard last beheld his brother, when one -night Camioli, bearing in his arms Elinor his child, about five years of -age, returned, after his long absence to his native town, and knocked -at Sir Everard’s door. The doctor was at the castle hard by, and his -lady refused admittance to the mean-looking stranger. Without informing -her of his name, Camioli departed, and resolved to seek his sister the -Abbess of Glenaa. The way to the convent was long and dreary: he climbed, -therefore, with his lovely burthen to the topmost heights of Inis Tara, -and sought temporary shelter in a cleft of the mountain known by the -name of the “Wizzard’s Glen.” Bright shone the stars that night, and -to the exalted imagination of the aged seer, it seemed in sleep, that -the spirits of departed heroes and countrymen, freed from the bonds of -mortality, were ascending in solemn grandeur before his eyes;—the song of -the Banshees, mourning for the sorrows of their country, broke upon the -silence of night;—a lambent flame distinguished the souls of heroes, and, -pointing upwards, formed a path of light before them;—the air resounded -with the quivering of wings, as with one accord innumerable spirits -arose, fanning the breeze with their extended plumes, and ascending like -a flight of birds toward the heavens. - -Then, for the first time, Camioli beheld, in one comprehensive view, the -universal plan of nature—unnumbered systems performing their various but -distinct courses, unclouded by mists, and unbounded by horizon—endless -variety in infinite space! Then first he seemed to hear the full -harmonious cadences of the angelic choirs—celestial music, uttered by -happy spirits in praise of the great Author of Existence, as directing -their flight onwards from sphere to sphere, from world to world, they -felt joyful in themselves, and rejoiced in the wonders and variety of -creation. - -From visions so wild, yet delightful, the soft sweet voice of his child -awoke him.—“How cold and dreary it is, dear father; how lone these -hills. I am weary unto death, yet I fear to sleep.”—“My comforter, my -delight, my little black-eyed darling,” said Camioli (enveloping his -child in his long dark mantle), “why do I thus sully the purity of -your nature by leading you to the abode of misery, and shewing you the -haunts of men! They are but as the flowers that blossom and wither, or -as the clouds that pass along to shade for a moment the brightness of -the heavens:—all here on earth is desolation and woe. But I will soon -take you, my lovely one, to a place of safety. My sister, the Abbess of -Glenaa, lives in the valley beneath the mountain: she will protect my -Elinor; and, in her mansion, my child shall find an asylum. I shall leave -you but for a short time; we shall meet again, Elinor;—yes, we shall meet -again.—Continue to live with St. Clara your aunt: obey her in all things, -for she is good: and may the God of Mercy avert from you the heaviest -of all my calamities, the power of looking into futurity.”—He spoke, -and descending the rugged mountain path, placed his Elinor according to -promise, under the protection of his sister the Abbess of Glenaa, and -bidding her farewell, walked hastily away. - -The morning sun, when it arose, shone bright and brilliant upon the -valley of Altamonte—its gay castle, and its lake. But a threatening -cloud obscured the sky, as Camioli raised his eyes and turned them -mournfully upon the ruined priory of St. Alvin, and the deserted halls -of Belfont.—“Woe to the house of Glenarvon!” he said. “Woe to the house -of my patron and benefactor! Desolation and sorrow have fallen upon -the mighty. Mourn for the hero who is slain in battle. Mourn for the -orphan who is left destitute and in trouble.... Bright shone the sun -upon thy battlements, O Belfont, on the morn when the hero bade thee a -last adieu. Cold are thy waters, Killarney; and many a tree has been -hewn from thy rocky bosom, thou fair mountain Glenaa, since the hour -in which he parted. But not so cold, nor so barren is thy bosom, as is -that of the widow who is bereft of every joy.... Mourn for the house -of Glenarvon, and the orphan who is destitute! No mother—no companion -of boyish sports and pleasures yet lives to greet him with one cheering -smile.—There is not left one tongue to welcome him to his native land; -or, should he fall, one friend to shed a tear upon his grave!” - -Thus sung the Bard, while the red deer were browsing upon the hills, -and the wind whistled through the arches and colonades of the Castle of -Belfont, as if in hollow murmurs for times which were long past.—“Woe -to the house of our patron,” said the frenzied old man, as with bitter -tears he departed:—“even in this moment of time, the fairest star of -Belfont sets for ever: the widowed Countess of Glenarvon is dead—dead -in a foreign country; and strangers hands alone perform her obsequies.” -He spoke, and looked, for the last time, upon the land that he loved, -then turned from it for ever.... Previous, however, to his departure -from Ireland, Camioli again sought his brother, (who was then an inmate -in the family of the Duke of Altamonte,) for the purpose of commending -Elinor to his care. - -Castle Delaval, the property of that nobleman, was situated in a valley -sheltered from every keen blast by a dark wood of fir and elm. The -river Elle, taking its rise amidst the Dartland Hills, flowed through -the park, losing by degrees the character of a mountain torrent, as it -spread itself between its rich and varied banks in front of the castle, -till it joined the sea beyond the Wizzard’s Glen. The town of Belfont -stands close upon the harbour, and from one of the highest cliffs, the -ruins of the convent of St. Mary, and a modern chapel may yet be seen, -whilst Heremon and Inis Tara, raising their lofty summits, capped with -snow, soar above the clouds. - -The abbey of Belfont, and the priory of St. Alvin, both the property -of the Glenarvon family, were now, in consequence of the forfeiture of -the late Earl of that name, transferred to Lord de Ruthven, a distant -relation. The deserted priory had fallen into ruin, and Belfont abbey, -as yet unclaimed by its youthful master, and pillaged by the griping -hand of its present owner, exhibited a melancholy picture of neglect and -oppression.—No cheerful fires blaze in its ancient halls; no peasants -and vassals feast under its vaulted roofs.—Glenarvon, the hero, the lord -of the demesne is dead:—he fell on the bloody field of Culloden:—his -son perished in exile:—and Clarence de Ruthven, his grandson, an orphan, -in a foreign land, has never yet appeared to petition for his attainted -titles and forfeited estates.—Of relations and of friends he has never -heard. - -Where are they who claim kindred with the unfortunate? Where are they who -boast of friendship for the orphan that is destitute and in trouble? The -Duke of Altamonte, whose domains were contiguous, and whose attachment -extended to the son of his ancient friend, had ofttimes written to -his sister enquiring into the fate of the child; but Lady Margaret had -answered her brother’s letters with coldness and indifference. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -It is the common failing of an ambitious mind to over-rate itself—to -imagine that it has been, by the caprices of fortune, defrauded of -the high honours due to its supposed superiority. It conceives itself -to have been injured—to have fallen from its destination; and these -unfounded claims become the source of endless discontent. The mind, thus -disappointed, preys upon itself, and compares its present lowliness with -the imaginary heights for which it fancies itself to have been intended. -Under the influence of these reflections, the character grows sullen and -reserved, detaches itself from all social enjoyments, and professes to -despise the honours for which it secretly pines. Mediocrity, and a common -lot, a man of this disposition cannot bring himself to endure; and he -wilfully rejects the little granted, because all cannot be obtained, to -which he once aspired. - -In this temper, the Duke of Altamonte had retired from public affairs, -and had quitted the splendour and gaiety of the court, to seek in -retirement that repose which, of all men, he was the least calculated to -appreciate or enjoy. In the society of the duchess, he found all that -could sooth his wounded spirit. In Mrs. Seymour, the duchess’s sister, -he welcomed a mild and unobtrusive guest; and the project of uniting the -Lady Calantha Delaval, his only daughter, to her cousin William Buchanan, -heir presumptive to the Dukedom of Altamonte, and son of his sister Lady -Margaret Buchanan, for some time occupied his hours and engrossed his -attention. - -To forward this favourite object, he communicated to them both, that -they were destined for each other; and by employing them in the same -occupations, instructing them in the same studies, by the same masters, -and in every way contriving that they should be continually together he -hoped that early habits, and the first affections of childhood, might -unite their hearts in indissoluble bonds. But how short-sighted, how -little founded in a right knowledge of human nature, was this project! -Habituated to the intimacy which subsists between near relations, was -it probable that love, when the age of that passion arrived, would be -content with objects thus familiar; and that the feelings of the heart -would quietly acquiesce in an arrangement which had been previously formed -upon the calculations of interest and family pride?—On the contrary, the -system pursued in their education, accustomed them to give way to their -violent tempers, without restraint, in their intercourse with each other; -and the frequent recurrence of petty quarrels, soon produced sentiments, -which bordered on dislike; so that at the moment, when the Duke exulted -most in the success of his project, he was painfully undeceived. - -Happily, a new event which occurred at this time in the family of the -Duke of Altamonte, soon turned his thoughts from the failure of his -present system of education, the superintendence of which he relinquished -with as much readiness, as he had once shewn anxiety to undertake -it.—The Duchess, after a long period of ill health, was pronounced by -her physicians to be once more in a situation to realize her husband’s -most sanguine hopes.—“If I have a boy,” he cried, “from the hour of his -birth all I possess shall be his. Give me but a son, ye powers who rule -over destiny, and I am content to yield up every other claim, privilege -and possession.”—The wish was heard, and at the appointed time, the -Duchess of Altamonte, after a few hours illness, was delivered of a son -and heir. It was in vain for the Duke, that until this event he said to -himself daily as he arose from his stately bed, that none other was his -rival in wealth or power;—it was in vain that friends surrounded him, -and flatterers attended upon his least commands:—until this unexpected, -and almost unhoped for event, he could not be said to have enjoyed -one hour of felicity, so unwisely did he blind himself to every other -blessing which he possessed; and so ardently solicitous did he suffer -his mind to become, for that one boon which alone had been refused to -his prayers. But since the birth of his son, he looked around him, and -he had nothing left to wish for upon earth; his heart became agitated -with its own satisfaction; and the terror of losing the idol upon which -every feeling and affection was fixed, rendered him more miserable than -he was even before the fulfilment of his wishes. - -The education of the lady Calantha and William Buchanan was now entirely -laid aside; the feuds and tumults in the adjacent countries were -disregarded; and he might be said to live alone in those apartments -where, robed in state, and cradled in luxury, the little infant lay -helpless and unconscious of its honours and importance. Not a breath of -air was suffered to blow too rudely upon the most noble and illustrious -Sidney Albert, Marquis of Delaval. The tenants and peasantry flocked, -from far and near, to kneel and do him homage, gazing in stupid wonder on -their future Lord. The Duchess feebly resisted the general voice, which -encouraged an excess of care, hurtful to the health of him, whom all -were but too solicitous to preserve. Yet the boy flourished, unaffected -by this adulation, the endless theme of discussion, the constant object -of still increasing idolatry. - -Without delay, the Duke resolved to intimate to his sister, Lady Margaret -Buchanan, who was at Naples, the change which had taken place in her -son’s expectations. He felt the necessity of softening the disappointment -by every soothing expression; and, as he loved her most sincerely he -wrote to urge her immediate return, with all the warmth of fraternal -affection;—informing her at the same time of the circumstance which -at once occasioned his delight, and her disappointment. With what fond -overweaning vanity did he then flatter himself, that she, who was the -next dearest object of his affections, would share his present joy; and -forgetful of the entire ruin of her fondest hope, doat like him upon the -child who had deprived her son of all his expectations! He knew not Lady -Margaret:—less than any other, he knew that fierce spirit which never -yet had been controuled—which deemed itself born to command, and would -have perished sooner than have endured restraint. - -At this very period of time, in the prosecution of her sudden and accursed -designs, having bade adieu to brighter climes and more polished manners, -with all the gaiety of apparent innocence, and all the brilliancy of wit -which belong to spirits light as air and a refined and highly cultivated -genius, she was sailing, accompanied by a train of admirers, selected -from the flower of Italy, once again to visit her native country. With -their voices and soft guitars, they chased away the lingering hours; -and after a fair and prosperous voyage, proceeded, with their equipages, -horses and attendants, to Castle Delaval. - -Lady Margaret was received with delight at the house of her father, in her -own native land. A burst of applause hailed her first appearance before -the wondering crowd assembled to behold her. Fond of admiration, even from -the lowest, she lingered on the terrace, which commanded the magnificent -scenery of which Castle Delaval was the central object,—leaning upon the -arm of the Duke and bowing gracefully to the people, as if in thanks for -their flattering reception. Buchanan alone met his mother without one -mark of joy. Cold and reserved, from earliest childhood, he had never yet -felt attachment for any other being than himself; and fully engrossed by -the splendour with which he was at all times surrounded, he looked with -indifference on every event which did not promote or prevent his own -personal amusements. He saw many new guests arrive without experiencing -the slightest accession of pleasure; and when those departed whom he -had been in the habit of seeing around him, it seldom cost him even a -momentary regret. He had so long and so frequently been informed that he -was heir of the immense possessions now belonging to his uncle, that he -was overpowered by the sense of his greatness; nor did the commiseration -of his attendants, on his disappointed hopes, awaken him to the conviction -of the great change which had occurred since the birth of the Marquis -of Delaval. Indeed he seemed as indifferent on this occasion as on all -others. Yet whatever his errors, he was at least in person and manner all -that Lady Margaret could wish. She was also much pleased with Calantha, -and thought she traced, in her radiant countenance, some resemblance to -her own. - -The Duchess of Altamonte had, in mind and person, won the affections -of all who approached her. She had a countenance in which languor and -delicacy added sensibility and grace, to beauty,—an air of melancholy -half veiled in smiles of sweetness,—and a form soft and fragile as the -bright fictions of a poet’s dream; yet a visible sadness had fallen upon -her spirits, and whilst she appeared alone to sooth and bless every other -heart, she seemed herself in need of consolation. Lady Margaret’s beauty -irresistibly attracted; her wit enlivened; and her manners fascinated—but -the dreadful secrets of her heart appalled! - -Lady Margaret was not much liked by Mrs. Seymour, nor by many other of -the guests who frequented the castle. Her foreign domestics, her splendid -attire, her crafty smiles and highly polished manners,—all were in turn -criticised and condemned. But neither prejudice nor vulgarity received -from her lips the slightest censure. She did not even appear to see the -ill will shewn to her. Yet many thought the discords and disasters which -occurred after her arrival in Ireland, were the fruits of her intriguing -spirit, and all soon or late regretted her presence at the castle, till -then, the seat of uninterrupted harmony and almost slumberous repose. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -Lady Margaret Delaval, only surviving sister of the Duke of Altamonte, -was born in Ireland, where she remained until her marriage with Captain -Buchanan. She then established herself at Naples; the fleet in which -her husband served being stationed in the Mediterranean sea. After the -birth of her son William, she immediately sent him to Ireland, there -to receive, under her brother’s tuition, an education more fitting the -heir of Altamonte, and the future husband of Lady Calantha Delaval. - -Freed from the last tie which had bound her to one feeling of honour -or of virtue, she, without remorse, gave way during the absence of -her child and husband (who accompanied the boy to Ireland) to a life -of extravagance and vice, ensnaring the inexperienced by her art, and -fascinating the most wary by her beauty and her talents. The charms of -her person and the endowments of her mind were worthy of a better fate -than that which she was preparing for herself. But, under the semblance -of youthful gaiety, she concealed a dark intriguing spirit, which could -neither remain at rest, nor satisfy itself in the pursuit of great and -noble objects. She had been hurried on by the evil activity of her own -mind, until the habit of crime had overcome every scruple, and rendered -her insensible to repentance, and almost to remorse. In this career, -she had improved to such a degree her natural talent of dissimulation, -that, under its impenetrable veil, she was able to carry on securely her -darkest machinations; and her understanding had so adapted itself to her -passions, that it was in her power to give, in her own eyes, a character -of grandeur, to the vice and malignity, which afforded an inexplicable -delight to her depraved imagination. - -While she was thus indulging her disgraceful inclinations, her heart -became attached with all her characteristic violence to Lord Dartford, -a young English nobleman, who had accompanied the Countess of Glenarvon -to Naples, and who, after passing some months in her society, had -already made her the offer of his hand. He no sooner, however, beheld -Lady Margaret than he left that object of his first attachment; and the -short-lived happiness of guilty passion was thus enhanced by a momentary -triumph over a beautiful and unfortunate rival.—Lady Glenarvon lived -not to lament it: the blow which was given by the hand she loved, went -straight as it was aimed; it pierced her heart; she did not long survive. - -Her son, already advancing towards manhood, she committed to the care of -the Count Gondimar, the only being who, amongst the numerous attendants -in the hours of her prosperity, had remained with her in this last -trying scene, and received her dying wishes.—“He has no father,” said -she, weeping in remembrance of the gallant husband she had lost; “but -to you I consign this jewel of my heart, the dear and only pledge of -my true and loyal love. Whatever crime I have committed since the loss -of Glenarvon, my only protector, let not a shade of it be cast upon my -son, to sully the bright splendor of his father’s fame! Promise a dying -mother to protect her child, should he be restored to his grandfather’s -titles and fortunes. To you, to you I entrust him. Ah! see that he be -safely conducted to his own country.” - -The Italian Count promised all that Lady Glenarvon desired; and wept -as he kissed the faded cheek of the English boy. But no sooner was the -momentary interest which he had conceived for the unhappy sufferer at -an end—no sooner had Lady Glenarvon expired, than, disregarding her last -request, he sought only to render himself useful and necessary to her son. -For this purpose he eagerly assisted him in all his pursuits, however -criminal, and whilst he lived upon the sums which were regularly sent -from Ireland to supply the necessary expences of his charge, he lost no -opportunity of flattering Lord de Ruthven, the present possessor of the -estate, and conniving with him in the means of detaining Glenarvon in -Italy, and thus depriving him of a great share of his property. Gondimar’s -lessons were, however, unnecessary; Glenarvon soon emancipated himself -from his tuition; and the utmost the base Italian could boast, was that -he had assisted in perverting a heart already by nature, but too well -inclined to misuse the rare gifts with which it had been endowed. - -Glenarvon passed the first years after his mother’s death, in visiting -Rome and Florence. He, after this, expressed a wish of entering the -navy; and having obtained his desire, he served under the command of Sir -George Buchanan. He even distinguished himself in his new profession; -but having done so, abruptly left it. - -Love, it was said, was the cause of this sudden change in Glenarvon’s -intentions.—Love for the most beautiful woman in Florence. Young as he -then was, his talents and personal attractions soon gained the object of -his pursuit; but a dreadful tragedy followed this success. The husband of -Fiorabella revenged the stigma cast upon his wife’s fame, by instantly -sacrificing her to his vengeance; and, since that fatal deed, neither -the chevalier nor Glenarvon had ever again appeared in Florence. - -Some said that the unhappy victim had found an avenger; but the proud and -noble family of the chevalier, preserved a faithful silence concerning -that transaction. Glenarvon’s youth prevented any suspicion from falling -upon him; and the death of Giardini was ascribed to another, and a more -dangerous hand. Strange rumours were also circulated in Ireland, after -this event; it was every where affirmed that Glenarvon had been secretly -murdered; and Lady Margaret, then at Naples, had even written to apprize -her brother of the report. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -About the time of the disappearance of Glenarvon, Captain Buchanan died; -and Lady Margaret expected that Lord Dartford would immediately fulfil -his engagement, and reward her long and devoted attachment to himself -by the offer of his hand. Count Gondimar was with her at the time. In -all companies, in all societies, the marriage was considered certain. -One alone seemed eager to hear this report contradicted—one who, dazzled -by the charms and beauty of Lady Margaret, had devoted himself, from -the first hour in which he had beheld her, entirely to her service. The -name of the young enthusiast was Viviani. A deep melancholy preyed upon -his spirits; a dark mystery enveloped his fate. Gondimar had, with some -coldness, introduced him to Lady Margaret. He was the friend of the lost -Glenarvon, he said, and on that account alone he had strong claims upon -his affection. Lady Margaret received the stranger with more than common -civility: his ill state of health, his youth, his beauty, were powerful -attractions. He confided his sorrows to her bosom; and soon he dared to -inform her that he loved. - -Lady Margaret was now more than usually attentive to Lord Dartford: the -day even for her intended nuptials was fixed. “Oh give not that hand to -one who values not the prize,” said the young Count Viviani, throwing -himself before her; “let not Dartford call himself your lord; his love -and mine must never be compared.” “Go, foolish boy,” said Lady Margaret, -smiling on her new victim: “I can be your friend as readily when I am -Lord Dartford’s wife as now.” Her young admirer shuddered, and rose from -the earth: “You must be mine alone:—none other shall approach you.” “The -disparity of our ages.” “What of that?” “Enough, enough. I will give my -hand to Dartford; my heart, you know, will still be at your disposal.” A -deep blush covered the pale cheeks of Viviani, he uttered one convulsive -sigh, and left her to ruminate on his hopeless fate; for every thing, -he was informed, was prepared for the approaching nuptials. - -But they knew little of the nature of man, who could conceive that Lord -Dartford had even a thought of uniting himself to Lady Margaret by any -lasting ties. On the contrary, he suddenly and secretly, without even -taking leave of her, departed for England; and the first letter which -she received from him, to inform her of his absence, announced to her, -likewise, his marriage with a lady of fortune and rank in his native -country. - -Lady Margaret was at dinner with a numerous company, and amongst them -the young count, when the letters from England were placed before her. -The quivering of her lip and the rolling of her dark eye might have -betrayed, to a keen observer, the anguish of a disordered spirit; but, -recovering herself with that self-command which years of crime and deep -dissimulation had taught her, she conversed as usual, till it was time -for her to depart; and only when in her own apartment, closing the door, -gave vent to the fury that opprest her. For some moments she paced the -room in silent anguish; then kneeling down and calling upon those powers, -whose very existence she had so often doubted: “Curse him! curse him!” -she exclaimed. “O may the curse of a bitter, and deeply injured heart, -blast every promise of his happiness; pursue him through life; and -follow him to the grave!—May he live to be the scorn of his enemies, the -derision of the world, without one friend to soften his afflictions!—May -those, whom he has cherished, forsake him in the hour of need; and the -companion he has chosen, prove a serpent to betray him!—May the tear of -agony, which his falsehood has drawn from these eyes, fall with tenfold -bitterness from his own!—And may this blooming innocent, this rival, -who has supplanted me in his affections, live to feel the pangs she has -inflicted on my soul; or perish in the pride of her youth, with a heart -as injured, as lacerated as mine!—Oh if there are curses yet unnamed, -prepared by an angry God, against offending man, may they fall upon the -head of this false, this cold-hearted Dartford!” - -She arose, and gasped for breath. She threw up the sash of the window; -but the cool air, the distant lashing of the waves, the rising moon and -the fine scene before her, had no power to calm, even for one moment, -a heart torn by guilt and tortured by self-reproach. A knock at the -door roused her from her meditations. It was the fair Italian boy, he -had followed her; for, at a glance, he had penetrated her secret. With -a smile of scorn he upbraided her for her weakness.—“What! in tears -lady!” he said: “is it possible? can a marriage, a disappointment in -love, overpower you thus!” Lady Margaret affecting a calmness, she could -not feel, and opposing art to art, endeavoured to repel his taunting -expressions. But he knew her thoughts: he saw at once through the smiles -and assumed manners which blinded others; and at this moment he watched -her countenance with malignant delight. It was the face of an Angel, -distorted by the passions of a Dæmon; and he liked it not the less for -the frailty it betrayed. - -It happened, however, that he had just attained the means of turning the -tide of her resentment out of its present channel, and, by awakening her -ambition—her ruling passion, of at once quenching the dying embers of -every softer feeling. “You have read I perceive,” said he, “but one of -the epistles with which you have been favoured; and I am already before -hand with you in hearing news of far greater importance than the loss of -a lover.”—The Duchess of Altamonte. “What of her?” “After a few hours -illness,” continued Viviani, drawing one of the English papers from -his pocket, “the Duchess of Altamonte is safely delivered of a son and -heir.” The blood forsook Lady Margaret’s lips: “I am lost then!” she -said: “the vengeance of Heaven has overtaken me! where shall I turn for -succour? Is there none upon earth to whom I can apply for assistance? -Will no one of all those who profess so much, assist me? Shall Dartford -triumph, and my son be supplanted? Revenge—revenge me, and I will be -your slave.” - -If the name of love must be given alike to the noblest and most depraved -of feelings, the young Viviani loved Lady Margaret with all the fervor -of which his perverted heart was capable. She had made him the weak -instrument of her arts; and knowing him too well, to place herself in -his power, she had detained him near her, by all the varying stratagems -of which she was mistress.—He now knelt before her, and, reading in -her fierce countenance her dreadful wishes, “I will revenge thee,” he -said, “yes it shall be done!” “Blood—blood is the price!” said Lady -Margaret. “Seal the compact thus:—be mine but for one hour:—let me fancy -myself blest—and: ....” “My son must be Duke of Altamonte,” returned -Lady Margaret, deeply agitated.—“He shall.”—“Swear it, my loveliest, my -youngest friend!”—“By the living God of Heaven, I swear it.”—“Ah! but -your courage will fail at the moment: your heart, intrepid as I think -it, will shudder, and misgive you.—Say where, and how, it can be done -with safety.” “Leave that to me: keep your own counsel: I will do the -rest.” He spoke, and left her. - -When they met again, the following day, not one word was uttered upon -the dreadful subject of their former discourse: the compact between them -was considered as made: and when once again the Count Viviani spoke -of his passion, and his hopes, Lady Margaret reminded him of his vow; -and a fearful silence ensued. Revenge and ambition had urged her to a -determination, which a sentiment of prudence inclined her to retract. -Viviani unconscious of her wavering resolution, enjoyed a momentary -triumph. “Is not this extacy?” he exclaimed, as he viewed the woman -he now considered as entirely bound to him. “Is it not rapture thus -to love?” “Revenge is sweet,” she answered. “Will you give yourself to -me Margaret? Shall I indeed press you to my burning heart! say—can you -love?” “Aye, and hate too,” she replied, as, convulsed with agony, she -shrunk from the caresses of her importunate admirer. - -From that hour he courted her with unremitting assiduity: he was the slave -of every new caprice, which long indulgence of every selfish feeling -could awaken. But the promised hour of his happiness was delayed; and -his passion thus continually fed by hope, and yet disappointed, overcame -in his bosom every feeling of humanity, till he no longer cherished a -thought that did not tend to facilitate the immediate gratification of -his wishes. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -It was not long after Lady Margaret’s arrival at the castle that Count -Gondimar, who had accompanied her to Ireland, prepared to return to Italy. -A few evenings before he quitted her, he sought the secret habitation of -his friend Viviani who had likewise followed Lady Margaret to Ireland, -but in order to facilitate his designs, had never openly appeared at the -castle. “How strong must be the love,” said Gondimar, addressing him, -“which can thus lead you to endure concealment, straits and difficulty! -return with me: there are others as fair: your youthful heart pictures -to yourself strange fancies; but in reality this woman is little worth -you. I love her not, and it is but imagination, which thus deceives -you.” “I will not leave her—I cannot go,” said Viviani impatiently: -“one burning passion annihilates in my heart every other consideration. -Ah! can it merit the name of passion, the phrenzy which rages within -me! Gondimar, if I worshipped the splendid star, that flashed along my -course, and dazzled me with its meteor blaze, even in Italian climes, -imagine what she now appears to me, in these cold northern regions. I -too can sometimes pause to think whether the sacrifice I have made is -not too great. But I have drained the poisoned cup to the dregs. I have -prest the burning firebrand to my heart, till it has consumed me—and -come what may, now, I am resolved she shall be mine, though the price -exacted were blood.” Gondimar shuddered. - -It was soon after this, that he returned to Italy. Before he departed, -he once more in secret affectionately embraced his friend. “She has -deceived me,” cried Viviani; “months have glided by in vain attempts to -realize her depraved wish. She evades my suit. But the hour of success -approaches:—to-morrow:——nay, perhaps, to-night.... If thou, Gondimar—oh! -if thou couldst believe: yet wherefore should I betray myself, or shew, -to living man, one thought belonging to the darkest of human hearts. -This alone know—I dare do every thing; and I will possess her. See, -she appears—that form of majesty—that brow of refulgent brightness. The -very air I breathe speaks to me of her charms. What matters it to me, -whilst I gaze entranced upon her, if the earth shake to its foundation, -and rivers of blood were streaming around me!—Pity me, Gondimar.—Pardon -me.—Farewell!” - -Hurried on by mad passion, Viviani, who constantly visited Lady Margaret, -was now upon the eve of fulfilling her wishes. Yet once, in the hope of -dissuading his savage mistress from her bloody purpose, he placed the -infant in her arms, and bade her take pity on its helpless innocence. -“See thy own—thy brother’s image in those eyes—that smile,” he whispered; -“ah! can you have the heart?” But Lady Margaret turned from the child in -haughty displeasure, thrusting it from her as if afraid to look on it; -and, for many days, would not vouchsafe to speak to the weak instrument -of her criminal ambition. Yet he, even he, whose life had been one -continued course of profligacy, who had misused his superior talents to -the perversion of the innocence of others, and the gratification of his -own ungoverned passions, shuddered at the thought of the fearful crime -which he had engaged himself to commit! - -His knowledge of human nature, and particularly of the worst part of -it, was too profound to depend upon any personal or immediate aid from -Lady Margaret: he, therefore, conceived a project which, by any one but -himself, would, in every view of it, have been considered as altogether -desperate and impracticable. It was, however, a maxim with Viviani, which -his practice and experience had justified, that nothing is impossible to -a firmly united league of time, money and resolution. Alone, he could -have accomplished nothing; but he had a satellite long trained in his -service, who possessed every quality which fitted him to assist the -designs of such a master. The name of this man was La Crusca. In spite -of a seeming wish to conceal himself, in conformity, perhaps, with his -master’s designs, this man was known at the castle to be a servant to -the count, and by his flattery and the versatility of his genius, had -become familiar with a few of its inhabitants; but shortly after his -arrival, he had been dismissed, and it was now three months and more -since his departure. - -One evening, according to custom, Viviani having secretly entered the -castle, sought Lady Margaret in her own apartment; his face was fearfully -pale; his hand trembled. He found her in company with her son, Buchanan, -and Calantha. Alarmed at his manner and appearance, the latter concealed -her face on the white bosom of her aunt, nor guessed by what storms of -fierce passion that bosom was disturbed. Viviani mistook the brilliant -hue which heightened Lady Margaret’s complexion for a softer feeling; he -approached her, and, gently removing the child, whispered vows of ardour -and tenderness in the ears of his mistress, and urged his suit with every -argument he could devise to overcome any remaining scruple. But when -he looked, in expectation of a favorable answer, he sprung back with -terror from her; for it seemed as if the fiends of hell were struggling -in her eyes and lips for looks and words with which to express their -horrid desire, already without the aid of words, but too sufficiently -manifest! At length, breaking silence, and rising in scorn from her -seat: “Have I not promised myself to you?” she whispered indignantly, -“that you thus persecute me for the performance of a voluntary vow? Do -you think your protestations can move, and your arguments persuade? Am -I a timid girl, who turns from your suit bashful or alarmed? Or am I one -grown old in crime, and utterly insensible to its consequence?—Nothing, -you well know, can make me yours but my own free will; and never shall -that will consign me to such fate, till the sickly weed is destroyed, -and the fair and flourishing plant restored to its wonted vigour and -due honors. See there, there is the image of my brother, of all that is -glorious and lovely.” As she spoke, she pointed to Buchanan.... “Lady, -the deed is already done! This night,” said the Italian, trembling in -every limb, “yes, on this fearful night, I claim the performance of thy -vow!” He spoke with an emotion she could not mistake.—“Is it possible?” -said she, “my beautiful, my beloved friend:” and his hand trembled as -he gave it her, in token of his assent.—Fearing to utter another word, -dreading even the sound of their own voices, after such a disclosure, -she soon retired. - -Was it to rest that Lady Margaret retired?—No—to the tortures of -suspense, of dread, of agony unutterable. A thousand times she started -from her bed:—she fancied that voices approached the door—that shrieks -rent the air; and, if she closed her eyes, visions of murder floated -before her distracted mind, and pictured dreams too horrible for words -half suffocated by the fever and delirium of her troubled imagination. -She threw up the sash of her window, and listened attentively to every -distant sound. The moon had risen in silvery brightness above the dark -elm trees; it lighted, with its beams, the deep clear waters of Elle. The -wind blew loud at times, and sounded mournfully, as it swept through the -whispering leaves of the trees, over the dark forest and distant moors. -A light appeared, for one moment, near the wood, and then was lost, Lady -Margaret, as if palsied by terror, remained fixed and breathless on the -spot;—a step approached the door;—it was the step of one stealing along, -as if anxious no one should hear it pass. Again, all was silent:—so silent -that the grave itself had not been more tranquil, and the dead could -not have looked more pale, more calm, more still, than Lady Margaret! - -But how was that silence broken? and how that calm disturbed?—By the -shrieks of an agonized parent—by the burning tears of a heart-broken -father—by the loud unrestrained clamours of the menial train; and that -proud mansion, so lately the seat of gaiety, whose lighted porticos -and festive halls had echoed to the song of joy and revelry, presented -now a scene of lamentation, terror and despair.—The heir of Altamonte -was dead—the hope so fondly cherished was cut off—the idol, upon whose -existence so many hearts were fixed, lay in his gilded cradle and costly -attire, affording a lesson impressive although every day repeated, yet -unheeded although impressive,—that it is the nature of man to rest his -most sanguine expectations upon the most frail and uncertain of all his -possessions. - -The women who had been employed to attend upon him were weeping around -him. His nurse alone appeared utterly insensible to his fate,—her eyes -were fixed,—her lips motionless,—she obeyed every command that was given; -but, when left to herself, she continued in the same sullen mood. Some -called her hard and unfeeling, as in loud accents they bewailed the dire -calamity that had fallen on their master’s house; but there were others -who knew that this apparent insensibility was the effect of a deeper -feeling—of a heart that could not recover its loss—of a mind totally -overthrown. - -She had arisen that morning at her accustomed hour, to take to her breast -the little infant who slept in the cradle beside her;—but lifeless was -that form which, a few hours before, she had laid on its pillow, in the -full enjoyment of health. Spasms, it was supposed, had seized the child in -his sleep; for his face was black and dreadfully disfigured. All efforts -to recover him were fruitless. Physician nor medicine could avail,—the -hand of death had struck the flower,—the vital spark was extinguished. - -It was in vain that the distracted mother, pressing his cold lips to -hers, declared, in the agony of hope, that they still retained a living -warmth.—It was in vain that she watched him till her eyes deceived, -fancied that they saw a change imperceptible to others—a breath of life -restored to that lifeless breathless form. It was in vain:—and floods -of grief, with the sad rites of a pompous funeral, were all which the -afflicted Duke and his sorrowing family had to bestow. - -The tenants and peasantry were, according to an ancient custom, admitted -to sing the song of sorrow over the body of the child: but no hired -mourners were required on this occasion; for the hearts of all deeply -shared in the affliction of their master’s house, and wept, in bitter -woe, the untimely loss of their infant Lord.—It was thus they sung, ever -repeating the same monotonous and melancholy strain. - - Oh loudly sing the Pillalu, - And many a tear of sorrow shed; - _Och orro, orro, Olalu_; - Mourn, for the master’s child is dead. - - At morn, along the eastern sky, - We marked an owl, with heavy wing; - At eve, we heard the benshees cry; - And now the song of death we sing; - _Och orro, orro, Olalu_. - - Ah! wherefore, wherefore would ye die; - Why would ye leave your parents dear; - Why leave your sorrowing kinsmen here, - Nor listen to your people’s cry! - - How wilt thy mother bear to part - With one so tender, fair and sweet! - Thou wast the jewel of her heart, - The pulse, the life, that made it beat. - - How sad it is to leave her boy, - That tender flowret all alone; - To see no more his face of joy, - And soothe no more his infant moan! - - But see along the mountains side, - And by the pleasant banks of Larney, - Straight o’er the plains, and woodlands wide, - By Castle Brae, and Lock Macharney: - - See how the sorrowing neighbours throng. - With haggard looks and faultering breath; - And as they slowly wind along, - They sing the mournful song of death! - - O loudly sing the Pillalu, - And many a tear of sorrow shed; - _Och orro, orro, Olalu_; - Mourn, for the master’s child is dead. - -Thus singing they approached the castle, and thus amidst cries and -lamentations, was Sidney Albert, Marquis of Delaval, borne for ever -from its gates, and entombed with his ancestors in the vault of the -ancient church, which, for many hundred years, had received beneath its -pavement the successive generations of the family of Altamonte. Heartfelt -tears, more honourable to the dead than all the grandeur which his rank -demanded, were shed over his untimely grave; while a long mourning and -entire seclusion from the world, proved that the sorrow thus felt was -not momentary, but lasting as the cause which had occasioned it was great. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -As sickness falls heaviest on those who are in the full enjoyment of -health, so grief is most severe, when it comes unexpectedly, in the -midst of happiness.—It was from this cause, that the Duke, more than any -one in his family, gave vent to the sorrows of his heart; and murmured -at the irrecoverable loss, by which he had been afflicted. The Duchess -in vain attempted to share, and lessen the regret of her husband:—he -had that haughtiness of mind which disdains all confidence, and flies -from all consolation. But of her far keener suffering, for the loss -she had sustained, little shew was made; for real misery delights not -in reproaches and complaints. It is like charity and love—silent, long -suffering and mild. - -There are virtues which admit of no description—which inspire on the first -mention of them but little interest. Great faults and heroic qualities, -may be pourtrayed; but those milder merits which contribute so much -to the comfort and happiness of life—that sweetness of disposition, to -which every hour that passes by, bears an approving testimony, can be -only felt, enjoyed and regretted. Benevolence that never fails, patience -under the heaviest calamities, firmness in friendship under every trying -change—these are among its characteristic features; and these were all -possessed by the Duchess of Altamonte, who seemed to live for no other -purpose than to endear herself to those who surrounded her. - -With this consideration for others, and forgetfulness of self, she had -apparently endured the loss of her son with greater fortitude, than had -been expected: indeed she sustained it with a degree of firmness which -religion alone could have inspired: she murmured not; but submitted to -the trial with the meek spirit of pious resignation.—“My dear, dear -boy, my pretty Albert” would sometimes escape her, and a few tears -would wait upon the exclamation; but her whole study was to share the -disappointment, and lighten the sorrows of her husband; as well as to -check the intemperate complaints, and soothe the more violent agitations -of Lady Margaret. - -But while the soul of the Duchess rose superior to the ills of life, -her constitution, weakened by a long period of ill health, and by the -agitations of extreme sensibility, was not in a state to resist so great -a shock; and though she lingered upwards of a year, the real cause of -her death could not be mistaken:—an inward melancholy preyed upon her -spirits, which she combated in vain.—“Many have smiled in adversity,” -she would say; “but it is left for me to weep in prosperity:—such is -the will of Heaven, and I resign myself as becomes me, to that power, -which knows when to give, and when to take away.” - -On her death-bed, she said to the Duke: “This is a hard trial for you -to bear; but God, who, when he sends trials, can send strength also, -will, I trust, support you.—You will pursue your career with that honour -and dignity, which has hitherto distinguished it—nor would my feeble -aid assist you in it; but I, on the contrary, like a weak unsupported -plant, must have drooped and pined away, had I lived to survive the -tender and faithful friend, who has guided and sustained me. It is far -better, as it is. You will be a guardian and protector to my Calantha, -whose quickness and vivacity, make me tremble for her. I could not have -watched over her, and directed her as I ought. But to you, while she -smiles, and plays around you, and fills the space which I so soon must -leave,—to you, she will prove a dear and constant interest. Never, my -dearest Altamonte, ah! never suffer her to be absent, if possible, from -your guiding care:—her spirits, her passions, are of a nature to prove a -blessing, or the reverse, according to the direction they are permitted -to take. Watch over and preserve her—are my last words to you.—Protect -and save her from all evil—is the last prayer I offer to my God, before -I enter into his presence.” ... - -Calantha! unhappy child, whom not even the pangs of death could tear -from the love, and remembrance of thy mother,—what hours of agony were -thine, when a father’s hand first tore thee from that lifeless bosom,—when -piercing shrieks declared the terror of thy mind, oppressed, astonished at -the first calamity, by which it had been tried,—when thy lips tremblingly -pronounced for the last time, the name of mother—a name so dear, so sacred -and beloved, that its very sound awakens in the heart, all that it can -feel of tenderness and affection! What is left that shall replace her? -What friend, what tie, shall make up for her eternal absence? What even -are the present sufferings of the orphan child, to the dreary void, the -irreparable loss she will feel through all her future years. It was on -that bosom, she had sought for comfort, when passion and inadvertence -had led her into error. It was that gentle, that dear voice, which had -recalled her from error, even when severity had failed.—There is, in -every breast, some one affection that predominates over the rest—there -is still to all some one object, to which the human heart is rivetted -beyond all others:—in Calantha’s bosom, the love of her mother prevailed -over every other feeling. - -A long and violent illness succeeded, in Calantha, the torpor which -astonishment and terror at her loss had produced; and from this state, -she recovered only to give way to a dejection of mind not less alarming: -but even her grief was to be envied, when compared with the disorder -of Lady Margaret’s mind.—Remorse preyed upon her heart, the pride and -hardness of which, disdained the humility of acknowledging her offence -in the presence of her Creator. - -The great effort of Lady Margaret was to crush the struggles of passion; -and when, at times, the agony of her mind was beyond endurance, she found -it some relief to upbraid the wretch who had fulfilled her own guilty -wishes.—“Monster!” she would exclaim, “without one tender or honourable -feeling, take those detested and bloody hands from my sight:—they have -destroyed the loveliest innocent that was ever born to bless a mother’s -wishes:—that mother now appears in awful judgment against thee:—out, -out, perfidious wretch!—come not near—gaze not upon me.”—Viviani marked -the wild expression of her eye—the look of horror which she cast upon -him; and a deep and lasting resentment succeeded in his breast, to every -feeling of attachment. Seizing her hand, which he wrung in scorn: “What -mean you by this mockery of tardy penitence?” he fiercely cried.—“Woman, -beware how you trifle with the deep pangs of an injured heart:—not upon -me—not upon me, be the blood of the innocent:—it was this hand, white -and spotless as it appears, which sealed his doom:—I should have shewn -mercy; but an unrelenting tigress urged me on.—On thee—on thine, be the -guilt, till it harrow up thy soul to acts of phrenzy and despair:—hope -not for pardon from man—seek not for mercy from God.—Away with those -proud looks which once subdued me:—I can hate—I have learned of thee -to hate; and my heart, released from thy bonds, is free at last:—spurn -me,—what art thou now? A creature so wretched and so fallen, that I -can almost pity thee.—Farewell.—For the last time, I look on thee with -one sentiment of love.—When we meet again, tremble:—yes—proud as thou -art, tremble; for, however protracted, thou shalt find the vengeance of -Viviani, as certain, as it is terrible.” - -“Is it possible,” said Lady Margaret, gazing upon that beautiful and -youthful countenance—upon that form which scarcely had attained to -manhood,—“is it in the compass of probability that one so young should -be so utterly hardened?” Viviani smiled on her and left her.—Very shortly -after this interview, he quitted Ireland, vainly endeavouring in the hour -of his departure to conceal the deep emotion by which he was agitated -at thus tearing himself from one who appeared utterly indifferent to -his hatred, his menaces, or his love. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -The habit of years, though broken and interrupted by violent affliction -or sudden prosperity, fails not in the end to resume its influence over -the mind; and the course that was once pursued with satisfaction, though -the tempest of our passions may have hurried us out of it, will be again -resumed, when the dark clouds that gathered over us, have spent their -fury. Even he who is too proud to bow his mind to the inevitable decrees -of an all wise Creator,—who seeks not to be consoled, and turns away -from the voice of piety, even he loses sight at length of the affliction, -upon which his memory has so continually dwelt:—it lessens to his view, -as he journies onward adown the vale of life, and the bright beam of -hope rises at last upon his clouded spirits and exhausted frame. - -From a state of despondency and vain regret, in which more than a year -had been passed, the inhabitants of Castle Delaval, by slow degrees, -revived; and the Duke, wearied of a life so gloomy and solitary, summoned, -as before, his friends around him. Lady Margaret, however, was no longer -the gay companion of his morning walks, the life and amusement of his -evening assemblies. The absence of Viviani filled her with anxiety; and -the remembrance of her crimes embittered every hour of her existence. -If she turned her eyes upon Calantha, the dejected expression of that -countenance reproached her for the mother whose life she had shortened, -and whose place she vainly exerted herself to fill; if upon the Duke, -in that care worn cheek and brow of discontent, she was more painfully -reminded of her crime and ingratitude; and even the son for whom so much -had been sacrificed, afforded her no consolation. - -Buchanan estranged himself from her confidence, and appeared jealous of -her authority.—He refused to aid her in the sole remaining wish of her -heart; and absolutely declined accepting the hand of Calantha. “Shall -only one will,” he said, “be studied and followed; shall Calantha’s -caprices and desires be daily attended to; and shall I see the best -years of my life pass without pleasure or profit for me? I know—I see -your intention; and, pardon me, dearest mother, if I already bitterly -lament it. Is Calantha a companion fitted for one of my character; and, -even if hereafter it is your resolve to unite me to her, must I now be -condemned to years of inactivity on her account. Give me my liberty; send -me to college, there to finish my education; and permit me to remain in -England for some years.” - -Lady Margaret saw, in the cool determined language of her son, that he had -long meditated this escape from her thraldom:—she immediately appeared -to approve his intention—she said that a noble ambition, and all the -highest qualities of the heart and mind were shewn in his present desire; -but one promise she must exact in return for the readiness with which -she intended instantly to accede to his request:—provided he was left -at liberty till a maturer age, would he promise to take no decisive step -of himself, until he had once more seen Calantha after this separation? -To this Buchanan willingly acceded; his plans were soon arranged; and -his departure was fixed for no very distant period. - -The morning before he left the castle, Lady Margaret called him to -her room; and taking him and Calantha by the hand, she led them to the -windows of the great gallery. From thence pointing to the vast prospect -of woods and hills, which extended to a distance, the eye could scarcely -reach, “all are yours my children,” she said, “if, obedient to parents -who have only your welfare at heart, you persevere in your intention of -being one day united to each other. Ah! let no disputes, no absence, no -fancies have power to direct you from the fulfilment of this, my heart’s -most fervent wish:—let this moment of parting, obliterate every unkind -feeling, and bind you more than ever to each other. Here, Buchanan,” -continued she, “is a bracelet with your hair: place it yourself around -Calantha’s arm:—she shall wear it till you meet.” The bracelet was -of gold, adorned with diamonds, and upon the clasp, under the initial -letters of both their names, were engraved these words: “_Stesso sangue, -Stessa sorte._” “Take it,” said Buchanan, fastening it upon the arm of -Calantha, “and remember that you are to wear it ever, for my sake.” - -At this moment, even he was touched, as he pressed her to his heart, and -remembered her as associated with all the scenes of his happiest days. -Her violence, her caprices, her mad frolics, were forgotten; and as her -tears streamed upon his bosom, he turned away, least his mother should -witness his emotion. Yet Calantha’s tears were occasioned solely by the -thought of parting from one, who had hitherto dwelt always beneath the -same roof with herself; and to whom long habit had accustomed, rather -than attached her.—In youth the mind is so tender, and so alive to sudden -and vivid impressions, that in the moment of separation it feels regret, -and melancholy at estranging itself even from those for whom before it -had never felt any warmth of affection.—Still at the earliest age the -difference is distinctly marked between the transient tear, that falls -for imaginary woe, and the real misery which attends upon the loss of -those who have been closely united to the affections by ties, stronger -and dearer than those of habit. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -The accomplishment of her favourite views being thus disappointed, or -at least deferred, Lady Margaret resolved to return to Italy, and there -to seek for Viviani. Her brother, however, entreated her to remain with -him. He invited his friends, his relations, his neighbours. Balls and -festivities once more enlivened the castle: it seemed his desire to raze -every trace of sorrow from the memory of his child; and to conceal the -ravages of death under the appearance at least of wild and unceasing -gaiety.—The brilliant _fêtes_, and the magnificence of the Duke of -Altamonte and his sister, became the constant theme of admiration; from -far, from near, fashion and folly poured forth their victims to grace -and to enjoy them; and Lord and Lady Dartford naturally found their place -amidst the various and general assemblage. To see Lord Dartford again, to -triumph over his falsehood, to win him from an innocent confiding wife, -and then betray him at the moment in which he fancied himself secure, -this vengeance was yet wanting to satisfy the restless fever of Lady -Margaret’s mind; and the contemplation of its accomplishment gave a new -object, a new hope to her existence; for Lady Margaret had preferred -enduring even the tortures of remorse, to the listless insipidity of -stagnant life, where the passions of her heart, were without excitement, -and those talents of which she felt the power, useless and obscured. -What indeed would she not have preferred to the society of Mrs. Seymour -and her daughters? - -The Duchess of Altamonte had possessed a mind, as cultivated as her own, -and a certain refinement of manner which is sometimes acquired by long -intercourse with the most polished societies, but is more frequently the -gift of nature, and, if it be not the constant attendant upon nobility -of blood, is very rarely found in those who are not distinguished by -that adventitious and accidental circumstance. - -Mrs. Seymour had many of the excellent qualities, but none of the rare -endowments possessed by the Duchess; she was a strict follower of the -paths of custom and authority; in the steps which had been marked by -others, she studiously walked, nor thought it allowable to turn aside -for any object however praiseworthy and desirable. She might be said to -delight in prejudice—to enjoy herself in the obscure and narrow prison -to which she had voluntarily confined her intellects—to look upon the -impenetrable walls around her as bulwarks against the hostile attacks -by which so many had been overcome. The daughters were strictly trained -in the opinions of their mother. “The season of youth,” she would say, -“is the season of instruction;” —and consequently every hour had its -allotted task; and every action was directed according to some established -regulation. - -By these means, Sophia and Frances were already highly accomplished; -their manners were formed; their opinions fixed, and any contradictions -of those opinions, instead of raising doubt, or urging to enquiry, only -excited in their minds astonishment at the hardihood and contempt for -the folly which thus opposed itself to the final determination of the -majority, and ventured to disturb the settled empire and hereditary right -of their sentiments and manners.—“These are _your_ pupils,” Lady Margaret -would often exultingly cry, addressing the mild Mrs. Seymour—“these -paragons of propriety—these sober minded steady automatons. Well, I mean -no harm to them or you. I only wish I could shake off a little of that -cold formality which petrifies me. Now see how differently _my_ Calantha -shall appear, when I have opened her mind, and formed her according -to _my_ system of education—the system which nature dictates and every -feeling of the heart willingly accedes to. Observe well the difference -between a child of an acute understanding, before her mind has been -disturbed by the absurd opinions of others, and after she has learned -their hackneyed jargon: note her answer—her reflections; and you will -find in them, all that philosophy can teach, and all to which science -and wisdom must again return. But, in your girls and in most of those -whom we meet, how narrow are the views, how little the motives, by which -they are impelled. Even granting that they act rightly,—that by blindly -following, where others lead, they pursue the safest course, is there -any thing noble, any thing superior in the character from which such -actions spring? _I_ am ambitious for Calantha. I wish her not only to -be virtuous; I will acknowledge it,—I wish her to be distinguished and -great.” - -Mrs. Seymour, when thus attacked, always permitted Lady Margaret to -gain the victory of words and to triumph over her as much as the former -thought it within the bounds of good breeding to allow herself; but she -never varied, in consequence, one step in her daily course, or deviated -in the slightest degree from the line of conduct which she had before -laid down. - -Sometimes, however, she would remonstrate with her niece, when she saw -her giving way to the violence of her temper, or acting, as she thought, -absurdly or erroneously; and Calantha, when thus admonished, would -acknowledge her errors, and, for a time at least, endeavour to amend -them; for her heart was accessible to kindness, and kindness she at all -times met with from Mrs. Seymour and her daughters. - -It was indeed Calantha’s misfortune to meet with too much kindness, or -rather too much indulgence from almost all who surrounded her. The Duke, -attentive solely to her health, watched her with the fondest solicitude, -and the wildest wishes her fancy could invent, were heard with the most -scrupulous attention and gratified with the most unbounded compliance. -Yet, if affection, amounting to idolatry, could in any degree atone for -the pain the errors of his child too often occasioned him, that affection -was felt by Calantha for her Father. - -Her feelings indeed swelled with a tide too powerful for the unequal -resistance of her understanding:—her motives appeared the very best, -but the actions which resulted from them were absurd and exaggerated. -Thoughts, swift as lightening, hurried through her brain:—projects, -seducing, but visionary crowded upon her view: without a curb she followed -the impulse of her feelings; and those feelings varied with every varying -interest and impression. - -Such character is not uncommon, though rarely seen amongst the higher -ranks of society. Early and constant intercourse with the world, and that -polished sameness which results from it, smooths away all peculiarities; -and whilst it assimilates individuals to each other, corrects many -faults, and represses many virtues. - -Some indeed there are who affect to differ from others: but the very -affectation proves that, in fact, they resemble the ordinary mass; and -in general this assumption of singularity is found in low and common -minds, who think that the reputation of talent and superiority belongs -to the very defects and absurdities which alone have too often cast a -shade upon the splendid light of genius, and degraded the hero and the -poet, to the level of their imitators. - -Lovely indeed is that grace of manner, that perfect ease and refinement -which so many attempt to acquire, and for which it is to be feared so -much too often is renounced—the native vigour of mind, the blush of -indignant and offended integrity, the open candour of truth, and all -the long list of modest unassuming virtues, known only to a new and -unsullied heart. - -Calantha turned with disgust from the slavish followers of prejudice. -She disdained the beaten tract, and she thought that virtue would be for -her a safe, a sufficient guide; that noble views, and pure intentions -would conduct her in a higher sphere; and that it was left to her to set -a bright example of unshaken rectitude, undoubted truth and honourable -fame. All that was base or mean, she, from her soul, despised; a fearless -spirit raised her, as she fondly imagined, above the vulgar herd; self -confident, she scarcely deigned to bow the knee before her God; and man, -as she had read of him in history, appeared too weak, too trivial to -inspire either alarm or admiration. - -It was thus, with bright prospects, strong love of virtue, high ideas -of honour, that she entered upon life. No expence, no trouble had been -spared in her education; masters, tutors and governesses surrounded her. -She seemed to have a decided turn for every thing it was necessary for her -to learn; instruction was scarcely necessary, so readily did her nature -bend itself to every art, science and accomplishment; yet never did she -attain excellence, or make proficiency in any; and when the vanity of -a parent fondly expected to see her a proficient in all acquirements, -suited to her sex and age, he had the mortification of finding her more -than usually ignorant, backward and uninstructed. With an ear the most -sensible and accurate, she could neither dance, nor play; with an eye -acute and exact, she could not draw; with a spirit that bounded within -her from excess of joyous happiness, she was bashful and unsocial in -society; and with the germs of every virtue that commands esteem and -praise, she was already the theme of discussion, observation and censure. - -Yet was Calantha loved—dearly and fondly loved; nor could Mrs. Seymour, -though constantly discovering new errors in her favourite, prevent her -from being the very idol of her heart. Calantha saw it through all her -assumed coldness; and she triumphed in the influence she possessed. -But Sophia and Frances were not as cordially her friends:—they had not -reached that age, at which lenity and indulgence take place of harsher -feelings, and the world appears in all its reality before us. To them, -the follies and frailties of others carried with them no excuse, and -every course that they themselves did not adopt, was assuredly erroneous. - -Calantha passed her time as much as possible by herself; the general -society at the castle was uninteresting to her. The only being for whom -she felt regard, was Sir Everard St. Clare, brother to Camioli the bard, -and late physician to her mother, was the usual object of ridicule to -almost all of his acquaintance. Lady St. Clare in pearls and silver; -Lauriana and Jessica, more fine if possible and more absurd than their -mother; Mrs. Emmet a Lady from Cork, plaintive and reclining in white -satin and drapery; and all the young gentlemen of large property and -fortune, whom all the young ladies were daily and hourly endeavouring -to please, had no attraction for a mind like Calantha’s. Coldly she -therefore withdrew from the amusements natural to her age; yet it was from -embarrassment, and not from coldness, that she avoided their society. -Some favorites she already had:—the Abbess of Glenaa, St. Clara her -niece, and above all Alice Mac Allain, a beautiful little girl of whom -her mother had been fond, had already deeply interested her affections. - -In the company of one or other of these, Calantha would pass her mornings; -and sometimes would she stand alone upon the summit of the cliff, hour -after hour, to behold the immense ocean, watching its waves, as they -swelled to the size of mountains, then dashed with impetuous force against -the rocks below; or climbing the mountain’s side, and gazing on the lofty -summits of Heremon and Inis Tara, lost in idle and visionary thought; -but at other times joyous, and without fear, like a fairy riding on a -sun beam through the air, chasing the gay images of fancy, she would -join in every active amusement and suffer her spirits to lead her into -the most extravagant excess. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -Love, it might be conjectured, would early shew itself in a character -such as Calantha’s; and love, with all its ardour and all its wildness, -had already subdued her heart. What, though Mrs. Seymour had laid it -down as a maxim, that no one, before she had attained her fourteenth -year, could possibly be in love! What, though Lady Margaret indignantly -asserted, that Calantha could not, and should not, look even at any -other than him for whom her hand was destined! She had looked; she had -seen; and what is more, she believed the impression at this time made -upon her heart was as durable as it was violent. - -Sophia Seymour, Mrs. Seymour’s eldest daughter, in a month, nay in a -week, had already discovered Calantha’s secret:—the same feeling for the -same object, had given her an acuteness in this instance, with which -she was not at all times gifted:—She herself loved, and, therefore, -perceived her cousin’s passion. Calantha’s manner immediately confirmed -her in her supposition. She entered one morning into her room;—she saw -the unfinished drawing;—she could not mistake it—that commanding air—that -beaming eye—there was but one whom it could resemble, and that one was -Henry Mowbray, Earl of Avondale. She taxed Calantha bitterly with her -partiality; “But he thinks not of you,” she said, and haughtily left -the room. - -Admiral Sir Richard Mowbray was an old and valued friend of the Duke -of Altamonte. He had served with Sir George Buchanan, brother-in-law -to Lady Margaret. He had no children; but his nephew, the young Earl of -Avondale, was, next to his country, the strongest and dearest interest of -his heart. What happiness must the Admiral then have felt when he beheld -his nephew; and found that, in mind and person, he was distinguished by -every fair endowment. He had entered the army young; he now commanded a -regiment: with a spirit natural to his age and character, he had embraced -his father’s profession; like him, he had early merited the honours -conferred upon him. He had sought distinction at the hazard of his life; -but happily for all who knew him well, he had not, like his gallant -father, perished in the hour of danger; but, having seen hard service, -had returned to enjoy, in his own country, the ease, the happiness and -the reputation he so well deserved. - -Lord Avondale’s military occupations had not, however, prevented his -cultivating his mind and talents in no ordinary degree; and the real -distinctions he had obtained, seemed by no means to have lessened the -natural modesty of his character. He was admired, flattered, sought -after; and the strong temptation to which his youth had thus early been -exposed, had, in some measure, shaken his principles and perverted his -inclinations. - -Happily a noble mind and warm uncorrupted heart soon led him from scenes -of profligacy to a course of life more manly and useful:—deep anxiety -for a bleeding country, and affection for his uncle, restored him to -himself. He quitted London, where upon his first return from abroad he -had for the most part resided, and his regiment being ordered to Ireland, -on account of the growing disaffection in that country, he returned -thither to fulfil the new duty which his profession required. Allanwater -and Monteith, his father’s estates, had been settled upon him; but he -was more than liberal in the arrangements he made for his uncle and the -other branches of his family. - -Many an humbler mind had escaped the danger to which Lord Avondale had, -early in life, been exposed;—many a less open character had disguised -the too daring opinions he had once ventured to cherish! But, with an -utter contempt for all hypocrisy and art, with a frankness and simplicity -of character, sometimes observed in men of extraordinary abilities, but -never attendant on the ordinary or the corrupted mind, he appeared to -the world as he really felt, and neither thought nor studied whether -such opinions and character were agreeable to his own vanity, or the -taste of his companions; for whom, however, he was, at all times, ready -to sacrifice his time, his money, and all on earth but his honour and -integrity. - -Such was the character of Lord Avondale, imperfectly sketched—but true to -nature.—He, in his twenty-first year, now appeared at Castle Delaval—the -admiration of the large and various company then assembled there. -Flattered, perhaps, by the interest shewn him, but reserved and distant -to every too apparent mark of it, he viewed the motley groupe before -him, as from a superior height, and smiled with something of disdain, -at times, as he marked the affectation, the meanness, the conceit and, -most of all, the heartlessness and cowardice of many of those around -him. Of a morning, he would not unfrequently join Calantha and Sophia -in their walks; of an evening, he would read to the former, or make her -his partner at billiards, or at cards. At such times, Sophia would work -at a little distance; and as her needle monotonously passed the silken -thread through the frame to which her embroidery was fixed, her eyes would -involuntarily turn to where her thoughts, in spite of her endeavours, -too often strayed. Calantha listened to the oft-repeated stories of the -admiral; she heard of his battles, his escapes and his dangers, when -others were weary of the well-known topics; but he was Lord Avondale’s -uncle, and that thought made every thing he uttered interesting to her. - -“You love,” said Alice Mac Allain, one day to her mistress, as they -wandered in silence along the banks of the river Elle, “and he who made -you alone can tell to what these madning fires may drive a heart like -yours. Remember your bracelet—remember your promises to Buchanan; and -learn, before it is too late, in some measure to controul yourself, and -disguise your feelings.” Calantha started from Alice; for love, when it -first exists, is so timid, so sacred, that it fears the least breath of -observation, and disguises itself under every borrowed name. “You are -wrong,” said Calantha, “I would not bend my free spirit to the weakness -of which you would accuse me, for all the world can offer; your Calantha -will never acknowledge a master; will never yield her soul’s free and -immortal hopes, to any earthly affection. Fear not, my counsellor, that -I will forsake my virgin vows, or bow my unbroken spirit to that stern -despot, whose only object is power and command.” - -As Calantha spoke, Lord Avondale approached, and joined them. The deep -blush that crimsoned over her cheek was a truer answer to her friend’s -accusation than the one she had just uttered.—“Heremon and Inis Tara have -charms for both of you,” he said, smiling:—“you are always wandering -either to or from thence.” “They are our own native mountains,” said -Calantha, timidly;—“the landmarks we have been taught to reverence from -our earliest youth.” “And could you not admire the black mountains -of Morne as well,” he said, fixing his eyes on Calantha,—“my native -mountains?”—“they are higher far than these, and soar above the clouds -that would obscure them.” “They are too lofty and too rugged for such -as we are,” said Calantha. “We may gaze at their height and wonder; but -more would be dangerous.” “The roses and myrtles blossom under their -shade,” said Lord Avondale, with a smile; “and Allanwater, to my mind, -is as pleasant to dwell in as Castle Delaval.” “Shall you soon return -there, my lord,” enquired Calantha. “Perhaps never,” he said, mournfully; -and a tear filled his eye as he turned away, and sought to change the -subject of conversation. - -Lady Margaret had spoken to Lord Avondale:—perhaps another had engaged -his affections:—at all events, it seemed certain to Calantha that she -was not the object of his hope or his grief. To have seen him—to have -admired him, was enough for her: she wished not for more than that -privilege; she felt that every affection of her heart was engaged, even -though those affections were unreturned. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -To suffer the pangs of unrequited love was not, in the present instance, -the destiny of Calantha. That dark eye, the lustre of whose gaze she -durst not meet, was, nevertheless, at all times fixed upon her; and the -quick mantling blush and beaming smile, which lighted the countenance -of Lord Avondale, whenever her name was pronounced before him, soon -betrayed, to all but himself and Calantha, how much and how entirely his -affections were engaged. He was of a nature not easily to be flattered -into admiration of others—not readily attracted, or lightly won; but, -once having fixed his affections, he was firm, confiding and incapable -of change, through any change of fortune. He was, besides, of that -affectionate and independent character, that as neither bribe nor power -could have moved him to one act contrary to his principles of integrity, -so neither danger, fatigue, nor any personal consideration could have -deterred him from that which he considered as the business and duty of -his life. He possessed a happy and cheerful disposition,—a frank and -winning manner,—and that hilarity of heart and countenance which rendered -him the charm and sunshine of every society. - -When Lord Avondale, however, addressed Calantha, she answered him in -a cold or sullen manner, and, if he endeavoured to approach her, she -fled unconscious of the feeling which occasioned her embarrassment. Her -cousins, Sophia and Frances, secure of applause, and conscious of their -own power of pleasing, had entered the world neither absurdly timid, -nor vainly presuming:—they knew the place they were called upon to fill -in society; and they sought not to outstep the bounds which good sense -had prescribed. Calantha, on the other hand, scarce could overcome her -terror and confusion when addressed by those with whom she was little -acquainted. But how far less dangerous was this reserve than the easy -confidence which a few short years afterwards produced, and how little -did the haughty Lady Margaret imagine, as she chid her niece for this -excess of timidity, that the day would, perhaps, soon arrive when careless -of the presence of hundreds, Calantha might strive to attract their -attention, by the very arts which she now despised, or pass thoughtlessly -along, hardened and entirely insensible to their censure or their praise! - -To a lover’s eyes such timidity was not unpleasing; and Lord Avondale -liked not the girl he admired the less, for that crimson blush—that timid -look, which scarcely dared encounter his ardent gaze. To him it seemed -to disclose a heart new to the world—unspoiled and guileless. Calantha’s -mind, he thought, might now receive the impression which should be -given it; and while yet free, yet untainted, would it not be happiness -to secure her as his own—to mould her according to his fancy—to be her -guide and protector through life! - -Such were his feelings, as he watched her shunning even the eyes of -him, whom alone she wished to please:—such were his thoughts, when, -flying from the amusements and gaiety natural to her age, she listened -with attention, while he read to her, or conquered her fears to enter -into conversation with him. He seemed to imagine her to be possessed of -every quality which he most admired; and the delusive charm of believing -that he was not indifferent to her heart, threw a beauty and grace over -all her actions, which blinded him to every error. Thus then they both -acknowledged, and surrendered themselves to the power of love. Calantha -for the first time yielded up her heart entirely to its enchantment; -and Lord Avondale for the last. - -It is said there is no happiness, and no love to be compared to that -which is felt for the first time. Most persons erroneously think so; -but love like other arts requires experience, and terror and ignorance, -on its first approach, prevent our feeling it as strongly as at a later -period. Passion mingles not with a sensation so pure, so refined as that -which Calantha then conceived, and the excess of a lover’s attachment -terrified and overpowered the feelings of a child. - -Storms of fury kindled in the eye of Lady Margaret when first she observed -this mutual regard. Words could not express her indignation:—to deeds -she had recourse. Absence was the only remedy to apply; and an hour, -a moment’s delay, by opening Calantha’s mind to a consciousness of her -lover’s sentiments and wishes, might render even this ineffectual. She -saw that the flame had been kindled in a heart too susceptible, and where -opposition would encrease its force;—she upbraided her brother for his -blindness, and reproached herself for her folly. There was but one way -left, which was to communicate the Duke’s surmises and intentions to -the Admiral in terms so positive, that he could not mistake them, and -instantly to send for Buchanan. In pursuance of this purpose, she wrote -to inform him of every thing which had taken place, and to request him -without loss of time to meet her at Castle Delaval. Mrs. Seymour alone -folded Calantha to her bosom without one reproach, and, consigning her -with trembling anxiety to a father’s care, reminded him continually, -that she was his only remaining child, and that force, in a circumstance -of such moment, would be cruelty. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -Lady Margaret insisted upon removing Calantha immediately, to London; -but Lord Avondale having heard from the Admiral the cause of her intended -departure, immediately declared his intention of quitting Ireland. Every -thing was now in readiness for his departure; the day fixed; the hour -at hand. It was not perhaps till Lord Avondale felt that he was going -to leave Calantha for ever, that he was fully sensible how much, and -how entirely his affections were engaged. - -On the morning previous to his departure, Calantha threw the bracelet, -which Lady Margaret and her cousin had given her, from her arm; and, -weeping upon the bosom of Alice, bitterly lamented her fate, and informed -her friend that she never, never would belong to Buchanan.—Lord Avondale -had in vain sought an opportunity of seeing her one moment alone. He now -perceived the bracelet on the floor of the room she had just quitted; and -looking upon it, read, without being able to comprehend the application -of the inscription, “_Stessa sangue, Stessa sorte._”—He saw her at that -moment:—she was alone:—he followed her:—she fled from him, embarrassed -and agitated; but he soon approached her:—they fly so slowly who fly -from what they love. - -Lord Avondale thought he had much to say—many things to ask:—he wished -to explain the feelings of his heart—to tell Calantha, once at least -before he quitted her, how deeply—how dearly he had loved,—how, though -unworthy in his own estimation of aspiring to her hand, the remembrance -of her should stimulate him to every noble exertion, and raise him to -a reputation which, without her influence, he never could attain:—he -thought that he could have clasped her to his bosom, and pressed upon her -lips the first kiss of love—the dearest, the truest pledge of fondness -and devotion. But, scarcely able to speak, confused and faultering, he -dared not approach her:—he saw one before him robed in purity, and more -than vestal innocence—one timidly fearful of even a look, or thought, -that breathed aught against that virtue which alone it worshipped. - -“I am come,” he said, at length, “forgive my rashness, to restore -this bracelet, and myself to place it around your arms. Permit me to -say—farewell, before I leave you, perhaps for ever.” As he spoke, he -endeavoured to clasp the diamond lock;—his hand trembled;—Calantha started -from him. “Oh!” said she, “you know not what you do:—I am enough his -already:—be not you the person to devote me to him more completely:—do -not render me utterly miserable.” Though not entirely understanding her, -he scarcely could command himself. Her look, her manner—all told him too -certainly that which overcame his heart with delight.—“She loves me,” he -thought, “and I will die sooner than yield her to any human being:—she -loves me;” and, regardless of fears—of prudence—of every other feeling, -he pressed her one moment to his bosom. “Oh love me, Calantha,” was all -he had time to say; for she broke from him, and fled, too much agitated -to reply. That he had presumed too far, he feared; but that she was not -indifferent to him, he had heard and seen. The thought filled him with -hope, and rendered him callous to all that might befall him. - -The Duke entered the room as Calantha quitted it.—“Avondale,” he said, -offering him his hand, “speak to me, for I wish much to converse with -you before we part:—all I ask is, that you will not deceive me. Something -more than common has taken place:—I observed you with my child.” “I must -indeed speak with you,” said Lord Avondale firmly, but with considerable -agitation. “Every thing I hold dear—my life—my happiness—depend on what I -have to say.” He then informed the Duke with sincerity of his attachment -for Calantha,—proud and eager to acknowledge it, even though he feared -that his hopes might never be realized. - -“I am surprised and grieved,” said the Duke, “that a young man of your -high rank, fortune and rising fame, should thus madly throw away your -affections upon the only being perhaps who never must, never ought, to -return them. My daughter’s hand is promised to another. When I confess -this, do not mistake me:—No force will ever be made use of towards -her; her inclinations will at all times be consulted, even though she -should forget those of her parent; but she is now a mere child, and more -infantine and volatile withal, than it is possible for you to conceive. -There can be no necessity for her being now called upon to make a decided -choice. Buchanan is my nephew, and since the loss of my son, I have -centered all my hopes in him. He is heir to my name, as she is to my -fortune; and surely then an union between them, would be an event the -most desirable for me and for my family. But such considerations alone -would not influence me. I will tell you those then which operate in a -stronger manner:—I have given my solemn promise to my sister, that I will -do all in my power to assist in bringing about an event upon which her -heart is fixed. Judge then, if during her son’s absence, I can dispose -of Calantha’s hand, or permit her to see more of one, who has already, -I fear, made some impression upon her heart.” - -Lord Avondale appeared much agitated.—The Duke paused—then -continued—“Granting that your attachment for my child is as strong as you -would have me believe—granting, my dear young friend, that, captivated by -your very superior abilities, manners and amiable disposition, she has -in part returned the sentiments you acknowledge in her favour,—cannot -you make her the sacrifice I require of you?—Yes.—Though you now think -otherwise, you can do it. So short an acquaintance with each other, -authorizes the term I use:—this is but a mere fancy, which absence and -strength of mind will soon overcome.” - -Lord Avondale was proud even to a fault. He had listened to the Duke -without interrupting him; and the Duke continued to speak, because he -was afraid of hearing the answer, which he concluded would be made. For -protestations, menaces, entreaties he was prepared; but the respectful -silence which continued when he ceased, disconcerted him. “You are not -angry?” said he: “let us part in friendship:—do not go from me thus:—you -must forgive a father:—remember she is my child, and bound to me by -still dearer ties—she is my only one.” His voice faltered, as he said -this:—he thought of the son who had once divided his affections, and of -whom he seldom made mention since his loss. - -Lord Avondale, touched by his manner and by his kindness, accepted his -hand, and struggling with pride—with love,—“I will obey your commands,” -he at length said, “and fly from her presence, if it be for her -happiness:—her happiness is the dearest object of my life. Yet let me see -her before I leave her.”—“No,” said the Duke, “it is too dangerous.” “If -this must not be,” said Lord Avondale, “at least tell her, that for her -sake, I have conquered even my own nature in relinquishing her hand, and, -with it every hope, but too strongly cherished by me. Tell her, that if I -do this, it is not because I do not feel for her the most passionate and -most unalterable attachment. I renounce her only, as I trust, to consign -her to a happier fate. You are her father:—you best know the affection -she deserves:—if she casts away a thought sometimes on me, let her not -suffer for the generosity and goodness of her heart:—let her not.”—He -would have said more, but he was too deeply affected to continue:—he -could not act, or dissemble:—he felt strongly, and he shewed it. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -After this conversation, Calantha saw no more of her lover: yet he was -very anxious to see her once again, and much and violently agitated -before he went. A few words which he had written to her he gave into -Mrs. Seymour’s own hands; and this letter, though it was such as to -justify the high opinion some had formed of his character, was but -little calculated to satisfy the expectations of Calantha’s absurdly -romantic mind; or to realize the hopes she had cherished. It was not -more expressive of his deep regret at their necessary separation, than -of his anxiety that she should not suffer her spirits to be depressed, -or irritate her father by an opposition which would prove fruitless.—“He -does not love you Calantha,” said Lady Margaret, with a malicious smile, -as soon as she had read the letter—(and every one would read it):—“when -men begin to speak of duty, they have ceased to love.” This remark gave -Calantha but little consolation. Lord Avondale had quitted her too, -without even bidding her farewell; and her thoughts continually dwelt -on this disappointment. - -Calantha knew not then that her misery was more than shared,—that Lord -Avondale, though too proud to acknowledge it, was a prey to the deepest -grief upon her account,—that he lived but in the hope of possessing -the only being upon earth to whom he had attached himself,—and that the -sentence pronounced against both, was a death stroke to his happiness, -as well as to her own. When strong love awakes for the first time in an -inexperienced heart it is so diffident, so tremblingly fearful, that -it dares scarcely hope even for a return; and our own demerits appear -before us, in such exaggerated colours, and the superior excellence of -the object we worship arises so often to our view, that it seems but the -natural consequence of our own presumption, that we should be neglected -and forgotten. - -Of Admiral Sir R. Mowbray, Calantha now took leave without being able -to utter one word:—she wept as children weep in early days, the hearts’ -convulsive sob free and unrestrained. He was as much affected as herself, -and seeking Lady Margaret, before he left the castle and followed his -nephew who had gone straight to England, began an eager attack upon her, -with all the blunt asperity of his nature. Indeed he bitterly reproached -himself, and all those who had influenced him, in what he termed his -harsh unfeeling conduct to his nephew in this affair.—“And as to you, -madam,” he cried, addressing Lady Margaret, “you make two young people -wretched, to gratify the vanity of your son, and acquire a fortune, -which I would willingly yield to you, provided the dear children might -marry, and go home with me to Allanwater, a place as pretty, and far -more peaceful than any in these parts: there, I warrant, they would live -happy, and die innocent—which is more than most folks can say in these -great palaces and splendid castles.” - -A smile of contempt was the only answer Lady Margaret deigned to give.—Sir -Richard continued, “you are all a mighty fine set of people, no doubt, -and your assemblies, and your balls are thronged and admired; but none of -these things will make the dear child happy, if her mind is set upon my -nephew; I am the last in the world to disparage any one; but my nephew -is just as proper a man in every point of view as your son; aye, or any -body’s son in the whole world; and so there is my mind given free and -hearty; for there is not a nobler fellow, and there never can be, than -Henry Avondale:—he is as brave a soldier as ever fought for his country; -and in what is he deficient?” Lady Margaret’s lips and cheeks were now -become livid and pale—a fatal symptom, as anger of that description in all -ages has led to evil deeds; whereas the scarlet effusion has, from the -most ancient times been accounted harmless. “Take Lady Calantha then,” -exclaimed Lady Margaret, with assumed calmness, while every furious -passion shook her frame; “and may she prove a serpent to your bosom, -and blast the peace of your whole family.” “She is an angel!” exclaimed -the Admiral, “and she will be our pride, and our comfort.” “She is a -woman,” returned Lady Margaret, with a malicious sneer; “and, by one -means or other, she will work her calling.” Calantha’s tears checked -Sir Richard’s anger; and, his carriage being in readiness, he left the -castle immediately after this conversation. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -It may easily be supposed that Lady Margaret Buchanan and Mrs. Seymour -had a most cordial dislike for each other. Happily, at present, they -agreed in one point: they were both desirous of rousing Calantha from -the state of despondency into which Lord Avondale’s departure had thrown -her. By both, she was admonished to look happy, and to restrain her -excessive grief. Mrs. Seymour spoke to her of duty and self control. Lady -Margaret sought to excite her ambition and desire of distinction. One -only subject was entirely excluded from conversation: Lord Avondale’s -name was forbidden to be mentioned in Calantha’s presence, and every -allusion to the past to be studiously avoided. - -Lady Margaret, however, well aware that whosoever transgressed this -regulation would obtain full power over her niece’s heart, lost no -opportunity of thus gaining her confidence and affection. - -Having won, by this artifice, an easy and favorable audience, after two -or three conversations upon the subject the most interesting to Calantha, -she began, by degrees, to introduce the name, and with the name such a -representation of the feelings of her son, as she well knew to be best -calculated to work upon the weakness of a female heart. Far different -were his real feelings, and far different his real conduct from that -which was described to her niece by Lady Margaret. She had written to -him a full account of all that had taken place; but his answer, which -arrived tardily, and, after much delay, had served only to increase that -lady’s ill humour and add to her disappointment. In the letter which -he sent to his mother he openly derided her advice; professed entire -indifference towards Calantha; and said that, indubitably, he could -not waste his thoughts or time in humouring the absurd fancies of a -capricious girl,—that Lord Avondale, or any other, were alike welcome to -her hand,—that, as for himself, the world was wide and contained women -enough for him; he could range amongst those frail and fickle charmers -without subjecting his honour and his liberty to their pleasure; and, -since the lady had already dispensed with the vows given and received at -an age when the heart was pure, he augured ill of her future conduct, -and envied not the happiness of the man it was her present fancy to -select:—he professed his intention of joining the army on the continent; -talked of leaden hail, glory and death! and seemed resolved not to lessen -the merit of any exploits he might achieve by any want of brilliancy in -the colouring and description of them. - -Enraged at this answer, and sickening at his conceit, Lady Margaret sent -immediately to entreat, or rather to command, his return. In the mean -time, she talked much to Calantha of his sufferings and despair; and soon -perceiving how greatly the circumstance of Lord Avondale’s consenting -to part from her had wounded her feelings, and how perpetually she -recurred to it, she endeavoured, by the most artful interpretations of -his conduct, to lower him in her estimation. Sarcastically contrasting -his coldness with Buchanan’s enthusiasm: “Your lover,” said she, “is, -without doubt, most disinterested!—His eager desire for your happiness -is shown in every part of his conduct!—Such warmth—such delicacy! How -happy would a girl like my Calantha be with such a husband!—What filial -piety distinguishes the whole of his behaviour!—Obey your father, is -the burthen of his creed! He seems even to dread the warmth of your -affection!—He trembles when he thinks into what imprudence it may carry -you!—Why, he is a perfect model, is he not? But let me ask you, my -dear niece, is love, according to your notions and feelings, thus cool -and considerate?—does it pause to weigh right and duty?—is it so very -rational and contemplative?...” “Yes,” replied Calantha, somewhat piqued. -“Virtuous love can make sacrifices; but, when love is united with guilt, -it becomes selfish and thinks only of the present moment.” “And how, my -little philosopher, did you acquire so prematurely this wonderful insight -into the nature of love?” “By feeling it,” said Calantha, triumphantly; -“and by comparing my own feelings with what I have heard called by that -name in others.” - -As she said this, her colour rose, and she fixed her animated blue eyes -full upon Lady Margaret’s face; but vainly did she endeavour to raise -emotion there; that countenance, steady and unruffled, betrayed not even a -momentary flash of anger: her large orbs rolled securely, as she returned -the glance, with a look of proud and scornful superiority. “My little -niece,” said she, tapping her gently on the head, and taking from her -clustering locks the comb that confined them, “my little friend is grown -quite a satirist, and all who have not had, like her, every advantage -of education, are to be severely lashed, I find, for the errors they -may inadvertently have committed.” As she spoke, tears started from her -eyes. Calantha threw herself upon her bosom. “O, my dear aunt,” she said, -“my dearest aunt, forgive me, I entreat you. God knows I have faults -enough myself, and it is not for me to judge of others, whose situation -may have been very different from mine. Is it possible that I should -have caused your tears? My words must, indeed, have been very bitter; -pray forgive me.” “Calantha,” said Lady Margaret, “you are already more -than forgiven; but the tears I shed were not occasioned by your last -speech; though it is true, censure from one’s children, or those one has -ever treated as such, is more galling than from others. But, indeed, my -spirits are much shaken. I have had letters from my son, and he seems -more hurt at your conduct than I expected:—he talks of renouncing his -country and his expectations; he says that, if indeed his Calantha, who -has been the constant object of his thoughts in absence, can have already -renounced her vows and him, he will never intrude his griefs upon her, -nor ever seek to bias her inclinations: yet it is with deep and lasting -regret that he consents to tear you from his remembrance and consign -you to another.” - -Calantha signed deeply at this unexpected information. To condemn any one -to the pangs of unrequited love was hard: she had already felt that it was -no light suffering; and Lady Margaret, seeing how her false and artful -representations had worked upon the best feelings of an inexperienced -heart, lost no opportunity of improving and increasing their effect. - -These repeated attempts to move Calantha to a determination, which was -held out to her as a virtuous and honourable sacrifice made to duty -and to justice, were not long before they were attended with success. -Urged on all sides continually, and worked upon by those she loved, she -at last yielded with becoming inconsistency; and one evening, when she -saw her father somewhat indisposed, she approached him, and whispered -in his ear, that she had thought better of her conduct, and would be -most happy in fulfilling his commands in every respect. “Now you are a -heroine, indeed,” said Lady Margaret, who had overheard the promise: -“you have shewn that true courage which I expected from you—you have -gained a victory over yourself, and I cannot but feel proud of you.” -“Aye,” thought Calantha, “flattery is the chain that will bind me; gild -it but bright enough, and be secure of its strength: you have found, at -last, the clue; now make use of it to my ruin.” - -“She consents,” said Lady Margaret; “it is sufficient; let there be -no delay; let us dazzle her imagination, and awaken her ambition, and -gratify her vanity by the most splendid presents and preparations!” - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -Calantha’s jewels and costly attire—her equipages and attendants, were now -the constant topic of conversation. Every rich gift was ostentatiously -exhibited; while congratulations, were on all sides, poured forth, upon -the youthful bride. Lady Margaret, eagerly displaying the splendid store -to Calantha, asked her if she were not happy.—“Do not,” she replied -addressing her aunt, “do not fancy that I am weak enough to value these -baubles:—My heart at least is free from a folly like this:—I despise this -mockery of riches.” “You despise it!” repeated Lady Margaret, with an -incredulous smile:—“you despise grandeur and vanity! Child, believe one -who knows you well, you worship them; they are your idols; and while your -simple voice sings forth romantic praises of simplicity and retirement, -you have been cradled in luxury, and you cannot exist without it.” - -Buchanan was now daily, nay even hourly expected:—Lady Margaret, awaited -him with anxious hope; Calantha with increasing fear. Having one morning -ridden out to divert her mind from the dreadful suspense under which she -laboured, and meeting with Sir Everard, she enquired of him respecting -her former favourite: “Miss Elinor,” said the doctor, “is still with -her aunt, the abbess of Glanaa; and, her noviciate being over, she will -soon, I fancy, take the veil. You cannot see her; but if your Ladyship -will step from your horse, and enter into my humble abode, I will shew -you a portrait of St. Clara, for so we now call her, she being indeed a -saint; and sure you will admire it.” Calantha accompanied the doctor, and -was struck with the singular beauty of the portrait. “Happy St. Clara, -she said, and sighed:—your heart, dedicated thus early to Heaven, will -escape the struggles and temptations to which mine is already exposed. -Oh! that I too, might follow your example; and, far from a world for -which I am not formed, pass my days in piety and peace.” - -That evening, as the Duke of Altamonte led his daughter through the -crowded apartments, presenting her to every one previous to her marriage, -she was suddenly informed that Buchanan was arrived. Her forced spirits, -and assumed courage at once forsook her; she fled to her room; and -there giving vent to her real feelings, wept bitterly.—“Yet why should -I grieve thus?” she said:—“What though he be here to claim me? my hand -is yet free:—I will not give it against the feelings of my heart.”—Mrs. -Seymour had observed her precipitate flight, and following, insisted -upon being admitted. She endeavoured to calm her; but it was too late. - -From that day, Calantha sickened:—the aid of the physician, and the -care of her friends were vain:—an alarming illness seized upon her mind, -and affected her whole frame. In the paroxysm of her fever, she called -repeatedly upon Lord Avondale’s name, which confirmed those around her -in the opinion they entertained, that her malady had been occasioned by -the violent effort she had made, and the continual dread under which -she had existed for some time past, of Buchanan’s return. Her father -bitterly reproached himself for his conduct; watched by her bed in anxious -suspense; and under the impression of the deepest alarm, wrote to his old -friend the admiral, informing him of his daughter’s danger, and imploring -him to urge Lord Avondale to forget what had passed and to hasten again -to Castle Delaval.—He stated that, to satisfy his sister’s ambition, -the greater part of his fortune should be settled upon Buchanan, to -whom his title descended; and if, after this arrangement, Lord Avondale -still continued the same as when he had parted from Calantha, he only -requested his forgiveness of his former apparent harshness, and earnestly -besought his return without a moment’s loss of time. - -His sister, he strove in vain to appease:—Lady Margaret was in no temper -of mind to admit of his excuses. Her son had arrived and again left the -castle, without even seeing Calantha; and when the Duke attempted to -pacify Lady Margaret, she turned indignantly from him, declaring that -if he had the weakness to yield to the arts and stratagems of a spoiled -and wayward child, she would instantly depart from under his roof, and -never see him more. No one event could have grieved him so much, as this -open rupture with his sister. Yet his child’s continued danger turned -his thoughts from this, and every other consideration:—he yielded to her -wishes:—he could not endure the sight of her misery:—he had from infancy -never refused her slightest request:—and could he now, on so momentous -an occasion, could he now force her inclinations and constrain her choice. - -The kind intentions of the Duke were however defeated. Stung to the soul, -Calantha would not hear of marriage with Lord Avondale:—pride, a far -stronger feeling than love, at that early period, disdained to receive -concessions even from a father:—and a certain moroseness began to mark -her character, as she slowly recovered from her illness, which never -had been observed in it before. She became austere and reserved; read -nothing but books of theology and controversy; seemed even to indulge -an inclination for a monastic life; was often with Miss St. Clare; and -estranged herself from all other society. - -“Let her have her will,” said Lady Margaret, “it is the only means of -curing her of this new fancy.”—The Duke however thought otherwise: he -was greatly alarmed at the turn her disposition seemed to have taken, -and tried every means in his power to remedy and counteract it.—A year -passed thus away; and the names of Buchanan and Lord Avondale were -rarely or never mentioned at the castle; when one evening, suddenly and -unexpectedly, the latter appeared there to answer in person, a message -which the Duke had addressed to him, through the Admiral, during his -daughter’s illness. - -Lord Avondale had been abroad since last he had parted from Calantha; he -had gained the approbation of the army in which he served; and what was -better, he knew that he deserved it. His uncle’s letter had reached him -when still upon service. He had acted upon the staff; he now returned -to join his own regiment which was quartered at Leitrim; and his first -care, before he proceeded upon the duties of his profession, was to seek -the Duke, and to claim, with diminished fortune and expectations, the -bride his early fancy had chosen.—“I will not marry him—I will not see -him:”—These were the only words Calantha pronounced, as they led her -into the room where he was conversing with her father. - -When she saw him, however, her feelings changed. Every heart which has -ever known what it is to meet after a long estrangement, the object of -its first, of its sole, of its entire devotion, can picture to itself -the scene which followed. Neither pride, nor monastic vows, nor natural -bashfulness, repressed the full flow of her happiness at the moment, -when Lord Avondale rushed forward to embrace her, and calling her his -own Calantha, mingled his tears with hers.—The Duke, greatly affected, -looked upon them both. “Take her,” he said, addressing Lord Avondale, and -be assured, whatever her faults, she is my heart’s pride—my treasure. Be -kind to her:—that I know you will be, whilst the enthusiasm of passion -lasts: but ever be kind to her, even when it has subsided:—remember she -has yet to learn what it is to be controuled.” “She shall never learn -it,” said Lord Avondale, again embracing Calantha: “by day, by night, I -have lived but in this hope:—she shall never repent her choice.” “The God -of Heaven vouchsafe his blessing upon you,” said the Duke.—“My sister -may call this weakness; but the smile on my child’s countenance is a -sufficient reward.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -What Lord Avondale had said was true.—One image had pursued him in every -change of situation, since he had parted from Calantha; and though he -had scarcely permitted his mind to dwell on hope; yet he felt that, -without her, there was no happiness for him on earth; and he thought that -once united to her, he was beyond the power of sorrow or misfortune. -So chaste, even in thought, she seemed—so frank and so affectionate, -could he be otherwise than happy with such a companion? How then was -he astonished, when, as soon as they were alone, she informed him that, -although she adored him, she was averse to the fetters he was so eager -to impose. How was he struck to find that all the chimerical, romantic -absurdities, which he most despised, were tenaciously cherished by her; -to be told that dear as he was, her freedom was even dearer; that she -thought it a crime to renounce her vows, her virgin vows; and that she -never would become a slave and a wife;—he must not expect it. - -Unhappy Avondale! even such an avowal did not open his eyes, or deter him -from his pursuit. Love blinds the wisest: and fierce passion domineers -over reason. The dread of another separation inspired him with alarm. -Agitated—furious—he now combatted every objection, ventured every promise, -and loved even with greater fondness from the increasing dread of again -losing what he had hoped was already his own.—“Men of the world are -without religion,” said Calantha with tears; “Women of the world are -without principle. Truth is regarded by none. I love and honour my God, -even more than I love you; and truth is dearer to me than life. I am not -like those I see:—my education, my habits, my feelings are different; -I am like one uncivilized and savage; and if you place me in society, -you will have to blush every hour for the faults I shall involuntarily -commit. Besides this objection, my temper—I am more violent—Oh that it -were not so; but can I, ought I, to deceive you?”... “You are all that is -noble, frank and generous: you shall guide me,” said Lord Avondale; “and -I will protect you. Be mine:—fear me not:—your principles, I venerate; -your religion I will study—will learn—will believe in.—What more?” - -Lord Avondale sought, and won that strange uncertain being, for whom he -was about to sacrifice so much. He considered not the lengthened journey -of life—the varied scenes through which they were to pass; where all -the qualities in which she was wholly deficient would be so often and -so absolutely required—discretion, prudence, firm and steady principle, -obedience, humility.—But to all her confessions and remonstrances, he -replied:—“I love, and you return my passion:—can we be otherwise than -blest! You are the dearest object of my affection, my life, my hope, -my joy. If you can live without me, which I do not believe, I cannot -without you; and that is sufficient. Sorrows must come on all; but united -together we can brave them.—My Calantha you torture me, but to try me. -Were I to renounce you—were I to take you at your word, you, you would -be the first to regret and to reproach me.”—“It is but the name of wife -I hate,” replied the spoiled and wayward child.—“I must command:—my -will.”—“Your will, shall be my law,” said Lord Avondale, as he knelt -before her: “you shall be my mistress—my guide—my monitress—and I, a -willing slave.”—So spoke the man, who, like the girl he addressed, had -died sooner than have yielded up his freedom, or his independence to -another; who, high and proud, had no conception of even the slightest -interference with his conduct or opposition to his wishes; and who at -the very moment that in words he yielded up his liberty, sought only -the fulfilment of his own desire, and the attainment of an object upon -which he had fixed his mind. - -The day arrived. A trembling bride, and an impassioned lover faintly -articulated the awful vow. Lord Avondale thought himself the happiest of -men; and Calantha, though miserable at the moment, felt that, on earth, -she loved but him. In the presence of her assembled family, they uttered -the solemn engagement, which bound them through existence to each other; -and though Calantha was deeply affected, she did not regret the sacred -promise she had made. - -When Lord Avondale, however, approached to take her from her father’s -arms—when she heard that the carriages awaited, which were to bear them -to another residence, nor love, nor force prevailed. “This is my home,” -she cried: “these are my parents. Share all I have—dwell with me where -I have ever dwelt; but think not that I can quit them thus. No spirit -of coquetry—no petty airs, learned or imagined, suggested this violent -and reiterated exclamation—I will not go.” I will not—was sufficient -as she imagined, to change the most determined character; and when she -found that force was opposed to her violence, terror, nay abhorrence -took possession of her mind; and it was with shrieks of despair she was -torn from her father’s bosom. - -“Unhappy Avondale!” said Sophia, as she saw her thus borne away, “may -that violent spirit grow tame, and tractable, and may Calantha at length -prove worthy of such a husband!” This exclamation was uttered with a -feeling which mere interest for her cousin could not have created. In -very truth, Sophia loved Lord Avondale. And Alice MacAllain, who heard the -prayer with surprise and indignation, added fervently:—“that he may make -her happy—that he may know the value of the treasure he possesses—this -is all I ask of heaven.—Oh! my mistress—my protectress—my Calantha—what -is there left me on earth to love, now thou art gone? Whatever they may -say of thy errors even those errors are dearer to my heart, than all -the virtues thou has left behind.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -It was at Allanwater, a small villa amidst the mountains, in the county -of Leitrim, that Lord and Lady Avondale passed the first months of -their marriage. This estate had been settled upon Sir Richard Mowbray, -during his lifetime, by his brother, the late Earl of Avondale. It was -cheerful, though retired; and to Calantha’s enchanted eyes, appeared -all that was most romantic and beautiful upon earth. What indeed had not -appeared beautiful to her in the company of the man she loved! Every one -fancies that there exists in the object of their peculiar admiration a -superiority over others. Calantha perhaps was fully justified in this -opinion. Lord Avondale displayed even in his countenance the sensibility -of a warm, ardent and generous character. He had a distinguished and -prepossessing manner, entirely free from all affectation. It is seldom -that this can be said of any man, and more seldom of one possessed of -such singular beauty of person. He appeared indeed wholly to forget -himself; and was ever more eager in the interests of others than his -own. Many there are, who, though endowed with the best understandings, -have yet an inertness, an insensibility to all that is brilliant and -accomplished; and who, though correct in their observations, yet fatigue -in the long intercourse of life by the sameness of their thoughts. Lord -Avondale’s understanding, however, fraught as it was with knowledge, -was illumined by the splendid light of genius, yet not overthrown by its -force. Of his mind, it might be truly said, that it did not cherish one -base, one doubtful or worldly feeling. He was so sincere that, even in -conversation, he never mis-stated, or exaggerated a fact. He saw at a -glance the faults of others; but his extreme good nature and benevolence -prevented his taking umbrage at them. He was, it is true, of a hot and -passionate temper, and if once justly offended, firm in his resolve, -and not very readily appeased; but he was too generous to injure or to -hate even those who might deserve it. When he loved, and he never really -loved but one, it was with so violent, so blind a passion, that he might -be said to doat upon the very errors of the girl to whom he was thus -attached. To the society of women he had been early accustomed; but had -suffered too much from their arts, and felt too often the effects of their -caprices, to be easily made again their dupe and instrument. Of beauty -he had ofttimes been the willing slave. Strong passion, opportunity, -and entire liberty of conduct, had, at an early period, thrown him into -its power. His profession, and the general laxity of morals, prevented -his viewing his former conduct in the light in which it appeared to his -astonished bride; but when she sighed, because she feared that she was -not the first who had subdued his affections, he smilingly assured her, -that she should be the last—that no other should ever be dear to him -again. - -Calantha, in manner, in appearance, in every feeling, was but a child. -At one hour, she would look entranced upon Avondale, and breath vows of -love and tenderness; at another, hide from his gaze, and weep for the -home she had left. At one time she would talk with him and laugh from -the excess of gaiety she felt; at another, she would stamp her foot -upon the ground in a fit of childish impatience, and exclaiming, “You -must not contradict me in any thing,” she would menace to return to her -father, and never see him more. - -If Lord Avondale had a defect, it was too great good nature, so that -he suffered his vain and frivolous partner, to command, and guide, and -arrange all things around him, as she pleased, nor foresaw the consequence -of her imprudence, though too often carried to excess. With all his -knowledge, he knew not how to restrain; and he had not the experience -necessary to guide one of her character:—he could only idolize; he left -it to others to censure and admonish. - -It was also for Calantha’s misfortune, that Lord Avondale’s religious -opinions were different from those in which she had been early educated. -It was perhaps to shew him the utility of stricter doctrines, both of -faith and morality, that heaven permitted one so good and noble, as he -was, to be united with one so frail and weak. Those doctrines which he -loved to discuss, and support in speculation, she eagerly seized upon, and -carried into practice; thus proving to him too clearly, their dangerous -and pernicious tendency. Eager to oppose and conquer those opinions in -his wife, which savoured as he thought of bigotry and prudish reserve, he -tore the veil at once from her eyes, and opened hastily her wondering mind -to a world before unknown. He foresaw not the peril to which he exposed -her:—he heeded not the rapid progress of her thoughts—the boundless -views of an over-heated imagination. At first she shrunk with pain and -horror, from every feeling which to her mind appeared less chaste, less -pure, than those to which she had long been accustomed; but when her -principles, or rather her prejudices, yielded to the power of love, she -broke from a restraint too rigid, into a liberty the most dangerous from -its novelty, its wildness and its uncertainty. - -The monastic severity which she had imposed upon herself, from exaggerated -sentiments of piety and devotion, gave way with the rest of her former -maxims.—She knew not where to pause, or rest; her eyes were dazzled, -her understanding bewildered; and she viewed the world, and the new form -which it wore before her, with strange and unknown feelings, which she -could neither define, nor command. - -Before this period, her eyes had never even glanced upon the numerous -pages which have unfortunately been traced by the hand of profaneness and -impurity; even the more innocent fictions of romance had been withheld -from her; and her mother’s precepts had, in this respect, been attended -to by her with sacred care. Books of every description were now, without -advice, without selection, thrown open before her; horror and astonishment -at first retarded the course of curiosity and interest:—Lord Avondale -smiled; and soon the alarm of innocence was converted into admiration -at the wit, and beauty with which some of these works abounded. Care -is taken when the blind are cured, that the strong light of day should -not fall too suddenly upon the eye; but no caution was observed in at -once removing from Calantha’s mind, the shackles, the superstitions, -the reserve, the restrictions which overstrained notions of purity and -piety had imposed. - -Calantha’s lover had become her master; and he could not tear himself -one moment from his pupil. He laughed at every artless or shrewd remark, -and pleased himself with contemplating the first workings of a mind, -not unapt in learning, though till then exclusively wrapt up in the -mysteries of religion, the feats of heroes, the poetry of classic bards, -and the history of nations the most ancient and the most removed.—“Where -have you existed, my Calantha?” he continually said:—“who have been -your companions?” “I had none,” she replied; “but wherever I heard of -cruelty, vice, or irreligion, I turned away.” “Ah, do so still, my best -beloved,” said Lord Avondale, with a sigh. “Be ever as chaste, as frank, -as innocent, as now.” “I cannot,” said Calantha, confused and grieved. “I -thought it the greatest of all crimes to love:—no ceremony of marriage—no -doctrines, men have invented, can quiet my conscience:—I know no longer -what to believe, or what to doubt:—hide me in your bosom:—let us live -far from a world which you say is full of evil:—and never part from -my side; for you are—Henry you are, all that is left me now. I look no -more for the protection of Heaven, or the guidance of parents;—you are -my only hope:—do you preserve and bless me; for I have left every thing -for you.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -There is nothing so difficult to describe as happiness. Whether some -feeling of envy enters into the mind upon hearing of it, or whether it is -so calm, so unassuming, so little ostentatious in itself, that words give -an imperfect idea of it, I know not. It is easier to enjoy it, than to -define it. It springs in the heart, and shews itself on the countenance; -but it shuns all display; and is oftener found at home, when home has -not been embittered by dissensions, suspicions and guilt, than any where -else upon earth. Yes, it is in home and in those who watch there for us. -Miserable is the being, who turns elsewhere for consolation! Desolate -is the heart which has broken the ties that bound it there. - -Calantha was happy; her home was blessed; and in Lord Avondale’s society -every hour brought her joy. Perhaps the feelings which, at this time -united them, were too violent—too tumultuous. Few can bear to be thus -loved—thus indulged: very few minds are strong enough to resist it. -Calantha was utterly enervated by it; and when the cares of life first -aroused Lord Avondale, and called him from her, she found herself unfit -for the new situation she was immediately required to fill. When for a few -hours he left her, she waited with trembling anxiety for his return; and -though she murmured not at the necessary change, her days were spent in -tears, and her nights in restless agitation. He more than shared in her -distress: he even encouraged the excess of sensibility which gave rise -to it; for men, whilst they love, think every new caprice and weakness -in the object of it but a new charm; and whilst Calantha could make him -grave or merry—or angry or pleased, just as it suited her, he pardoned -every omission—he forgave every fault. - -Used to be indulged and obeyed, she was not surprised to find him a -willing slave; but she had no conception that the chains he now permitted -to be laid upon him, were ever to be broken; and tears and smiles, she -thought, must, at all times, have the power over his heart which they -now possessed. She was not mistaken:—Lord Avondale was of too fine a -character to trifle with the affections he had won; and Calantha had too -much sense and spirit to wrong him. He looked to his home therefore for -comfort and enjoyment. He folded to his bosom the only being upon earth, -for whom he felt one sentiment of passion or of love. Calantha had not -a thought that he did not know, and share: his heart was as entirely -open, as her own. - -Was it possible to be more happy? It was; and that blessing too, was -granted. Lady Avondale became a mother:—She gave to Avondale, the dearest -gift a wife can offer—a boy, lovely in all the grace of childhood—whose -rosy smiles, and whose infant caresses, seemed even more than ever to -unite them together. He was dear to both; but they were far dearer to -each other. At Allenwater, in the fine evenings of summer, they wandered -out upon the mountains, and saw not in the countenance of the villagers -half the tenderness and happiness they felt themselves. They uttered -therefore no exclamations upon the superior joy of honest industry:—a -cottage offered nothing to their view, which could excite either envy or -regret:—they gave to all, and were loved by all; but in all respects they -felt themselves as innocent, and more happy than those who surrounded -them. - -In truth, the greater refinement, the greater polish the mind and manner -receive, the more exquisite must be the enjoyment the heart is capable -of obtaining. Few know how to love:—it is a word which many misuse; but -they who have felt it, know that there is nothing to compare with it -upon earth. It cannot however exist if in union with guilt. If ever it -do spring up in a perverted heart, it constitutes the misery that heart -deserves:—it consumes and tortures, till it expires. Even, however, -when lawful and virtuous, it may be too violent:—it may render those -who are subject to it, negligent of other duties, and careless of other -affections: this in some measure was the case of Lord and Lady Avondale. - -From Allenwater, Lord and Lady Avondale proceeded to Monteith, an estate -of Lord Avondale’s, where his Aunt Lady Mowbray and his only sister Lady -Elizabeth Mowbray resided. Sir Richard and Lady Mowbray had never had -any children, but Elizabeth and Lord Avondale were as dear to them, and -perhaps dearer than if they had been their own. The society at Monteith -was large. There pleasure and gaiety and talent were chiefly prised and -sought after, while a strong party spirit prevailed. Lady Monteith, a -woman of an acute and penetrating mind, had warmly espoused the cause -of the ministry of the day. Possessed of every quality that could most -delight in society,—brilliant, beautiful and of a truly masculine -understanding, she was accurate in judgment, and at a glance could -penetrate the secrets of others; yet was she easily herself deceived. -She had a nobleness of mind which the intercourse with the world and -exposure to every temptation, had not been able to destroy. Bigotted -and prejudiced in opinions which early habit had consecrated, she was -sometimes too severe in her censures of others. - -At Castle Delaval, the society was even too refined; and a slight tinge -of affectation might, by those who were inclined to censure, be imputed -to it. Though ease was not wanting, there was a polish in manner, perhaps -in thought, which removed the general tone somewhat too far from the -simplicity of nature; sentiment, and all the romance of virtue, was -encouraged. - -At Monteith, on the contrary, this over refinement was the constant -topic of ridicule. Every thought was there uttered, and every feeling -expressed:—there was neither shyness, nor reserve, nor affectation. Talent -opposed itself to talent with all the force of argument.—The loud laugh -that pointed out any new folly, or hailed any new occasion of mirth, was -different from the subdued smile, and gentle hint to which Calantha had -been accustomed. Opinions were there liberally discussed; characters -stripped of their pretences; and satire mingled with the good humour, -and jovial mirth, which on every side abounded. - -She heard and saw every thing with surprise; and though she loved and -admired the individuals, she felt herself unfit to live among them. There -was a liberality of opinion and a satiric turn which she could not at -once comprehend; and she said to herself, daily, as she considered those -around her—“They are different from me.—I can never assimilate myself -to them: I was every thing in my own family; and I am nothing here.” -What talents she had, were of a sort they could not appreciate; and all -the defects were those which they most despised. The refinement, the -romance, the sentiment she had imbibed, appeared in their eyes assumed -and unnatural; her strict opinions perfectly ridiculous; her enthusiasm -absolute insanity; and the violence of her temper, if contradicted -or opposed, the pettishness of a spoiled and wayward child. Yet too -indulgent, too kind to reject her, they loved her, they caressed her, -they bore with her petulance and mistakes. It was, however, as a child -they considered her:—they treated her as one not arrived at maturity of -judgment. - -Her reason by degrees became convinced by the arguments which she -continually heard; and all that was spoken at random, she treasured up -as truth: even whilst vehemently contending and disputing in defence of -her favourite tenets, she became of another opinion. So dangerous is -a little knowledge—so unstable is violence. Her soul’s immortal hopes -seemed to be shaken by the unguarded jests of the profane, who casually -visited at Monteith, or whom she met with elsewhere:—she read till she -confounded truth and falsehood, nor knew any longer what to believe:—she -heard folly censured till she took it to be criminal; but crime she saw -tolerated if well concealed. The names she had set in her very heart -as pure and spotless, she heard traduced and vilified:—indignantly she -defended them with all the warmth of ardent youth:—they were proved -guilty; she wept in agony, she loved them not less, but she thought less -favourably of those who had undeceived her. - -The change in Calantha’s mind was constant—was daily: it never ceased—it -never paused; and none marked its progress, or checked her career. In -emancipating herself from much that was no doubt useless, she stripped -herself by degrees of all, till she neither feared, nor cared, nor knew -any longer what was, from what was not. - -Nothing gives greater umbrage than a misconception and mistaken -application of tenets and opinions which were never meant to be thus -understood and acted upon. Lady Mowbray, a strict adherent to all customs -and etiquettes, saw with astonishment in Calantha a total disregard of -them; and her high temper could ill brook such a defect. Accustomed to the -gentleness of Elizabeth, she saw with indignation the liberty her niece -had assumed. It was not for her to check her; but rigidity, vehemence -in dispute, and harsh truths, at times too bitterly expressed on both -sides, gave an appearance of disunion between them, which happily was -very far from being real, as Calantha loved and admired Lady Mowbray -with the warmest affection. - -Lord Avondale, in the mean time, solely devoted to his wife, blinded -himself to her danger. He saw not the change a few months had made, or -he imputed it alone to her enthusiasm for himself. He thought others -harsh to what he regarded as the mere thoughtlessness of youth; and, -surrendering himself wholly to her guidance, he chided, caressed and -laughed with her in turn. “I see how it is Henry,” said Sir Richard, -before he left Ireland,—“you are a lost man; I shall leave you another -year to amuse yourself; and I fancy by that time all this nonsense will -be over. I love you the better for it, however, my dear boy;—a soldier -never looks so well, to my mind, as when kneeling to a pretty woman, -provided he does his duty abroad, as well as at home, and that praise -every one must give you.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -The threatening storm of rebellion now darkened around.—Acts of daily -rapine and outrage alarmed the inhabitants of Ireland, both in the -capital and in the country: all the military forces were increased; -Lord Avondale’s regiment, then at Leitrim, was ordered out on actual -service; and the business of his profession employed every moment of his -time. The vigorous measures pursued, soon produced a favorable change; -tranquillity was apparently restored; and the face of things resumed -its former appearance; but the individual minds that had been aroused -to action were not so easily quieted, and the charms of an active life -were not so readily laid aside. Lord Avondale was still much abroad—much -occupied; and the time hanging heavy upon Calantha’s hands, she was not -sorry to hear that they were going to spend the ensuing winter in London. - -In the autumn, previous to their departure for England, they passed a -few weeks at Castle Delaval, chiefly for the purpose of meeting Lady -Margaret Buchanan who had till then studiously avoided every occasion -of meeting Lady Avondale. Buchanan had neither seen her nor sent her -one soothing message since that event, so angry he affected to be, at -what, in reality, gave him the sincerest delight. - -Count Gondimar had returned from Italy, and was now at the castle. He -had brought letters from Viviani to Lady Margaret, who said at once when -she had read them: “You wish to deceive me. These letters are dated -from Naples, but our young friend is here—here even in Ireland.” “And -his vengeance,” said Gondimar, laughing. Lady Margaret affected, also, -to smile:—“Oh, his vengeance!” she said, “is yet to come:—save me from -his love now; and I will defend myself from the rest.” - -Lord and Lady Dartford were, likewise, at the castle. He appeared -cold and careless. In his pretty inoffensive wife, he found not those -attractions, those splendid talents which had enthralled him for so long -a period with Lady Margaret. He still pined for the tyranny of caprice, -provided the load of responsibility and exertion were removed: and the -price of his slavery were that exemption from the petty cares of life, -for which he felt an insurmountable disgust. From indolence, it seemed -he had fallen again into the snare which was spread for his ruin; and -having, a second time, submitted to the chain, he had lost all desire -of ever again attempting to shake it. Lady Dartford, too innocent to see -her danger, lamented the coldness of her husband, and loved him with even -fonder attachment, for the doubt she entertained of his affection. She -was spoken of by all with pity and praise: her conduct was considered as -examplary, when, in fact, it was purely the effect of nature; for every -hope of her heart was centered in one object, and the fervent constancy -of her affection arose, perhaps, in some measure from the uncertainty -of its being returned. Lady Margaret continued to see the young Count -Viviani in secret:—he had now been in Ireland for some months:—his -manner to Lady Margaret was, however, totally changed:—he had accosted -her, upon his arrival, with the most distant civility, the most studied -coldness:—he affected ever that marked indifference which proved him -but still too much in her power; and, while his heart burned with the -scorching flames of jealousy, he waited for some opportunity of venting -his desire of vengeance, which, from its magnitude, might effectually -satisfy his rage. - -Lord Dartford saw him once as he was retiring in haste from Lady -Margaret’s apartment; and he enquired of her eagerly who he was.—“A young -musician, a friend of Gondimar’s, an Italian,” said Lady Margaret. “He -has not an Italian countenance,” said Lord Dartford, thoughtfully. “I -wish I had not seen him:—it is a face which makes a deep and even an -unpleasant impression. You call him Viviani, do you?—whilst I live, I -never shall forget Viviani!” - -Cards, billiards and music, were the usual nightly occupations. Sir -Everard St. Clare and the Count Gondimar sometimes entered into the -most tedious and vehement political disputes, unless when Calantha -could influence the latter enough to make him sing, which he did in -an agreeable, though not in an unaffected manner. At these times, -Mrs. Seymour, with Sophia and Frances, unheeding either the noise or -the gaiety, eternally embroidered fancy muslins, or, with persevering -industry, painted upon velvet. Calantha mocked at these innocent -recreations. “Unlike music, drawing and reading, which fill the mind,” -she said;—“unlike even to dancing which, though accounted an absurd mode -of passing away time, is active and appears natural to the human form -and constitution.” - -“Tell me Avondale,” Calantha would say, “can any thing be more tedious -than that incessant irritation of the fingers—that plebian, thrifty and -useless mode of increasing in women a love of dress—a selfish desire -of adorning their own persons?—I ever loathed it.—There is a sort -of self-satisfaction about these ingenious working ladies, which is -perfectly disgusting. It gratifies all the little errors of a narrow -mind, under the appearance of a notable and domestic turn. At times, -when every feeling of the heart should have been called forth, I have -seen Sophia examining the patterns of a new gown, and curiously noting -every fold of a strangers dress. Because a woman who, like a mechanic, -has turned her understanding, and hopes, and energies, into this course, -remains uninjured by the storms around her, is she to be admired?—must -she be exalted?” “It is not their occupation, but their character, you -censure:—I fear, Calantha, it is their very virtue you despise.” “Oh no!” -she replied, indignantly: “when real virtue, struggling with temptations -of which these senseless, passionless creatures have no conception, -clinging for support to Heaven, yet preserves itself uncorrupted amidst -the vicious and the base, it deserves a crown of glory, and the praise and -admiration of every heart. Not so these spiritless immaculate prejudiced -sticklers for propriety. I do not love Sophia:—no, though she ever affords -me a cold extenuation for my faults—though through life she considers me -as a sort of friend whom fate has imposed upon her through the ties of -consanguinity. I did not—could not—cannot love her; but there are some, -far better than herself, noble ardent characters, unsullied by a taint -of evil; and I think, Avondale, without flattery, you are in the list, -that I would die to save; that I would bear every torture and ignominy, -to support and render happy.”—“Try then my Calantha,” said Lord Avondale, -“to render them so; for, believe me, there is no agony so great as to -remember that we have caused one moment’s pang to such as have been kind -and good to us.” “You are right,” said Calantha, looking upon him with -affection. - -Oh! if there be a pang of heart too terrible to endure and to imagine, -it would be the consideration that we have returned unexampled kindness, -by ingratitude, and betrayed the generous noble confidence that trusted -every thing to our honour and our love. Calantha had not, however, -this heavy charge to answer for at the time in which she spoke, and her -thoughts were gay, and all those around seemed to share in the happiness -she felt. - -Lord Avondale one day reproved Calantha for her excessive love of -music.—“You have censured work,” he said, “imputed to it every evil, the -cold and the passionless can fall into:—I now retort your satire upon -music.” Some may smile at this; but had not Lord Avondale’s observation -more weight than at first it may appear. Lady Avondale often rode to -Glanaa to hear Miss St. Clare sing. Gondimar sung not like her; and -his love breathing ditties went not to the heart, like the hymns of the -lovely recluse. But for the deep flushes which now and then overspread -St. Clare’s cheeks, and the fire which at times animated her bright dark -eye, some might have fancied her a being of a purer nature than our -own—one incapable of feeling any of the fierce passions that disturb -mankind; but her voice was such as to shake every fibre of the heart, -and might soon have betrayed to an experienced observer the empassioned -violence of her real character. - -Sir Everard, who had one day accompanied Calantha to the convent, asked -his niece in a half serious, half jesting manner, concerning her gift -of prophecy. “Have not all this praying and fasting, cured you of it, -my little Sybel?” he said.—“No,” replied the girl; “but that which you -are so proud of, makes me sad:—it is this alone which keeps me from the -sports which delight my companions:—it is this which makes me weep when -the sun shines bright in the clear heavens, and the bosom of the sea -is calm.”—“Will you shew us a specimen of your art?” said Sir Everard, -eagerly.—Miss St. Clare coloured, and smiling archly at him, “The -inspiration is not on me now, uncle,” she said; “when it is, I will send -and let you know.”—Calantha embraced her, and returned from her visit -more and more enchanted with her singular acquaintance. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -As soon as Lord and Lady Avondale had quitted Castle Delaval, they -returned to Allanwater, previous to their departure for England. Buchanan, -as if to mark his still-continued resentment against Calantha, arrived at -Castle Delaval, accompanied by some of his London acquaintance almost as -soon as she had quitted it. He soon distinguished himself in that circle -by his bold libertine manners, his daring opinions and his overbearing -temper. He declared himself at utter enmity with all refinement, and -professed his distaste for what is termed good society. It was not long, -however, before Lady Margaret observed a strange and sudden alteration -in her son’s manners and deportment:—he entered into every amusement -proposed; he became more than usually condescending; and Alice Mac -Allain, it was supposed, was the sole cause of his reform. - -Alice was credulous; and when she was first told that she was as fair as -the opening rose, and soft and balmy as the summer breeze, she listened -with delight to the flattering strain, and looked in the mirror to see -if all she heard, were true. She beheld there a face, lovely as youth -and glowing health could paint it, dimpling with ever-varying smiles, -while hair, like threads of gold, curled in untaught ringlets over eyes -of the lightest blue; and when she heard that she was loved, she could -not bring herself to mistrust those vows which her own bosom was but -too well prepared to receive. She had, perhaps, been won by the first -who had attempted to gain her affections; but she fell into hands where -falsehood had twined itself around the very heart’s core:—she learned -to love in no common school, and one by one every principle and every -thought was perverted; but it was not Buchanan who had to answer for -her fall! She sunk into infamy, it is true, and ruin irreparable; but -she passed through all the glowing course of passion and romance; nor -awoke, till too late, from the dream which had deluded her. - -Her old father, Gerald Mac Allain, had, with the Duke’s permission, -promised her hand in marriage to a young man in the neighbourhood, much -esteemed for his good character. Linden had long considered himself as -an approved suitor. When, therefore, he was first informed of the change -which had occurred in her sentiments, and, more than all, when he was -told with every aggravation of her misconduct and duplicity, he listened -to the charge with incredulity, until the report of it was confirmed from -her own lips, by an avowal, that she thought herself no longer worthy -of accepting his generous offer,—that to be plain, she loved another, -and wished never more to see him, or to hear the reproaches which she -acknowledged were her due. “I will offer you no reproaches,” said Linden, -in the only interview he had with her; “but remember, Miss Mac Allain, -when I am far away, that if ever those who, under the name of friend, -have beguiled and misled you, should prove false and fail you,—remember, -that whilst Linden lives, there is one left who would gladly lay down -his life to defend and preserve you, and who, being forced to quit you, -never will reproach you: no, Alice—never.” - -“Gerald,” said Lady Margaret, on the morning when Alice was sent in -disgrace from the castle, “I will have no private communication between -yourself and your daughter. She will be placed at present in a respectable -family; and her future conduct will decide in what manner she will be -disposed of hereafter.” The old man bent to the ground in silent grief; -for the sins of children rise up in judgment against their parents. “Oh -let me not be sent from hence in disgrace,” said the weeping girl; “drive -me not to the commission of crime.—I am yet innocent.—Pardon a first -offence.” “Talk not of innocence,” said Lady Margaret, sternly: “those -guilty looks betray you.—Your nocturnal rambles, your daily visits to -the western cliff, your altered manner,—all have been observed by me -and Buchanan”—“Oh say not, at least, that he accuses me. Whatever my -crime, I am guiltless, at least, towards him.” “Guiltless or not, you -must quit our family immediately; and to-morrow, at an early hour, see -that you are prepared.” - -It was to Sir Everard’s house that Alice was conveyed. There were many -reasons which rendered this abode more convenient to Lady Margaret than -any other. The Doctor was timid and subservient, and Count Gondimar was -already a great favourite of the youngest daughter, so that the whole -family were in some measure, in Lady Margaret’s power. Her ladyship -accordingly insisted upon conveying Alice, herself, to Lady St. Clare’s -house; and having safely lodged her in her new apartment, returned to -the castle, in haste, and appeared at dinner, pleased with her morning’s -adventure; her beauty more radiant from success. - -It is said that nothing gives a brighter glow to the complexion, or -makes the eyes of a beautiful woman sparkle so intensely, as triumph -over another. Is this, however, the case with respect to women alone? -Buchanan’s florid cheek was dimpled with smiles; no sleepless night had -dimmed the lustre of his eye; he talked incessantly, and with unusual -affability addressed himself to all, except to his mother; while a look -of gratified vanity was observable whenever the absence of Alice was -alluded to. He had been pleased with being the cause of ruin to any -woman; but his next dearest gratification was the having it supposed that -he was so. He was much attacked upon this occasion, and much laughing -and whispering was heard. The sufferings of love are esteemed lightly -till they are felt; and there were, on this occasion, few at the Duke’s -table, if any, who had ever really known them. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -Time which passes swiftly and thoughtlessly for the rich and the gay, -treads ever with leaden foot, for those who are miserable and deserted. -Bright prospects carry the thoughts onward; but for the mourning heart, -it is the direct reverse:—it lives on the memory of the past; traces -ever the same dull round; and loses itself in vain regrets, and useless -retrospections. No joyous morn now rose to break the slumbers of the -once innocent and happy Alice: peace of mind was gone, like the lover -who had first won her affections only, it seemed, to abandon her to -shame and remorse. - -At Sir Everard’s, Alice was treated with impertinent curiosity, tedious -advice and unwise severity. “I hate people in the clouds,” cried the -Doctor, as he led her to her new apartment. “Who would walk in a stubble -field with their eyes gazing upon the stars?—You would perhaps, and then -let me say, nobody would pity you, Miss, if you tumbled into the mire.” -“But kind people would help me up again, and the unkind alone would mock -at me, and pass on.” “There are so many misfortunes in this life, Miss Mac -Allain, which come unexpectedly upon us, that, for my life, I have not -a tear to spare for those who bring them on themselves.” “Yet, perhaps, -sir, they are of all others, the most unfortunate.” “Miss Alice, mark -me, I cannot enter into arguments, or rather shall not, for we do not -always think proper to do what we can. Conscious rectitude is certainly -a valuable feeling, and I am anxious to preserve it now: therefore, as I -have taken charge of you, Miss, which is not what I am particularly fond -of doing, I must execute what I think my duty. Please then to give over -weeping, as it is a thing in a woman which never excites commiseration -in me. Women and children cry out of spite: I have noticed them by the -hour: therefore, dry your eyes; think less of love, more of your duty; -and recollect that people who step out of their sphere are apt to tumble -downwards till the end of their days, as nothing is so disagreeable as -presumption in a woman. I hate presumption, do I not Lady St. Clare? -So no more heroics, young Miss,” continued he, smiling triumphantly, -and shaking his head:—“no more heroics, if you value my opinion. I hate -romance and fooleries in women: do I not, Lady St. Clare?—and heaven be -praised, since the absence of my poor mad brother, we have not a grain -of it in our house. We are all downright people, not afraid of being -called vulgar, because we are of the old school; and when you have lived -a little time with us, Miss, we shall, I hope, teach you a little sound -common sense—a very valuable commodity let me tell you, though you fine -people hold it in disrepute.” - -In this manner, Miss Mac Allain’s mornings were spent, and her evenings -even more tediously; for the Doctor, alarmed at the republican principles -which he observed fast spreading, was constantly employed in writing -pamphlets in favour of government, which he read aloud to his family, -when not at the castle, before he committed them to the Dublin press. -Two weeks were thus passed, by Alice, with resignation; a third, it -seems was beyond her endurance; for one morning Sir Everard’s daughters -entering in haste, informed their father and mother that she was gone. -“Gone,” cried Lady St. Clare! “the thing is impossible.” “Gone,” cried -Sir Everard! “and where? and how?” The maids were called, and one Charley -Wright, who served for footman, coachman and every thing else upon -occasion, was dispatched to seek her, while the doctor without waiting -to hear his wife’s surmises, or his daughter’s lamentations, seized his -hat and stick and walked in haste to the castle. - -His body erect, his cane still under his arm, the brogue stronger than -ever from inward agitation, he immediately addressed himself to the Duke -and Lady Margaret and soon converted their smiles into fear and anger, -by informing them that Alice Mac Allain had eloped. - -Orders were given, that every enquiry should be made for the fugitive; and -the company at the castle being informed one by one of the event, lost -themselves in conjectures upon it. Lady Margaret had no doubt herself, -that her son was deeply implicated in the affair, and in consequence -every search was set on foot, but, as it proved in the event, without -the least success. Mr. Buchanan had left Castle Delaval the week before, -which confirmed the suspicions already entertained on his account. - -Lady Avondale was in London when she was informed of this event. Her -grief for Alice’s fate was very sincere, and her anxiety for her even -greater; but Lord Avondale participated in her sorrow—he endeavoured to -sooth her agitation; and how could he fail in his attempt: even misery -is lightened, if it is shared; and one look, one word, from a heart -which seems to comprehend our suffering, alleviates the bitterness. - -Though Lady Avondale had not seen Buchanan since her marriage, and had -heard that he was offended with her, she wrote to him immediately upon -hearing of Alice’s fate, and urged him by every tie, she thought most -sacred and dear—by every impression most likely to awaken his compassion, -to restore the unfortunate girl to her suffering father, or at least to -confide her, to her care, that she might if possible protect and save -her from further misfortune.—To her extreme astonishment, she received -an answer to this letter with a positive assurance from him that he -had no concern, whatever in Miss Mac Allain’s departure; that he was -as ignorant as herself, whither she could be gone; and that it might be -recollected he had left Castle Delaval some days previous to that event. - -Lady Dartford who had returned to London and sometimes corresponded with -Sophia, now corroborated Buchanan’s statement, and assured her that she -had no reason to believe Buchanan concerned in this dark affair, as she -had seen him several times and he utterly denied it. Lady Dartford was -however too innocent, and inexperienced to know how men of the world can -deceive; she was even ignorant of her husband’s conduct; and though she -liked not Lady Margaret, she doubted not that she was her friend:—who -indeed doubts till they learn by bitter experience the weakness of -confiding! - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -The whole party, at Castle Delaval, now proceeded to London for the -winter, where Lord and Lady Avondale were already established in the -Duke’s mansion in .... Square. - -A slight cold and fever, added to the anxiety and grief Lady Avondale -had felt for her unhappy friend, had confined her entirely to her own -apartment; and since her arrival in town, Count Gondimar was almost the -only person who had been hitherto admitted to her presence. - -He and Viviani now lodged in the same house; but the latter still -concealed himself and never was admitted to Lady Margaret’s presence -except secretly and with caution. He often enquired after Calantha; and -one evening the following conversation took place respecting her between -himself and the Count: - -“You remember her,” said Gondimar, “a wild and wayward girl. Is she -less, do you suppose, an object of attraction now in the more endearing -character of mother and of wife—so gentle, so young she seems, so pure, -and yet so passionately attached to her husband and infant boy, that I -think even you Viviani would feel convinced of her integrity. She seems -indeed one born alone to love, and to be loved, if love itself might exist -in a creature whom purity, and every modest feeling seem continually to -surround.” - -Viviani smiled in scorn. “Gondimar, this Calantha, this fair and spotless -flower is a woman, and, as such, she must be frail. Besides, I know -that she is so in a thousand instances, though as yet too innocent to -see her danger, or to mistrust our sex. You have often described to me -her excessive fondness for music. What think you of it? She does not -hear it as the Miss Seymours hear it, you tell me. She does not admire -it, as one of the lovers of harmony might. Oh no; she feels it in her -very soul—it awakens every sensibility—it plays upon the chords of her -overheated imagination—it fills her eyes with tears, and strengthens -and excites the passions, which it appears to soothe and to compose. -There is nothing which the power of music cannot effect, when it is thus -heard. Your Calantha feels it to a dangerous excess. Let me see her, -and I will sing to her till the chaste veil of every modest feeling is -thrown aside, and thoughts of fire dart into her bosom, and loosen every -principle therein. Oh I would trust every thing to the power of melody. -Calantha is fond of dancing too, I hear; and dancing is the order of the -night. This is well; and once, though she saw me not amidst the crowd, -I marked her, as she lightly bounded the gayest in the circle, from the -mere excess of the animal spirits of youth. Now Miss Seymour dances; but -it is with modest dignity: her sister Frances dances also, and it is with -much skill and grace, her sidelong glance searching for admiration as -she passes by; but Calantha sees not, thinks not, when she dances:—her -heart beats with joyous pleasure—her countenance irradiates—and almost -wild with delight, she forgets every thing but the moment she enjoys. Let -Viviani but for one night be her partner, and you shall see how pure is -this Calantha. She boasts too of the most unclouded happiness, you tell -me, and of the most perfect state of security and bliss; they who soar -above others, on the wings of romance, will fall. Oh surely they will -fall. Let her but continue in her present illusion a few short years—let -her but take the common chances of the life she will be called upon to -lead; and you, or I, or any man, may possess her affections, nor boast -greatly of the conquest. In one word, she is now in London. Give but -Viviani one opportunity of beholding her: it is all I ask.” - -Gondimar listened to his young friend with regret. “There are women -enough, Viviani,” he said mournfully; “spare this one. I have an interest -in her safety.”—“I shall not seek her,” replied Viviani proudly: “please -your own fancy: I care not for these triflers—not I.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -To that heartless mass of affectation, to that compound of every new and -every old absurdity, to that subservient spiritless world of fashion, -Lady Avondale was now for the first time introduced. It burst at once -upon her delighted view, like a new paradise of unenjoyed sweets—like -a fairy kingdom peopled with ideal inhabitants. Whilst she resided at -Monteith and Castle Delaval, she had felt an eager desire to improve her -mind; study of every sort was her delight, for he who instructed her was -her lover—her husband; one smile, from him could awaken every energy—one -frown, repress every feeling of gaiety, for every word he uttered amused -and pleased; she learned with more aptness than a school-boy; and he who -wondered at the quickness of his pupil, forgot to ascribe her exertions -and success to the power which alone occasioned them—a power which -conquers every difficulty and endures every trial. - -Arrived in that gay city, that fair mart where pleasure and amusement -gather around their votaries,—where incessant hurry after novelty employs -every energy, and desire of gaiety fills every hour, every feeling -and every thought, Calantha hailed every new acquaintance—every new -amusement; and her mind unpolished and ignorant, opened with admiration -and wonder upon so new, so diversified a scene. To the language of praise -and affection, she had been used; to unlimited indulgence and liberty, -she was accustomed; but the soft breathing voice of flattery, sounded -to her ear far sweeter, than any other more familiar strain; though -often, in the midst of its blandishments, she turned away to seek for -Lord Avondale’s approbation. - -Calantha was happy before; but now it was like a dream of enchantment; -and her only regret was that her husband seemed not to partake as much, -as she could have wished in her delight. Yet he knew the innocence of -her heart, the austerity with which she shrunk from the bare thought -of evil; and he had trusted her even in the lion’s den, so certain -was he of her virtue, and attachment. Indeed, Lord Avondale, though -neither puffed with vanity, nor overbearing with pride, could not but -be conscious, as he looked around, that both in beauty of person, in -nobility of parentage, and more than these, in the impassioned feelings -of an uncorrupted heart, and the rich gifts of a mind enlightened by -wisdom and study,—none were his superiors, and very few his equals; -and if his Calantha could have preferred the effeminate and frivolous -beings who surrounded her, to his sincere and strong attachment, would -she be worthy, in such case, of a single sigh of regret or the smallest -struggle to retain her!—No:—he was convinced that she would not; and, -as in word and deed, he was faithful to her, he feared not to let her -take the course which others trod, or enjoy the smiles of fortune, while -youth and happiness were in her possession. - -The steed that never has felt the curb, as it flies lightly and wildly -proud of its liberty among its native hills and valleys, may toss its -head and plunge as it snuffs the air and rejoices in its existence, -while the tame and goaded hack trots along the beaten road, starting -from the lash under which it trembles and stumbling and falling, if -not constantly upheld.—Now see the goal before her. Calantha starts for -the race. Nor curb, nor rein have ever fettered the pupil of nature—the -proud, the daring votress of liberty and love. What though she quit the -common path, if honour and praise accompany her steps, and crown her with -success, shall he who owns her despise her? or must he, can he, mistrust -her? He did not; and the high spirits of uncurbed youth were in future -her only guide—the gayest therefore, where all were gay—the kindest, for -excess of happiness renders every heart kind. In a few months after Lady -Avondale’s arrival in London, she was surrounded, as it appeared, by -friends who would have sacrificed their lives and fortunes to give her -pleasure. Friends!—it was a name she was in the habit of giving to the -first who happened to please her fancy. This even was not required: the -frowns of the world were sufficient to endear the objects it censures to -her affection; and they who had not a friend, and deserved not to have -one, were sure, without other recommendation to find one in Calantha. -All looked fresh, beautiful and new to her eyes; every person she met -appeared kind, honourable and sincere; and every party brilliant; for -her heart, blest in itself reflected its own sunshine around. - -Mrs. Seymour, after her arrival in town was pleased to see Calantha -so happy. No gloomy fear obtruded itself; she saw all things with the -unclouded eye of virtue; yet when she considered how many faults, how -many imprudences, her thoughtless spirits might lead her to commit, -she trembled for her; and once when Calantha boasted of the extacy she -enjoyed—“long may that innocent heart feel thus,” she said, “my only, -my beloved niece; but whilst the little bark is decked with flowers, and -sails gaily in a tranquil sea, steer it steadily, remembering that rough -gales may come and we should ever be prepared.” She spoke with an air -of melancholy: she had perhaps, herself, suffered from the goodness and -openness of her heart; but whatever the faults and sorrows into which -she had fallen, no purer mind ever existed than hers—no heart ever felt -more strongly. - -The affectation of generosity is common; the reality is so rare, that its -constant and silent course passes along unperceived, whilst prodigality -and ostentation bear away the praise of mankind.—Calantha was esteemed -generous; yet indifference for what others valued, and thoughtless -profusion were the only qualities she possessed. It is true that the -sufferings of others melted a young and ardent heart into the performance -of many actions which would never have occurred to those of a colder -and more prudent nature. But was there any self-denial practised; and -was not she, who bestowed, possessed of every luxury and comfort, her -varying and fanciful caprices could desire! Never did she resist the -smallest impulse or temptation. If to give had been a crime, she had -committed it; for it gave her pain to refuse, and she knew not how to -deprive herself of any gratification. She lavished, therefore, all she -had, regardless of every consequence; but happily for her, she was placed -in a situation which prevented her from suffering as severely for her -faults, as probably she deserved. - -Two friends now appeared to bless her further, as she thought, by their -affection and confidence—Lady Mandeville, and Lady Augusta Selwyn. The -former she loved; the latter she admired. Lord Avondale observed her -intimacy with Lady Mandeville with regret; and once, though with much -gentleness, reproved her for it. “Henry,” she replied, “say not one word -against my beautiful, though perhaps unfortunate friend: spare Lady -Mandeville; and I will give you up Lady Augusta Selwyn; but remember -the former is unprotected and unhappy.” - -Mrs. Seymour was present when Lord Avondale had thus ventured to hint his -disapprobation of Calantha’s new acquaintance.—“Say at once, that Calantha -shall not see any more of one whom you disapprove:—her own character -is not established. Grace and manner are prepossessing qualities; but -it is decorum and a rational adherence to propriety which alone can -secure esteem. Tell me not of misfortunes,” continued Mrs. Seymour, with -increasing zeal in the good cause, and turning from Lord Avondale to -Calantha. “A woman who breaks through the lesser rules which custom and -public opinion have established, deserves to lose all claim to respect; -and they who shrink not at your age, from even the appearance of guilt, -because they dread being called severe and prudish, too generally follow -the steps of the victims their false sentiments of pity have induced -them to support. Lord Avondale” continued she, with more of warmth than -it was her custom to shew—“you will lament, when it is too late, the -ruin of this child. Those who now smile at Calantha’s follies will soon -be the first to frown upon her faults. She is on the road to perdition; -and now is the moment, the only moment perhaps, in which to check her -course. You advise:—I command. My girls at least, shall not associate -with Lady Mandeville, whom no one visits. Lady Avondale of course is -her own mistress.” - -Piqued at Mrs. Seymour’s manner, Calantha appealed to her husband: “and -shall I give up my friend, because she has none but me to defend her? -Shall my friendship—” “Alas Calantha,” said Lord Avondale, “you treat -the noblest sentiment of the heart as a toy which is to be purchased -to-day, and thrown aside to-morrow. Believe me, friendship is not to be -acquired by a few morning visits; nor is it to be found, though I fear -it is too often lost, in the crowd of fashion.” He spoke this mournfully. -The ready tears trembled in Lady Avondale’s eyes.—“I will see no more of -her, if it gives you pain. I will never visit her again.”—Lord Avondale -could not bear to grieve her. - -A servant entered with a note, whilst they were yet together:—a crimson -blush suffused Calantha’s cheeks. “I see” said Lord Avondale smiling, -as if fearful of losing her confidence,—“it is from your new friend.” -It was so:—she had sent her carriage with a request that Lady Avondale -would immediately call upon her.—She hesitated; looked eagerly for a -permission, which was too soon granted; and, without making any excuse, -for she had not yet learned the art, she hastened from the lowering eyes -of the deeply offended Mrs. Seymour. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -Long as she had now been known to Lady Mandeville, she had only once -before seen her at her own house. She now found her reclining upon a sofa -in an apartment more prettily than magnificently ornamented:—a shawl was -thrown gracefully over her; and her hair, in dark auburn ringlets, half -concealed her languishing blue eyes. Lady Mandeville was at this time no -longer in the very prime of youth. Her air and manner had not that high -polish, which at first sight seduces and wins. On the contrary, it rather -was the reverse, and a certain pedantry took off much from the charm of -her conversation. Yet something there was about her, which attracted. -She seemed sincere too, and had less of that studied self-satisfied air, -than most women, who affect to be well informed. - -“I am glad you are come, my loved friend,” she said, extending her hand -to Calantha when she entered. “I have just been translating an Ode of -Pindar:—his poetry is sublime: it nerves the soul and raises it above -vulgar cares;—but you do not understand Greek, do you? Indeed to you it -would be a superfluous acquisition, married as you are, and to such a -man.”—Lady Avondale, rather puzzled as to the connection between domestic -happiness, and the Greek language, listened for further explanation;—but -with a deep sigh, her lovely acquaintance talked of her fate, and referred -to scenes and times long passed, and utterly unknown to her. She talked -much too of injured innocence, of the malignity of the world, of her -contempt for her own sex, and of the superiority of men. - -Children as fair, and more innocent than their mother, entered whilst she -was yet venting her complaints. A husband she had not;—but lovers. What -man was there who could see her, and not, at all events wish himself of -the number! Yet she assured Lady Avondale, who believed her, that she -despised them all; that moreover she was miserable, but vicious; that -her very openness and frankness ought to prove that there was nothing to -conceal. The thought of guilt entered not at that time into Calantha’s -heart; and when a woman affirmed that she was innocent, it excited in -her no other surprise, than that she should, for one moment, suppose her -so barbarous, and so malevolent, as to think otherwise. Indeed there -seemed to her as great a gulph between those she loved, and vice, as -that which separates the two extremes of wickedness and virtue; nor had -she yet learned to comprehend the language of hypocrisy and deceit. - -Though the presence of the children had not made any difference, the -entrance of three gentlemen, whom Lady Mandeville introduced to Lady -Avondale, as her lovers, gave a new turn to the conversation; and here it -should be explained, that the term lover, when Lady Mandeville used it, -was intended to convey no other idea than that of an humble attendant,—a -bearer of shawls, a writer of sonnets, and a caller of carriages. “With -Lord Dallas you are already acquainted,” she said, sighing gently. “I -wish now to introduce to you Mr. Clarendon, a poet: and Mr. Tremore, what -are you? speak for yourself; for I hardly know in what manner to describe -you.” “I am anything, and everything that Lady Mandeville pleases,” said -Mr. Tremore, bowing to the ground, and smiling languidly upon her. Mr. -Tremore was one of the most unsightly lovers that ever aspired to bear -the name. He was of a huge circumference, and what is unusual in persons -of that make, he was a mass of rancour and malevolence—gifted however -with a wit so keen and deadly, that with its razor edge, he cut to the -heart most of his enemies, and all his friends. Lord Dallas, diminutive -and conceited, had a brilliant wit, spoke seldom, and studied deeply -every sentence which he uttered. He affected to be absent; but in fact -no one ever forgot himself so seldom. His voice, untuned and harsh, -repeated with a forced emphasis certain jests and bon mots which had been -previously made, and adapted for certain conversations. Mr. Clarendon -alone seemed gifted with every kind of merit:—he had an open ingenuous -countenance, expressive eyes, and a strong and powerful mind. - -The conversation alternately touched upon the nature of love, the use -and beauty of the greek language, the pleasures of maternal affection, -and the insipidity of all English society. It was rather metaphorical -at times:—there was generally in it a want of nature—an attempt at -display: but to Calantha it appeared too singular, and too attractive to -wish it otherwise. She had been used, however, to a manner rather more -refined—more highly polished than any she found out of her own circle -and family. A thousand things shocked her at first, which afterwards -she not only tolerated, but adopted. There was a want of ease, too, in -many societies, to which she could not yet accustom herself; and she -knew not exactly what it was which chilled and depressed her when in -the presence of many who were, upon a nearer acquaintance, amiable and -agreeable. Perhaps too anxious a desire to please, too great a regard -for trifles, a sort of selfishness, which never loses sight of its own -identity, occasions this coldness among these votaries of fashion. The -dread of not having that air, that dress, that refinement which they -value so much, prevents their obtaining it; and a degree of vulgarity -steals unperceived amidst the higher classes in England, from the very -apprehension they feel of falling into it. Even those, who are natural, -do not entirely appear so. - -Calantha’s life was like a feverish dream:—so crowded, so varied, so -swift in its transitions, that she had little time to reflect; and when -she did, the memory of the past was so agreeable and so brilliant, that -it gave her pleasure to think of it again and again. If Lord Avondale -was with her, every place appeared even more than usually delightful; -but, when absent, her letters, no longer filled with lamentations on -her lonely situation, breathed from a vain heart the lightness, and -satisfaction it enjoyed. - -It may be supposed that one so frivolous and so thoughtless, committed -every possible fault and folly which opportunity and time allowed. It -may also be supposed, that such imprudence met with its just reward; -and that every tongue was busy in its censure, and every gossip in -exaggerating the extraordinary feats of such a trifler. Yet Calantha, -upon the whole, was treated with only too much kindness; and the world, -though sometimes called severe, seemed willing to pause ere it would -condemn, and was intent alone to spare—to reclaim a young offender. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -How different from the animated discussion at Lady Mandeville’s, was the -loud laugh and boisterous tone of Lady Augusta Selwyn, whom Calantha -found, on her return, at that very moment stepping from her carriage, -and enquiring for her. “Ah, my dear sweet friend,” she cried, flying -towards Calantha, and shaking her painfully by the hand, “this fortuitous -concurrence of atoms, fills my soul with rapture. But I was resolved to -see you. I have promised and vowed three things in your name; therefore, -consider me as your sponsor, and indeed I am old enough to be such. -In the first place, you must come to me to-night, for I have a little -supper, and all my guests attend only in the hope of meeting you. You -are the bribe I have held out—you are to stand me in lieu of a good -house, good cook, agreeable husband, and pretty face,—in all of which I -am most unfortunately deficient. Having confessed thus much, it would -be barbarous, it would be inhuman you know to refuse me. Now for the -second favour,” continued this energetic lady:—“come alone; for though I -have a great respect for Mrs. and Miss Seymour, yet I never know what I -am about when their very sensible eyes are fixed upon me.”—“Oh you need -not fear, Sophia would not come if I wished it; and Mrs. Seymour”—“I -have something else to suggest,” interrupted Lady Augusta:—“introduce -me immediately to your husband: he is divine, I hear—perfectly divine!” -“I cannot at this moment; but”—“By the bye, why were you not at the ball -last night. I can tell you there were some who expected you there. Yes, -I assure you, a pair of languid blue eyes watching for you—a fascinating -new friend waiting to take you home to a _petit souper très-bien assorti_. -I went myself. It was monstrously dull at the ball:—insupportable, I -assure you; perfectly so. Mrs. Turner and her nine daughters! It is quite -a public calamity, Mrs. Turner being so very prolific—the produce so -frightful. Amongst other animals, when they commit such blunders, the -brood is drowned; but we christians are suffered to grow up till the -land is overrun.” “Heigho.” “What is the matter? You look so _triste_ -to-day, not even my wit can enliven you.—Isn’t it well, love? or has -its husband been plaguing it? Now I have it:—you have, perchance, been -translating an Ode of Pindar. I was there myself this morning; and it -gave me the vapours for ten minutes; but I am used to these things you -know child, and you are a novice. By the bye, where is your cousin, -_le beau capitaine, le chef des brigands_? I was quite frappè with his -appearance.” “You may think it strange,” said Calantha, “but I have not -seen him these eight years—not since he was quite a child.” “Oh, what -an interview there will be then,” said Lady Augusta: “he is a perfect -ruffian.” - -“Are you aware that we have three sets of men now much in request?—There -are these ruffians, who affect to be desperate, who game, who drink, -who fight, who will captivate you, I am sure of it. They are always just -going to be destroyed, or rather talk as if they were; and every thing -they do, they must do it to desperation. Then come the exquisites. Lord -Dallas is one, a sort of refined _petit maître_, quite thorough bred, -though full of conceit. As to the third set, your useful men, who know -how to read and write, in which class critics, reviewers, politicians -and poets stand, you may always know them by their slovenly appearance. -But you are freezing, _mon enfant_. What can be the matter? I will -release you in a moment from my visitation. I have ten thousand things to -say.—Will you come to my opera box Tuesday? Are you going to the masked -ball Thursday? Has Mrs. Churchill sent for you to her _déjeûné paré_. -I know she wishes, more than I can express, to have you. Perhaps you -will let me drive you there. My ponies are beautiful arabians: have you -seen them? Oh, by the bye, why were you not at your aunt Lady Margaret’s -concert? I believe it was a concert:—there was a melancholy noise in -one of the rooms; but I did not attend to it.—Do you like music?”—“I -do; but I must own I am not one who profess to be all enchantment at -the scraping of a fiddle, because some old philharmonic plays on it; -nor can I admire the gurgling and groaning of a number of foreigners, -because it is called singing.” - -“They tell me you think of nothing but love and poetry. I dare say -you write sonnets to the moon—the chaste moon, and your husband. How -sentimental!” “And you,”—“No, my dear, I thank heaven I never could -make a rhyme in my life.—Farewell—adieu—remember to-night,—bring Lord -Avondale—that divine Henry: though beware too; for many a lady has to -mourn the loss of her husband, as soon as she has introduced him into -the society of _fascinating_ friends.” “He is out of town.” “Then so -much the better. After all, a wife is only pleasant when her husband -is out of the way. She must either be in love, or out of love with him. -If the latter, they wrangle; and if the former, it is ten times worse. -Lovers are at all times insufferable; but when the holy laws of matrimony -give them a lawful right to be so amazingly fond and affectionate, -it makes one sick.” “Which are you, in love or out of love with Mr. -Selwyn?”—“Neither, my child, neither. He never molests me, never intrudes -his dear dull personage on my society. He is the best of his race, and -only married me out of pure benevolence. We were fourteen raw Scotch -girls—all hideous, and no chance of being got rid of, either by marriage, -or death—so healthy and ugly. I believe we are all alive and flourishing -somewhere or other now. Think then of dear good Mr. Selwyn, who took me -for his mate, because I let him play at cards whenever he pleased. He -is so fond of cheating, he never can get any one but me to play with -him. Farewell.—_Au revoir._—I shall expect you at ten.—_Adieu, chère -petite._” Saying which Lady Augusta left Calantha. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -Calantha imagined, and was repeatedly assured, that her husband neglected -her: the thought gave her pain: she contrasted his apparent coldness and -gravity with the kindness and flattery of others. Even Count Gondimar was -more anxious for her safety, and latterly she observed that he watched -her with increasing solicitude. At a masked ball, in particular, the -Italian Count followed her till she was half offended. “Why do you thus -persecute me as to the frivolity and vanity of my manner? Why do you -seem so infinitely more solicitous concerning me than my husband and my -relations?” she said, suddenly turning and looking earnestly at him. “What -is it to you with whom I may chance to converse? How is it possible that -you can see imperfections in me, when others tell me I am faultless and -delightful?” “And do you believe that the gay troop of flatterers who -now follow you,” said a mask, who was standing near the Count, “do you -believe that they feel any other sentiment for you than indifference?” -“Indifference!” repeated Calantha, “what can you mean? I am secure of -their affection; and I have found more friends in London since I first -arrived there, than I have made in the whole previous course of my life.” -“You are their jest and their derision,” said the same mask.—“Am I,” she -said, turning eagerly round to her partner, Lord Trelawny, “am I your -jest, and your derision?” “You are all that is amiable and adorable,” -he whispered. “Speak louder,” said Lady Avondale, “tell this Italian -Count, and his discourteous friend, what you think of me; or will they -wait to hear, what we all think of them.” Gondimar, offended, left her; -and she passed the night at the ball; but felt uneasy at what she had -said. - -Monteagle house, at which the masquerade was given, was large and -magnificent. The folding doors opened into fine apartments, each decorated -with flowers, and filled with masks. Her young friends, Sophia and Lady -Dartford, in the first bloom and freshness of youth, attracted much -admiration. Their dress was alike, and while seeming simplicity was -its greatest charm, every fold, every turn was adapted to exhibit their -figure, and add to their natural grace. If vanity can give happiness to -the heart, how must theirs have exulted; for encomium and flattery was -the only language they heard. - -Lady Avondale, in the mean time, fatigued with the ceremonious insipidity -of their conversation, and delighted at having for once escaped from -Count Gondimar, sought in vain to draw her companions into the illuminated -gardens, and not succeeding, wandered into them alone, followed by some -masks in the disguise of gipsies, by whom she was soon surrounded; and -one of them whom she now recognised to be the same who had spoken to her -with Gondimar, now under the pretence of telling her fortune, said to -her every thing that was most severe. “What,” said he, turning to one -of his companions, “do you think of the line in this lady’s hand? It is -a very strange one: I augur no good from it.” The dress of the mask who -spoke was that of a friar, his voice was soft and mournful. “Caprice” -said the young man, whom he addressed: “I read no worse fault. Come, -I will tell her fortune.—Lady, you were born under a favoured planet,” -“Aaron,”—interrupted the first gipsey, “you are a flatterer, and it is -my privilege to speak without disguise. Give me the hand, and I will -shew her destiny.” After pausing a moment, he fixed his dark eyes upon -Calantha, the rest of his face being covered by a cowl, and in a voice -like music, so soft and plaintive begun.— - - The task to tell thy fate, be mine, - To guard against its ills, be thine; - For heavy treads the foot of care - On those who are so young and fair. - - The star, that on thy birth shone bright, - Now casts a dim uncertain light: - A threatening sky obscures its rays, - And shadows o’er thy future days. - - In fashion’s magic circle bound, - Thy steps shall tread her mazy round, - While pleasure, flattery and art, - Shall captivate thy fickle heart. - - The transient favorite of a day, - Of folly and of fools the prey; - Insatiate vanity shall pine - As honour, and as health decline, - Till reft of fame, without a friend, - Thou’lt meet, unwept, an early end. - -Lady Avondale coloured; and the young man who had accused her of caprice, -watching her countenance, and seeing the pain these acrimonious lines -had given her, reproved the friar “No, no,” he cried “if she must hear -her destiny, let me reveal it.” - - The task to tell thy fate, be mine, - And every bliss I wish thee, thine. - So heavenly fair, so pure, so blest, - Admired by all, by all carest. - The ills of life thou ne’er shalt know, - Or weep alone for others woe. - -“For the honour of our tribe, cease Aaron” said a female gipsey advancing: -“positively I will not hear any more of this flat parody. The friar’s -malice I could endure; but this will mar all.”—Whatever the female -gipsey might say, Aaron had a certain figure, and countenance which were -sufficiently commanding and attractive. He had disengaged himself from -his companions; and now approached Calantha, and asked her to allow him -to take care of her through the crowd. “This is abominable treachery,” -said the female gipsey:—“this conduct is unpardonable: good faith and -good fellowship were ever our characteristics.” “You should not exert -your power” answered the young man, “against those who seem so little -willing to use the same weapons in return. I will answer for it that, -though under a thousand masks, the lady you have attacked, would never -say an ill natured thing” “Take care of her goodnature then,” said the -gipsey archly:—“it may be more fatal.” - -The gipsey then went off, with the rest of her party; but Aaron remained, -and, as if much pleased with the gentleness of Lady Avondale’s behaviour, -followed her. “Who are you?” said she. “I will not take the arm of one -who is ashamed of his name”—“And yet it is only thus unknown, I can -hope to find favour.” “Did I ever see you before?” “I have often had -the happiness of seeing you:—but am I then really so altered?” said -he turning to her, and looking full in her face, “that you cannot even -guess my name?” “Had I ever beheld you before,” answered Lady Avondale, -“I could not have forgotten it.” He bowed with a look of conceit, and -Lady Avondale coloured at his comprehending the compliment, she had -sufficiently intended to make. Smiling at her confusion, he assured her -he had a right to her attention—“_Stesso sangue, Stessa sorte_”—said he -in a low voice. - -Calantha could hardly believe it possible:—the words he pronounced were -those inscribed on her bracelet. “And are you my cousin?” said she: “is -it indeed so? no: I cannot believe it.” Buchanan bowed again. “Yes,” -said he; “and a pretty cousin you have proved yourself to me. I had -vowed never to forgive you; but you are much too lovely and too dear -for me to wish to keep my oath.” A thousand remembrances now crowded on -her mind—the days of her infancy—the amusements and occupations of her -childhood; and she looked vainly in Buchanan’s face, for the smallest -traces of the boy she had known so well. Delighted with her evening’s -adventure, and solely occupied with her companion, the masquerade, the -heat and all other annoyances were forgotten, till Lady Dartford being -fatigued, entreated her to retire. - -She had conversed during the greater part of the evening with Lord -Dartford. The female gipsey to whose party he belonged, and who had -attacked Lady Avondale, was Lady Margaret Buchanan. He had asked Lady -Dartford many questions about himself, to all of which she had answered -with a reserve that had pleased him, and with a praise so unaffected, so -heartfelt, and so little deserved, that he could not but deeply feel his -own demerit. He did not make himself known, but suffered Lady Margaret -to rally and torment his unoffending wife; asking her repeatedly, why so -pretty, and so young, Lord Dartford permitted her to go to a masquerade -without a protector. “It is,” replied Lady Dartford innocently, “that he -dislikes this sort of amusement, and knows well, that those who appear -unprotected, are sure of finding friends.” At this speech Lady Margaret -laughed prodigiously; and turning to the Friar, who, much disguised, -still followed her, asked him, if he had never seen Lord Dartford at a -masquerade, giving it as her opinion, that he was very fond of this sort -of amusement, and was probably there at that very moment. - -In the mean time, Calantha continued to talk with Buchanan, and eagerly -enquired of him who it was who, thus disguised, had with so much acrimony -attacked her. “I do not know the young man,” he answered:—“my mother -calls him Viviani:—he is much with her; but he ever wears a disguise, I -think; for no one sees him; and, except Gondimar, he seems not to have -another acquaintance in England.” - -It has been said that the weak-minded are alone attracted by the eye; -and they who say this, best know what they mean. To Calantha it appeared -that the eye was given her for no other purpose than to admire all that -was fair and beautiful. Certain it is, she made that use of her’s; and -whether the object of such admiration was man, woman, or child, horse or -flower, if excellent in its kind, she ever gave them the trifling homage -of her approbation. Her new-found cousin was therefore hailed by her -with the most encouraging smile; and how long she might have listened -to the account he was giving her of his exploits, is unknown, had not -Frances approached her in a hasty manner, and said, “Do come away:—the -strangest thing possible has happened to me:—Lord Trelawney has proposed -to me, and I—I have accepted his offer.” “Accepted his offer!” Calantha -exclaimed, with a look of horror. “Oh, pray, keep my secret till we get -home,” said Frances. “I dare not tell Sophia; but you must break it to -my mother.” - -Lord Trelawney was a silly florid young man, who laughed very heartily and -good humouredly, without the least reason. He wore the dress, and had been -received in that class of men, whom Lady Augusta called the exquisites. -He had professed the most extravagant adoration for Lady Avondale, so -that she was quite astonished at his having attached himself so suddenly -to Frances; but not being of a jealous turn, she wished her joy most -cordially, and when she did the same by him,—“Could not help what I’ve -done,” he said, looking tenderly at her through a spying-glass:—“total -dearth of something else to say:—can never affection her much:—but she’s -your cousin, you know:”—and then he laughed. - -Lady Avondale prevailed on Frances to keep this important secret from her -mother till morning, as that good lady had not long been in bed, and to -arouse her with such unexpected news at five o’clock had been cruel and -useless. The next morning, long before Lady Avondale had arisen, every -one knew the secret; and very soon after, preparations for the marriage -were made. The young bride received presents and congratulations: her -spirits were exuberant; and her lover, perfect and delightful. Even Lady -Avondale beheld him with new eyes, and the whole family, whenever he was -mentioned, spoke of him as a remarkably sensible young man, extremely -well informed, and possessed of every quality best adapted to ensure -the happiness of domestic life. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -From the night of the masquerade, Lady Avondale dared hardly confess to -herself, how entirely she found her thoughts engrossed by Buchanan. She -met him again at a ball. He entreated her to let him call on her the -ensuing day:—he said he had much to tell her:—his manner was peculiar; -and his eyes, though not full of meaning in general, had a certain look -of interest that gratified the vainest of human hearts. “I shall be -at home till two,” said Calantha. “I shall be with you at twelve,” he -answered.—Late as the hour of rest might appear to some, Calantha was -up, and attired with no ordinary care to receive him, at the time he -had appointed. Yet no Buchanan came.—Oh! could the petty triflers in -vanity and vice, know the power they gain, and the effect they produce -by these arts, they would contemn the facility of their own triumph. -It is ridiculous to acknowledge it, but this disappointment increased -Calantha’s anxiety to see him to the greatest possible degree: she scarce -could disguise the interest it created. - -Gondimar unfortunately called at the moment when Calantha was most -impatient and irritable. “You expected another,” he said sarcastically; -“but I care not. I came not here in the hope of pleasing Lady Avondale. -I came to inform her.”—“I cannot attend now.” “Read this letter,” said -Gondimar. Calantha looked carelessly upon it—it was from himself:—it -contained an avowal of attachment and of interest for her; in proof -of which he asked permission to offer her a gift, which he said he was -commissioned to bring her from Italy. Lady Avondale returned the letter -coldly, and with little affectation of dignity, declined the intended -present. It is so easy to behave well, when it is our pleasure to do so, -as well as our duty. Gondimar, however, gave her but little credit for -her conduct. “You like me not?” he said. “Do you doubt my virtue?” she -replied eagerly. “Aye, Lady—or, at all events, your power of preserving -it.” - -Whilst Gondimar yet spoke, Buchanan galopped by the window, and stopped -at the door of the house. His hands were decorated with rings, and a -gold chain and half-concealed picture hung around his neck:—his height, -his mustachios, the hussar trappings of his horse, the high colour in -his cheek, and his dark flowing locks, gave an air of savage wildness to -his countenance and figure, which much delighted Calantha. He entered -with familiar ease; talked much of himself, and more of some of his -military friends; stared at Gondimar, and then shook hands with him. After -which, he began a vehement explanation of his conduct respecting Alice; -assuring Calantha upon his honour—upon his soul, that he had no hand in -her elopement. He then talked of Ireland; described the dreadful, the -exaggerated accounts of what had occurred there; and ended by assuring -Gondimar that the young Glenarvon was not dead, but was at this time at -Belfont, concealed there with no other view than that of heading the -rebels. The accounts which the Duke of Altamonte had received in part -corroborated Buchanan’s statement. - -Calantha listened, however, with more interest to the accounts Buchanan -now gave; and as he said he was but just returned from Dublin, even -Gondimar thought the news which he brought worthy of some attention. -“Send that damned Italian away,” said Buchanan in a loud whisper—“I have -a million of things to tell you. If you keep him here, I shall go:—my -remaining will be of no use.” Unaccustomed to curb herself in the least -wish, Calantha now whispered to Gondimar, that she wished him to leave -her, as she had something very particular to say to her cousin; but he -only smiled contemptuously upon him, and sternly asking her, since when -this amazing intimacy had arisen—placed himself near the pianoforte, -striking its chords with accompaniments till the annoyance was past -bearing. - -Buchanan consoled himself by talking of his dogs and horses; and having -given Calantha a list of the names of each, began enumerating to her the -invitations he had received for the ensuing week. Fortunately, at this -moment, a servant entered with a note for Gondimar. “Does the bearer -wait?” he exclaimed with much agitation upon reading it; and immediately -left the room. - -Upon returning home, Count Gondimar perceived with surprise, in the place -of the person he had expected, one of the attendants of the late Countess -of Glenarvon,—a man whose countenance and person he well remembered -from its peculiarly harsh and unpleasant expression.—“Is my young Lord -alive?” said the man in a stern manner. Count Gondimar replied in the -negative. “Then, Sir, I must trouble you with those affairs which most -nearly concern him.” “Your name, I think is Macpherson?” said Count -Gondimar. “You lived with the Countess of Glenarvon.” The man bowed, -and giving a letter into the hands of the Count, “I am come from Italy -at this time,” he replied, “in search of my late master—La Crusca and -myself.” “Is La Crusca with you?” said Gondimar starting. “The letter -will inform you of every particular,” replied the man with some gravity. -“I shall wait for the child, or your farther orders.” Saying this, he -left the Count’s apartment; and returned into the anti-chamber, where -a beautiful little boy was waiting for him. - -On that very evening, after a long conversation with Macpherson, Count -Gondimar again sought Calantha at her father’s house, where, upon -enquiring for her, he was immediately admitted. After some little -hesitation, he told her that he had brought her the present of which he -had made mention in his letter; that if she had the unkindness to refuse -it, some other perhaps would take charge of it:—it was a gift which, -however unworthy he was to offer it, he thought would be dearer in her -estimation than the finest jewels, and the most costly apparel:—it was a -fair young boy, he said, fitted to be a Lady’s page, and trained in every -cunning art his tender years could learn. “He will be a play mate;” he -said smiling, “for your son, and when,” added he in a lower voice, “the -little Mowbrey can speak, he will learn to lisp in that language which -alone expresses all that the heart would utter—all that in a barbarous -dialect it dares not—must not say.” - -As he yet spoke, he took the hat from off Zerbellini’s head, and gently -pushing him towards Calantha, asked him to sue for her protection. The -child immediately approached, hiding himself with singular fear from -the caresses of the Count. “Zerbellini,” said Gondimar in Italian, “will -you love that lady?” “In my heart;” replied the boy, shrinking back to -Calantha, as if to a late found but only friend. Sophia was called, and -joined in the general interest and admiration the child excited. Frances -shewed him to Lord Trelawney, who laughed excessively at beholding him. -Lady Margaret, who was present, looking upon him stedfastly, shrunk as -if she had seen a serpent in her way, and then recovering herself, held -her hand out towards him. Zerbellini fixed his eyes on Calantha, as if -watching in her countenance for the only commands which he was to obey; -and when she drew him towards her aunt, he knelt to her, and kissed her -hand with the customary grace and courtesy of an Italian. - -From that day Calantha thought of nothing but Zerbellini. He was a new -object of interest:—to dress him, to amuse him, to shew him about, was -her great delight. Wherever she went he must accompany her: in whatever -she did or said, Zerbellini must bear a part. The Duke of Myrtlegrove -advised her to make him her page; and for this purpose he ordered him -the dress of an Eastern slave. Buchanan gave him a chain with a large -turquoise heart; and as he placed it around the boy, he glanced his eye -on Calantha. Presents, however, even more magnificent were in return -immediately dispatched by her to the Duke, and to Buchanan. - -Count Gondimar read the letters Calantha had written with the gifts; for -she had left them, as was her custom, open upon the table. All she wrote, -or received, were thus left; not from ostentation, but indifference and -carelessness. “Are you mad,” said the Italian “or worse than mad?” “I -affect it not,” replied Lady Avondale. “I conclude, therefore that it is -real.” Indeed there was a strange compound in Calantha’s mind. She felt -but little accountable for her actions, and she often had observed that -if ever she had the misfortune to reflect and consequently to resolve -against any particular mode of conduct, the result was that she ever -fell into the error she had determined to avoid. She might indeed have -said that the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak; for whatever -she resolved, upon the slightest temptation to the contrary, she failed -to execute. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -“I am astonished my dear Gondimar,” said Viviani one day, addressing -him, “at the description which you gave me of Lady Avondale. I have seen -her since we conversed together about her, more than once; and there is -not, I think, much trace left of that excessive timidity of manner—that -monastic rigidity in her opinions and conduct, of which you made mention -in one of your letters from Castle Delaval.” “I was wrong, utterly wrong,” -said Gondimar, “and you may now rank this model of purity, this paragon -of wives, this pupil of nature, whom I have so often praised to you, -on a level with the rest of her fellow mortals.” “Not on a level—not -on a level,” replied Viviani with gravity; “but falling as I fear, far -beneath it.” - -The Count then repeated in a solemn tone the description of Rome which -Lucian has placed in the mouth of Nigrinus applying the enumeration of -vices, temptations and corruptions, attributed to the fairest capital of -the world, to London; and then asked of Gondimar, if it were possible -for one like Calantha to sojourn long amidst such scenes, without in -some measure acquiring the manners, if not falling into the errors to -which the eyes and ears were every hour accustomed? He spoke of her -with regret, as he thus pronounced her on the verge of ruin:—“a prey,” -he said indignantly, “for the spoiler—the weak and willing victim of -vanity.” “The courts of her father are overrun with petitioners and -mendicants,” said Gondimar: “her apartments are filled with flatterers -who feed upon her credulity: she is in love with ruin: it stalks about -in every possible shape, and in every shape, she hails it:—woe is it; -victim of prosperity, luxury and self indulgence.” - -“And Avondale,” said Viviani. “Lord Avondale,” replied the Count, “knows -not, thinks not, comprehends not her danger or his own. But the hour -of perdition approaches; the first years of peace and love are past; -folly succeeds; and vice is the after game. These are the three stages -in woman’s life. Calantha is swiftly passing through the second:—the -third will succeed. The days and months once glided away in a dream of -joy, dangerous and illusive—in a dream, I repeat; for all that depends -on the excess and durability of any violent passion, must be called a -dream. Such passion, even though sanctioned by the most sacred ties, if -it engrosses every thought, is not innocent—cannot be lawful. It plants -the seeds of corruption which flourish and gain strength hereafter. This -is the climate in which they will soonest ripen:—this is the garden -and soil, where they take the most rapid, and the deepest root.” “And -think you, that Calantha and Avondale, are already weary of each other? -that the warm and vivid imagination of youthful love is satiated with -excess? or that disappointment has followed upon a nearer view?” “All -passion,” replied Gondimar—falling back and impressively raising his -hand—“all passion is founded on”...“Friend,” said Viviani, “thy prate is -unmercifully tedious,”—“I half believe that thou art thyself in love with -this Calantha; but for an explanation and detail of that master passion, -I know not why I applied to you: Calantha is the object of your pursuit -not mine.” “Of my pursuit! in truth I believe you feel more interest -in her conduct than I do, I am old and weary of these follies; life is -just opening upon you; Calantha is your idol” “No,” replied Viviani, -with a smile of scorn. “It is not that party coloured butterfly, which -ranges ever from flower to flower, spreading its light pinions in the -summer breeze, or basking in the smiles of fortune, for which my life is -consumed, my soul is scorched with living fire, and my mind is impaired -and lost! Oh would to heaven that it were! No arts, no crimes were then -required to win and to enjoy. The pulse of passion beats high within -her, and pleads for the lover who dares to ask. Wild fancy, stimulated -by keen sensibility and restless activity of mind, without employment, -render her easy to be approached, and easy to be influenced and worked -upon. Love is the nature of these favourites of fortune: from earliest -infancy—they feel its power! and their souls enervated, live but upon -its honied vows. Chaste—pure! What are these terms? The solitary recluse -is not chaste, as I have heard; and these, never—never.” - -“Yet Lady Margaret you say is unmoved.” “What of Lady Margaret?” -interrupted Viviani, while bitter smiles quivered upon his lip. “Do you -mark the pavement of stone upon which you tread? Do you see the steel -of which this sabre is composed—once heated by the flames, now hard -and insensible?—so cold,—so petrified is the heart, when it has once -given full vent to passion. Marble is that heart which only beats for -my destruction. The time is not yet arrived, but I will dash the cup of -joy from her lips; then drink the dregs myself, and die.” “Mere jealous -threats,” said Gondimar. “The curse of innocent blood is on her,” replied -Viviani, as his livid cheeks and lips resumed a purple dye. “Name her no -more.” “Explain yourself,” cried his astonished friend. “You frequently -allude to scenes of deeper guilt and horror, than I dare even suffer -myself to imagine possible.” “The heart of man is unfathomable,” replied -Viviani;—“that which seems, is not:—that which is, seems not: we should -neither trust our eyes nor ears, in a world like this. But time, which -ripens all things, shall disclose the secrets even of the dead.” - -A short time after this conversation with Gondimar, Viviani took leave -of him. He informed him fully of his projects; and Lady Margaret was -also consulted upon the occasion. “What is become of your menaced -vengeance,” she said, smiling upon him, in their last parting interview. -He laughed at the remembrance of his words. “Am I the object now of your -abhorrence,” she said, placing her white hand carelessly upon his head. -“Not absolutely,” replied the young Count, shrinking, however, from -the pressure of that hand. “Touch me not,” he whispered more earnestly, -“it thrills through my soul.—Keep those endearments for Dartford: leave -me in peace.” Immediately after this he left London; and by the first -letter Lady Margaret received from him, she found that he was preparing -to embark. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - -Frances Seymour’s marriage with Lord Trelawny was now celebrated, after -which the whole family left London for Ireland. - -Sophia, previous to her departure, reproved Calantha for her obstinacy, -as she called it, in remaining in town. “I leave you with pain,” she -said: “forgive me if I say it, for I see you have no conception of the -folly of your conduct. Ever in extremes, you have acted as I little -expected from the wife of Lord Avondale; but I blame him equally for -giving you such unbounded freedom:—only the very wise and the very -good know how to use it.” “Sophia,” replied Calantha, “I wish not for -reproaches:—have confidence in me:—we cannot all be exactly alike. You -are a pattern of propriety and virtue, and verily you have your reward:—I -act otherwise, and am prepared for censures:—even yours cannot offend -me. Lord Avondale talks of soon returning to Ireland: I shall then -leave this dear delightful London without regret; and you shall find -me when we all meet for the spring at Castle Delaval, just the same, as -when I entered it.” “Never the same,” thought Sophia, who marked, with -astonishment, the change a few months had made. - -They were yet speaking, and taking a cold farewell of each other, when -a thundering rap at the door interrupted them, and before Sophia could -retreat, Mr. Fremore, Count Gondimar and Lady Mandeville were ushered in. -A frozen courtesy, and an austere frown, were the only signs of animation -Sophia gave, as she vanished from their view; for she seemed hardly to -have energy sufficient left, to walk out of the room in an ordinary manner. - -“You have been ill,” said Lady Mandeville, accosting Calantha. “It is -a week since I have seen you. Think not, however, that I am come to -intrude upon your time: I only called, as I passed your door, to enquire -after you. Mr. Fremore tells me you are about to visit the Princess -of Madagascar. Is this true? for I never believe any thing I hear?” -“For once,” said Calantha, “you may do so; and on this very evening, -my introduction is to take place.” “It is with regret I hear it,” said -Lady Mandeville with a sigh: “we shall never more see any thing of you. -Besides, she is not my friend.” Calantha assured Lady Mandeville her -attachment could endure all sorts of trials; and laughingly enquired -of her respecting her lovers, Apollonius, and the Greek Lexicon she -was employed in translating. Lady Mandeville answered her with some -indifference on these subjects; and having said all that she could in -order to dissuade her against visiting the Princess, took her leave. - -That evening, at the hour of ten, Lord Avondale and Mr. Fremore being in -readiness, Calantha drove according to appointment to visit the wife of -the great Nabob, the Princess of Madagascar. Now who is so ignorant as -not to know that this Lady resides in an old-fashioned gothic building, -called Barbary House, three miles beyond the turnpike? and who is so -ignorant as not to be aware that her highness would not have favoured -Lady Avondale with an audience, had she been otherwise than extremely well -with the world, as the phrase is—for she was no patroness of the fallen! -the caresses and _petits mots obligeants_ which dropt from her during -this her first interview, raised Lady Avondale in her own opinion; but -that was unnecessary. What was more to the purpose, it won her entirely -towards the Princess. - -Calantha now, for the first time, conversed with the learned of the -land:—she heard new opinions started, and old ones refuted; and she gazed -unhurt, but not unawed, upon reviewers, poets, critics, and politicians. -At the end of a long gallery, two thick wax tapers, rendering “darkness -visible,” the princess was seated. A poet of an emaciated and sallow -complexion stood beside her; of him it was affirmed that in apparently -the kindest and most engaging manner, he, at all times, said precisely -that which was most unpleasant to the person he appeared to praise. This -yellow hyena had, however, a heart noble, magnanimous and generous; and -even his friends, could they but escape from his smile and his tongue, -had no reason to complain. Few events, if any, were ever known to move -the Princess from her position. Her pages—her foreign attire, but genuine -English manners, voice and complexion, attracted universal admiration. -She was beautiful too, and had a smile it was difficult to learn to hate -or to mistrust. She spoke of her own country with contempt; and, even in -her dress, which was magnificent, attempted to prove the superiority of -every other over it. Her morals were simple and uncorrupt, and in matters -of religious faith she entirely surrendered herself to the guidance of -Hoiaouskim. She inclined her head a little upon seeing Lady Avondale; -the _dead_, I mean the sick poet, did the same; and Hoiaouskim, her high -priest, cast his eyes, with unassuming civility, upon Calantha, thus -welcoming her to Barbary House. - -The princess then spoke a little sentence—just enough to shew how much -she intended to protect Lady Avondale. She addressed herself, besides, -in many dialects, to an outlandish set of menials; appointing every -one in the room some trifling task, which was performed in a moment by -young and old, with surprising alacrity. Such is the force of fashion -and power, when skilfully applied. After this, she called Calantha: a -slight exordium followed then a wily pointed catechism; her Highness -nodding at intervals, and dropping short epigrammatic sentences, when -necessary, to such as were in attendance around her. “Is she acting?” -said Calantha, at length, in a whisper, addressing the sallow complexioned -Poet, who stood sneering and simpering behind her chair. “Is she acting, -or is this reality?” “It is the only reality you will ever find in the -Princess,” returned her friend. “She acts the Princess of Madagascar -from morning till night, and from night till morning. You may fall from -favour, but you are now at the height: no one ever advanced further—none -ever continued there long.” - -“But why,” said Lady Avondale, “do the great Nabob, and all the other -Lords in waiting, with that black horde of savages”—“Reviewers, you mean, -and men of talents.” “Well, whatever they are, tell me quickly why they -wear collars, and chains around their necks at Barbary House?” “It is the -fashion,” replied the poet. “This fashion is unbecoming your race,” said -Lady Avondale: “I would die sooner than be thus enchained.” “The great -Nabob,” quoth Mr. Fremore, joining in the discourse, “is the best, the -kindest, the cleverest man I know; but, like some philosophers, he would -sacrifice much for a peaceable life. The Princess is fond of inflicting -these lesser tyrannies: she is so helplessly attached to these trifles—so -overweaningly fond of exerting her powers, it were a pity to thwart -her. For my own part, I could willingly bend to the yoke, provided the -duration were not eternal; for observe that the chains are well gilded; -that the tables are well stored; and those who bend the lowest are ever -the best received.” “And if I also bow my neck,” said Calantha, “will -she be grateful? May I depend upon her seeming kindness?” The Poet’s -naturally pale complexion turned to a bluish green at this enquiry. - -Cold Princess! where are your boasted professions now? You taught Calantha -to love you, by every petty art of which your sex is mistress. She heard, -from your lips, the sugared poisons you were pleased to lavish upon her. -You laughed at her follies, courted her confidence, and flattered her -into a belief that you loved her. Loved her!—it is a feeling you never -felt. She fell into the mire; the arrows of your precious crew were shot -at her—like hissing snakes hot and sharpened with malice and venomed -fire; and you, yes—you were the first to scorn her:—you, by whom she -had stood faithfully and firmly amidst a host of foes—aye, amidst the -fawning rabble, who still crowd your doors, and laugh at and despise -you. Thanks for the helping hand of friendship in the time of need—the -mud and the mire have been washed from Calantha; the arrows have been -drawn from a bleeding bosom; the heart is still sound, and beats to -disdain you. The sun may shine fairly again upon her; but never, whilst -existence is prolonged, will she set foot in the gates of the Palace of -the great Nabob, or trust to the smiles and professions of the Princess -of Madagascar. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - -“And what detains you in town?” said Gondimar, on the eve of Mrs. Seymour -and Sophia’s departure. “Will this love of gaiety never subside. Tell -me, Lady Avondale, do you believe all that the Duke of Myrtlegrove, -and your more warlike cousin have said to you?—What means the blush on -your indignant cheek? The young duke is more enamoured of the lustre -of his diamond ring and broach, than of the brightest eyes that ever -gazed on him; and though the words glory and renown drop from the mouth -of Buchanan, love, I think, has lost his time in aiming arrows at his -heart. Has he one?—I think not? But who has one in London?” “You have -not assuredly,” said the Count: “and, if you knew the censures that -are every where passed upon you, I think, for Lord Avondale’s sake, you -would regret it.” “I do; but indeed—” - -The entrance of Buchanan put a stop to this conversation. “Are you ready?” -he cried. “Ready! I have waited for you three hours: it is five, and you -promised to come before two.” “You would excuse me, I am sure, if you knew -how excessively ill I have been. I am but this moment out of bed. That -accursed hazard kept me up till ten this morning. Once, I sat two days -and nights at it: but it’s no matter.” “You take no care of yourself.—I -wish for my sake you would.” The manner in which Calantha said this, was -most particularly flattering and kind: it was, indeed, ever so; but the -return she met with (like the lady who loved the swine. “Honey,” quoth -she, “thou shalt in silver salvers dine.” “Humph,” quoth he) was most -uncourteous. “Truly I care not if I am knocked on the head to-morrow,” -replied Buchanan. “There is nothing worth living for in life: every thing -annoys me: I am sick of all society, Love, sentiment, is my abhorrence.” -“But driving, dearest Buchanan,—riding,—your mother—your—your cousin.” -“Oh, d..n it; don’t talk about it. It’s all a great bore.” - -“And can Lady Avondale endure this jargon?” “What is that Italian here -again?” whispered Buchanan. “But come, let’s go. My horses must not -wait, they are quite unbroke; and the boy can’t hold them. Little Jem -yesterday had his ribs broke; and this youngster’s no hand. Where shall we -drive?” “To perdition,” whispered Gondimar. “Can’t wait,” said Buchanan, -impatiently: and Calantha hurried away. - -The curricle was beautiful; the horses fiery; Buchanan in high spirits; -and Calantha—ah must it be confessed?—more elated with this exhibition -through the crowded streets, than she could have been at the most glorious -achievement. “Drive faster,—faster still,” she continually said, to shew -her courage. Alas! real courage delights not in parade; but anything that -had the appearance of risk or danger, delighted Calantha. “Damn it, how -Alice pulls.” “Alice!” said Calantha. “Oh hang it; don’t talk of that. -Here’s Will Rattle, let me speak to him; and Dick, the boxer’s son. Do -you mind stopping? Not in the least.” Saying which they pulled in, as -Buchanan termed it; and a conversation ensued, which amused Calantha -extremely. “How soon shall you be off?” said Will Rattle, as they prepared -to drive on.—“It’s a devilish bore staying in London now,” replied -Buchanan: “only I’ve been commanded to stay,” saying which he smiled, -and turned to Lady Avondale, “or I should have been with my regiment -before this. The moment I am released, however, I shall go there.—Hope -to see you to-night, Will. Mind and bring Charles Turner.—There’s a new -play. Oh I forgot:—perhaps I shan’t be let off; shall I?” “No,” replied -Calantha, extremely pleased at this flattering appeal. Will bowed with -conceit, and off they galloped, Buchanan repeating as they went, “A -damned strange fellow that—cleverer than half the people though, who make -such a noise. I saved his life once in an engagement. Poor Will, he’s -so grateful, he would give all he has for me,—I’ll be d—d if he would -not.” Let this suffice. The drive was not very long; and, the danger of -being overturned excepted, utterly devoid of interest. - -Lady Dartford had returned to town. Perhaps no one ever heard that -she had left it: like the rose leaf upon the glass full of water, her -innocent presence made not the slightest difference, nor was her absence -at any time observed. She, however, called upon Calantha, a few moments -after Buchanan had taken her home. Lady Avondale was with her lord, in -the library when she came. “Why did you let her in?” she said rather -crossly to the servant; when another loud rap at the door announced Lady -Mandeville and Lady Augusta Selwyn. Calantha was writing a letter; and -Lord Avondale was talking to her of the arrangements for their departure. -“I wish I ever could see you one moment alone,” he said, “Say I am -coming—or shall not come,” she replied; and during the time she remained -to finish the conversation with her husband, she could not help amusing -herself with the thought of Lady Dartford’s alarm, at finding herself -in the presence of Lady Mandeville, whom she did not visit. “You do not -attend at all,” said Lord Avondale; “you are of no use whatever;” Alas! -he had already found that the mistress of his momentary passion, was not -the friend and companion of his more serious thoughts. Calantha was of -no use to any one. She began to feel the bitterness of this certainty, -but she fled from the reflection with pain. - -Eager to amuse Lady Dartford, Lady Augusta, who knew her well, entertained -her till Lady Avondale joined them, with a variety of anecdotes of all -that had taken place since her departure; and, having soon exhausted -other subjects, began upon Calantha herself. “She is positively in love -with Captain Buchanan,” said she. “At every ball he dances with her; at -every supper he is by her side; all London is talking of it. Only think -too how strange, just as he was said to have proposed to Miss Macvicker—a -fortune—twenty thousand a year—a nice girl, who really looks unhappy. -Poor thing, it is very hard on her.—I always feel for girls.” “Come,” -said Lady Mandeville, “last night you know, they did not interchange a -word: he talked the whole evening to that young lady with the singular -name. How I detest gossiping and scandal. Calantha deserves not this.” -“Bless us, how innocent we are all of a sudden,” interrupted Lady Augusta! -“have you any pretentions, dearest lady, to that innoxtious quality? Now -are you not aware that this is the very perfection of the art of making -love—this not speaking? But this is what always comes of those who are -so mighty fond of their husbands. Heavens, how sick I have been of all -the stories of their romantic attachment. There is nothing, my dear, -like Miss Seymour, or making one sick. She always gives me the vapours.” - -“Where do you go to-night?” said Lady Dartford, wishing to interrupt a -conversation which gave her but little pleasure. “Oh, to fifty places; -but I came here partly too in the hope of engaging Lady Avondale to -come to me to-night. She is a dear soul, and I do not like her the worse -for shewing a little spirit.” “I cannot,” said Lady Mandeville, “think -there is much in this; a mere caprice, founded on both sides in a little -vanity. After seeing Lord Avondale, I cannot believe there is the smallest -danger for her. Good heavens, if I had possessed such a husband!” “Oh, -now for sentiment,” said Augusta: “and God knows, if I had possessed a -dozen such, I should have felt as I do at this moment. Variety—variety! -Better change for the worse than always see the same object.” “Well, -if you do not allow the merit of Henry Avondale to outweigh this love -of variety, what say you to Mr. Buchanan, being her cousin, brought up -with her from a child.” “Thanks for the hint—you remember the song of - - “_Nous nous aimions dès l’enfance - Tête-à-Tête à chaque instant._” - -and I am certain, my dear sentimental friend, that - - “_A notre place - Vous en auriez fait autant._” - -Then going up to the glass Lady Augusta bitterly inveighed against -perverse nature, who with such a warm heart, had given her such an ugly -face. “Do you know,” she said, still gazing upon her uncouth features, -addressing herself to Lady Dartford—“do you know that I have fallen in -love myself, since I saw you;—and with whom do you think?” “I think I -can guess, and shall take great credit to myself, if I am right. Is not -the happy man an author?” said Lady Dartford.—“You have him, upon my -honour—Mr. Clarendon, by all that is wonderful:—he is positively the -cleverest man about town.—Well I am glad to see my affairs also make -some little noise in the world,”—“I can tell you however,” said Lady -Mandeville, “that he is already engaged;—and Lady Mounteagle occupies -every thought of his heart.” - -“Good gracious, my dear, living and loving have done but little for you; -and the dead languages prevent your judging of living objects.—Engaged! -you talk of falling in love, as if it were a matrimonial contract -for life. Now don’t you know that every thing in nature is subject to -change:—it rains to-day—it shines to-morrow;—we laugh,—we cry;—and the -thermometer of love rises and falls, like the weather glass, from the -state of the atmosphere:—one while it is at freezing point;—another it -is at fever heat.—How then should the only imaginary thing in the whole -affair—the object I mean which is _always purely ideal_—how should that -remain the same?” - -Lady Mandeville smiled a little, and turning her languid blue eyes upon -Lady Dartford, asked her if she were of the christian persuasion? Lady -Dartford was perfectly confounded:—she hesitatingly answered in the -affirmative. Upon which, Lady Augusta fell back in her chair, and laughed -immoderately; but fearful of offending her newly made acquaintance, -observed to her, that she wore the prettiest hat she had ever seen. -“Where did you get it?” said she.—The question was a master key to Lady -Dartford’s thoughts:—caps, hats and works of every description were -as much a solace to her, in the absence of her husband, as the greek -language, or the pagan philosophy could ever have been to Lady Mandeville, -under any of her misfortunes.—“I got it,” said she, brightening up -with a grateful look, at the only enquiry she had heard, that was at -all adapted to her understanding, at Madame de la Roche’s:—“it is the -cheapest thing you can conceive:—I only gave twenty guineas for it:—and -you know I am not reckoned very clever at making bargains.” “I should -think not,” answered Lady Augusta, adverting only to the first part of -the sentence. - -Calantha entered at this moment. “Oh my sweet soul,” said Lady Augusta, -embracing her, “I began to despair of seeing you.—But what was the matter -with you last night? I had just been saying that you looked so very grave. -Notwithstanding which, Lord Dallas could think, and talk only of you. He -says your chevelure is perfectly grecian—the black ringlets upon the white -skin; but I never listen to any compliment that is not paid directly or -indirectly to myself. He is quite adorable:—do you not think so, hey?—no—I -see he is too full of admiration for you—too refined. Lady Avondale’s -heart must be won in a far different manner:—insult—rudeness—is the way -to it.—What! blush so deeply! Is the affair, then, too serious for a -jest? Why, _mon enfant_, you look like Miss Macvicker this morning.—And -is it true she will soon be united to you by the ties of blood, as she -now seems to be by those of sympathy and congeniality of soul?” - -The eternal Count Gondimar, and afterwards Buchanan interrupted Lady -Augusta’s attack. New topics of discourse were discussed:—it will be -needless to detail them:—time presses. Balls, assemblies follow:—every -day exhibited a new scene of frivolity and extravagance;—every night -was passed in the same vortex of fashionable dissipation. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - - -The spring was far advanced. Calantha’s health required the sea air; -but her situation rendered a long journey hazardous. Lord Avondale -resolved to await her confinement in England. The birth of a daughter -was an additional source of happiness: Anabel was the name given to the -little infant. Harry Mowbray was now in his second year. The accounts -from Ireland were more satisfactory. Mrs. Seymour wrote constantly to -Calantha regretting her absence. Weeks, however, flew by, in the same -thoughtless vanities: months passed away without regret or care.—Autumn -was gone:—winter again approached.—London, though deserted, by the -crowd, was still gay. Calantha lived much with her Aunt Margaret, Lady -Mandeville, and the Princess of Madagascar. The parks and streets, but -lately so thronged with carriages, were now comparatively lonely and -deserted. Like the swallows at the appointed hour, the gay tribe of -fashionable idlers had vanished; and a new set of people appeared in -their place:—whence, or why, nobody could guess. - -One day Zerbellini, Calantha’s little page, had just returned -with a note from Buchanan; a french hair dresser was cutting her -hair; milliners and jewellers were displaying upon every table new -dresses—caps—chains—rings—for the ensuing winter; and Calantha’s eye was -dazzled—her ear was charmed—when her aunt Margaret entered.—“God bless -your Ladyship, God preserve you,” said a woman half starved, who was -waiting for an answer to her petition.—“_Mi Lady; ne prendra-t-elle pas -ce petit bonnet?_” said Madame la Roche. “Yes, every thing, any thing,” -she answered impatiently, as she got up to receive her aunt.—She was -unusually grave. Calantha trembled; for she thought she was prepared to -speak to her about Buchanan. She was extremely relieved when she found -that her censures turned solely upon her page. “Why keep that little -foreign minion?” she said, indignantly. “Is the Count Viviani so very -dear, that any present of his must be thus treasured up and valued?” -“The Count Viviani?” said Calantha astonished: “who is he?”—“Well, then, -Gondimar,” replied Lady Margaret. “Calantha—as a favour, I request you -send back that boy.”—Lady Avondale’s prayers were at first her sole -reply; and like Titania, in her second, when Oberon demanded the trusty -Henchman, she boldly refused. Lady Margaret left her immediately:—she -was calm, but offended. She was then going to Castle Delaval. Calantha -told her they should join her there in the course of the next month. -She only smiled, with a look of incredulity and contempt; asking her, if -her beloved Henry would really be so cruel as to tear her away at last -from London? and saying this she took leave. - -Lord Avondale and Calantha had been conversing on this very subject in the -morning. He was surprised at her ready acquiescence in his wish to return -to Ireland. “You are then still the same,” he said affectionately.—“I am -the same,” she replied rather fretfully; “but you are changed:—every one -tells me you neglect me.” “And have they who tell you so,” said he with -a sigh, “any very good motive in thus endeavouring to injure me in your -opinion? If I attended to what every one said, Calantha, perhaps I too -should have some reason to complain.—Business of importance has alone -engaged my attention. You know I am not one who assumes much; and if I -say that I have been employed, you may depend on its being the case. I -hope, then, I am not wrong when I have confided myself, and every thing -that is dearest to me, to your honour and your love.”—“Ah no:—you are -not wrong,” she answered; “but perhaps if you confided less, and saw -more of me, it would be better. Before marriage, a woman has her daily -occupations: she looks for the approving smile of her parents:—she has -friends who cheer her—who take interest in her affairs. But when we -marry, Henry, we detach ourselves from all, to follow one guide. For the -first years, we are the constant object of your solicitude:—you watch -over us with even a tenderer care than those whom we have left, and then -you leave us—leave us too, among the amiable and agreeable, yet reprove -us, if we confide in them, or love them. Marriage is the annihilation -of love.” - -“The error is in human nature,” said Lord Avondale smiling—“We always -see perfection in that which we cannot approach:—there is a majesty in -distance and rarity, which every day’s intercourse wears off. Besides, -love delights in gazing upon that which is superior:—whilst we believe you -angels, we kneel to you, we are your slaves;—we awake and find women, and -expect obedience:—and is it not what you were made for?”—“Henry, we are -made your idols too—too long, to bear this sad reverse:—you should speak -to us in the language of truth from the first, or never.—Obey—is a fearful -word to those who have lived without hearing it; and truth from lips which -have accustomed us to a dearer language, sounds harsh and discordant. -We have renounced society, and all the dear ties of early friendship, -to form one strong engagement, and if that fails, what are we in the -world?—beings without hope, or interest—dependants—encumbrances—shadows -of former joys—solitary wanderers in quest of false pleasures—or lonely -recluses, unblessing and unblest.” - -Calantha had talked herself into tears, at the conclusion of this -sentence; and Lord Avondale, smiling at a description she had given, so -little according with the gay being who stood before him, pressed her -fondly to his bosom; and said he would positively hear no more. “You treat -me like a child—a fool,”—she said:—“you forget that I am a reasonable -creature.” “I do, indeed, Calantha:—you so seldom do any thing to remind -me of it.” “Well, Henry, one day you shall find your error. I feel that -within, which tells me that I could be superior—aye—very superior to -those who cavil at my faults, and first encourage and then ridicule me -for them. I love—I honour you, Henry. You never flatter me. Even if you -neglect me, you have confidence in me—and, thank God, my heart is still -worthy of some affection.—It is yet time to amend.” Calantha—thought it -had been—as she took in haste a review of her former conduct—of time, -how neglected!—friends, how estranged!—money lavished in vain!—and health -impaired by the excess of late hours, and endless, ceaseless dissipation. - -London had still attractions for Calantha; but the thought of fresh air, -and green fields recurring, she was soon prepared for the journey. She -passed the intervening days before her departure in taking leave of her -friends. Lady Mandeville, in bidding adieu to her, affirmed that the -interchange of ideas between congenial souls, would never be lessened, -nor interrupted by absence. She would write to her, she said, and she -would think of her; and, seeing Calantha was really sorry to part with -her, “You have none of the philosophy,” she said, “which your cousin -and your aunt possess, and every trifle, therefore, has power to afflict -you:—you scarcely know me, and yet you are grieved to leave me. Promise -ever to judge of me by what you see yourself, and not through the medium -of others; for the world, which I despise from my soul, has long sought -to crush me, because I had pride of character enough to think for myself.” - -If any thing had been wanting to strengthen Calantha’s regard, this boast -had been sure of its effect; for it was one of her favourite opinions, -not indeed that the world should be despised, but that persons should -dare to think, and act for themselves, even though against its judgments. -She was not then, aware how this cant phrase is ever in the mouths of the -veriest slaves to prejudice,—how little real independence of character is -found amongst those who have lost sight of virtue. Like spendthrifts, who -boast of liberality, they are forced to stoop to arts and means, which -those whom they affect to contemn, would blush even to think of. Virtue -alone can hope to stand firm and unawed above the multitude. When vice -assumes this fearless character, it is either unblushing effrontery and -callous indifference to the opinion of the wise and good, or at best, -but overweening pride, which supports the culprit, and conceals from -the eyes of others, the gnawing tortures he endures—the bitter agonizing -consciousness of self-reproach. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - - -Lord Avondale was desirous of passing the winter with his family at -Monteith, and in the spring he had promised the Duke of Altamonte to -accompany Lady Avondale to Castle Delaval. Lady Mandeville and Lady -Augusta Selwyn were invited to meet them there at that time. The wish -of pleasing Calantha, of indulging even her very weaknesses, seemed to -be the general failing of all who surrounded her:—yet what return did -she make?—each day new follies engrossed her thoughts;—her levity and -extravagance continually increased; and whilst with all the ostentation -of generosity she wasted the fortune of her husband upon the worthless -and the base,—he denied himself every amusement, secretly and kindly -to repair the ruin—the misery—the injustice her imprudence and wanton -prodigality had caused. - -During a long and melancholy journey, and after her arrival at Monteith, -Calantha, with some astonishment, considered the difference of Lord -Avondale’s views, character and even talents for society and conversation, -as compared with those of her former companions. Lord Avondale had no love -of ostentation—no effort—a perfect manliness of conduct and character, a -real, and not feigned, indifference to the opinion and applause of the -vain and the foolish; yet with all this, he was happy, cheerful, ready -to enter into every amusement or occupation which gave others pleasure. -He had not one selfish feeling. It was impossible not to be forcibly -struck with the comparison. - -Calantha, with her usual inconsistency, now made all those sensible and -judicious remarks which people always make, when they have lived a life -of folly, and suddenly return to a more tranquil course. She compared -the false gaiety which arises from incessant hurry and vanity, with that -which is produced by nature and health. She looked upon the blue sky -and the green fields; watched the first peeping snow-drop and crocus; -and entered with delight into all the little innocent pleasures of a -rural life: nor did even a slight restlessness prevail, nor any erring -thoughts steal back to revisit the gay scenes she had left. In very truth -she was more adapted, she said, to her present course of life than to -any other; and, however guilty of imprudence, she thanked God she had -not heavier sins to answer for; nor was there a thought of her heart, -she would not have wished her husband to know, unless from the fear of -either giving him pain or betraying others. - -At length, however, and by degrees, something of disquiet began to -steal in upon the serenity of her thoughts:—her mind became agitated, -and sought an object:—study, nay, labour she had preferred to this -total want of interest. While politics and military movements engaged -Lord Avondale almost wholly, and the rest of the family seemed to exist -happily enough in the usual course, she longed for she knew not what. -There was a change in her sentiments, but she could not define it. It -was not as it had been once: yet there was no cause for complaint. She -was happy, but her heart seemed not to partake of her happiness: regret -mingled at times with her enjoyments. - -Lady Mowbray spoke with some asperity of her late conduct; Lady Elizabeth -enquired laughingly if all she heard were true; for every folly, every -fault, exaggerated and misrepresented, had flown before her: she found -that all which she had considered as merely harmless, now appeared in a -new and more unpleasing light. Censures at home and flattery abroad are -a severe trial to the vain and the proud. She thought her real friends -austere; and cast one longing glance back upon the scene which had been -so lately illumined by the gaiety, the smiles, the kindness and courtesy -of her new acquaintance. - -Whilst the first and only care of Lord Avondale, every place was alike -delightful to Calantha; for in his society she enjoyed all that she -desired; but now that she saw him estranged, absent, involved in deeper -interests, she considered, with some feelings of alarm, the loneliness -of her own situation. In the midst of hundreds, she had no real -friends:—those of her childhood were estranged from her by her marriage; -and those her marriage had united her with, seemed to perceive only her -faults, nor appreciated the merits she possessed. To dress well, to talk -well, to write with ease and perspicuity, had never been her turn. Unused -to the arts and amusements of social intercourse, she had formerly felt -interest in poetry, in music, in what had ceased to be, or never had -existed; but now the same amusements, the same books, had lost their -charm: she knew more of the world, and saw and felt their emptiness and -fallacy. In the society of the generality of women and men she could -find amusement when any amusement was to be found; but, day after day, -to hear sentiments she could not think just, and to lose sight of all -for which she once had felt reverence and enthusiasm, was hard. If she -named one she loved, that one was instantly considered as worthless: -if she expressed much eagerness for the success of any project, that -eagerness was the subject of ridicule. - -Oh I am changed, she continually thought; I have repressed and conquered -every warm and eager feeling; I love and admire nothing; yet am I not -heartless and cold enough for the world in which I live. What is it -that makes me miserable? There is a fire burns within my soul; and all -those whom I see and hear are insensible. Avondale alone feels as I do; -but alas! it is no longer for me. Were I dead, what difference would it -make to any one? I am the object of momentary amusement or censure to -thousands; but, of love, to none. I am as a child, as a mistress to my -husband; but never his friend, his companion. Oh for a heart’s friend, -in whom I could confide every thought and feeling; who would share and -sympathize with my joy or sorrow; to whom I could say, “you love me—you -require my presence;” and for whom in return I would give up every other -enjoyment. Such friend was once Lord Avondale. By what means have I lost -him? - -Often when in tears she thus expressed herself. Her husband would -suddenly enter; laugh with her without penetrating her feelings; or, -deeply interested in the cares of business, seek her only as a momentary -solace and amusement. Such, however, he seldom now found her; for she -cherished a discontented spirit within her; and though too proud and -stubborn to complain, she lived but on the memory of the past. - -Calantha’s principles had received a shock, the force and effect of -which was greatly augmented by a year of vanity and folly; her health -too was impaired from late hours and an enervating life; she could not -walk or ride as formerly; and her great occupation was the indulgence of -a useless and visionary train of thinking. She imagined that which was -not, and lost sight of reality;—pictured ideal virtues, and saw not the -world as it is. Her heart beat with all the fervour of enthusiasm; but -the turn it took was erroneous. She heard the conversation of others; -took a mistaken survey of society; and withdrew herself imperceptibly -from all just and reasonable views. Ill motives were imputed to her, for -what she considered harmless imprudence; she felt the injustice of these -opinions; and, instead of endeavouring to correct those appearances which -had caused such severe animadversion, in absolute disgust she steeled -herself against all remonstrances. Every one smiles on me and seems to -love me—the world befriends me—she continually thought; yet I am censured -and misrepresented. My relations—the only enemies I have—are those who -profess to be my friends. Convinced of this, she became lonely. She had -thoughts which once she would have mentioned as they occurred, but which -she now concealed and kept solely to herself. She became dearer in her -own estimation, as she detached herself from others, and began to feel -coldly, even towards those whom she had once loved. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - - -It is dangerous to begin life by surrendering every feeling of the -mind and the heart to any violent passion—Calantha had loved and been -loved to such an excess, that all which followed it appeared insipid. -Vanity might fill the space for a moment, or friendship, or charity, -or benevolence; but still there was something gone which, had it never -existed, had never been missed and required. Lord Avondale was perhaps -more indulgent and more affectionate now, than at first; for a lover -ever plays the tyrant; but even this indulgence was different; and that -look of adoration—that blind devotion—that ardent, constant solitude, -when, without a single profession, one may feel certain of being the -first object in life to the person thus attached,—all this was past. - -Such love is not depravity. To have felt it, and to feel it no more, is -like being deprived of the light of the sun, and seeing the same scenes, -which we once viewed brilliant beneath its beams, dark, clouded and -cheerless.—Calantha had given up her heart too entirely to its power, -ever more to endure existence without it. Her home was a desert; her -thoughts were heavy and dull; her spirits and her health were gone; and -even the desire of pleasing, so natural to the vain, had ceased. Whom -was she to wish to please, since Avondale was indifferent? or what to -her was the same, absent and preoccupied. - -Such depression continued during the gloomy wintry months; but with the -first warm breeze of spring, they left her; and in the month of May, -she prepared to join the splendid party which was expected at Castle -Delaval—as gay in heart herself as if she had never moralized upon the -perishableness of all human happiness. - -Upon a cool and somewhat dreary morning in the month of May, Calantha -left Monteith, and, sleeping one night at Allenwater, hastened to Castle -Delaval, where blazing hearths and joyous countenances, gave her a -cheering welcome. Lady Mandeville and Lady Augusta had, according to -promise, arrived there a week before, to the utter consternation of Mrs. -Seymour. Calantha perceived in one moment, that she was not extremely -well with her or with her cousins upon this account. Indeed the former -scarcely offered her her hand, such a long detail of petty offences had -been registered against her, since they had last parted. It was also -justly imputed to Calantha that Lady Mandeville had been invited to the -Castle. A stately dignity was therefore assumed by Sophia and Mrs. Seymour -on this occasion: they scarce permitted themselves to smile during the -whole time Lady Mandeville remained, for fear, as Calantha concluded, -that Satan, taking advantage of a moment of levity, should lead them -into further evil. The being compelled to live in company with one of -her character, was more than enough. - -“I am enraptured at your arrival,” said Lady Augusta, flying towards -Calantha, the moment she perceived her. “You are come at the happiest -time: you will be diverted here in no ordinary manner: the days of -romance, are once again displayed to our wondering view.” “Yes,” said -Lady Trelawney, “not a day passes without an adventure.” Before Calantha -enquired into the meaning of this, she advanced to Lady Mandeville, who, -languidly reclining upon a couch, smiled sweetly on seeing her. Secure -of the impression she had made, she waited to be sought, and throwing -her arm around her, gave her kisses so soft and so tender, that she -could not immediately extricate herself from her embrace. - -Lady Augusta, eager to talk, exclaimed—“Did you meet any of the patrole?” -“I was reading the address to the united Irishmen,” said Calantha, -who could hear and think of nothing else. “Are you aware who is the -author?” “No; but it is so eloquent, so animated, I was quite alarmed -when I thought how it must affect the people.” “You shock me, Calantha,” -said Mrs. Seymour. “The absurd rhapsody you mean, is neither eloquent -nor animating: it is a despicable attempt to subvert the government, -a libel upon the English, and a poor piece of flattery to delude the -infatuated malcontents in Ireland.” Lady Augusta winked at Calantha, as -if informing her that she touched upon a sore subject. “The author,” said -Lady Trelawney, who affected to be an enthusiast, “is Lord Glenarvon.” - -“I wish Frances,” said Mrs. Seymour, “you would call people by their -right names. The young man you call Lord Glenarvon, has no claim to that -title; his grandfather was a traitor; his father was a poor miserable -exile, who was obliged to enter the Navy by way of gaining a livelihood; -his mother was a woman of very doubtful character (as she said this she -looked towards Lady Mandeville); and this young man, educated nobody knows -how, having passed his time in a foreign country, nobody knows where, -from whence he was driven it seems by his crimes, is now unfortunately -arrived here to pervert and mislead others, to disseminate his wicked -doctrines amongst an innocent but weak people, and to spread the flames -of rebellion, already kindled in other parts of the Island. Oh, he is a -dishonour to his sex; and it makes me mad to see how you all run after -him, and forget both dignity and modesty, to catch a glimpse of him.” - -“What sort of looking man is he, dear aunt?” said Calantha. -“Frightful—mean,” said Mrs. Seymour. “His stature is small,” said Lady -Mandeville; “but his eye is keen and his voice is sweet and tunable. -Lady Avondale believe me, he is possessed of that persuasive language, -which never fails to gain upon its hearers. Take heed to your heart: -remember my words,—beware of the young Glenarvon.” Gondimar, after the -first salutation upon entering the room, joined in the conversation; but -he spoke with bitterness of the young Lord; and upon Lady Trelawney’s -attempting to say a few words in his favour, “Hear Sir Everard on this -subject,” said the Count—“only hear what he thinks of him.” “I fear,” -said Sophia, “that all these animadversions will prevent our going -to-morrow, as we proposed, to see the Priory.” “Nothing shall prevent -me,” replied Lady Augusta. “I only beg,” said Mrs. Seymour “that I may -not be of the party, as the tales of horror I have heard concerning the -inhabitants of St. Alvin Priory, from old Lord de Ruthven, at Belfont -Abbey, prevent my having the smallest wish or curiosity to enter its -gates.” - -Count Gondimar, now coming towards Calantha, enquired after Zerbellini. -At the request of every one present, he was sent for. Calantha saw a -visible change in Lady Margaret’s countenance, as he entered the room. -“He is the living images”—she murmured, in a low hollow tone—“Of whom?” -said Calantha eagerly.—She seemed agitated and retired. Gondimar in the -evening, took Calantha apart, and said these extraordinary words to her, -“Zerbellini is Lady Margaret and Lord Dartford’s son: treat him according -to his birth; but remember, she would see him a slave sooner than betray -herself: she abhors, yet loves him. Mark her; but never disclose the -secret with which I entrust you.” Astonished, confounded, Calantha now -looked upon the boy with different eyes. Immediately his resemblance to -the family of Delaval struck her—his likeness to herself—his manner so -superior to that of a child in his situation. The long concealed truth, -at once flashed upon her. A thousand times she was tempted to speak upon -the subject. She had not promised to conceal it from Lord Avondale: she -was in the habit of telling him every thing: however she was now for -the first time silent, and there is no more fatal symptom than when an -open communicative disposition grows reserved. - - -END OF VOL. I. - - -LONDON: PRINTED BY SCHULZE AND DEAN, 13, POLAND STREET. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLENARVON, VOLUME 1 (OF -3) *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Glenarvon, Volume 1 (of 3)</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Caroline Lamb</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 15, 2022 [eBook #68754]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLENARVON, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***</div> - -<div class="tnbox"> -<p class="center"> -<b>Transcriber’s Note:</b> -</p> -<p> - Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have - been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. -</p> - -<p>The following are possible misspellings:</p> -<ul class="none"> -<li> benshees</li> -<li> combated</li> -<li> controul</li> -<li> empassioned/impassioned</li> -<li> encrease/increase</li> -<li> Glenaa/Glanaa</li> -<li> innoxtious</li> -<li> Mounteagle/Monteagle</li> -<li> Mowbrey/Mowbray</li> -<li> overweaning/overweening</li> -<li> pretentions</li> -<li> Trelawny/Trelawney</li> -</ul> -<p> Chapter IX is missing in the numbering sequence.</p> - -<p>“beaten tract” should possibly be “beaten track”</p> -</div> - -<h1>GLENARVON.</h1> - -<hr class="p4" /> - -<p class="center p4"> -IN THREE VOLUMES. -</p> - -<p class="center"> -VOL. I. -</p> - -<hr class="p4" /> - -<p class="center p4"> -LONDON: -</p> -<p class="center space_above"> -PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN, -</p> -<hr class="l5" /> -<p class="center"> -1816. -</p> - -<p class="center p4 s08"> -London: Printed by Schulze and Dean,<br /> -13, Poland Street. -</p> - -<hr class="p2" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="poetry-container p2"> -<div class="poem"> -<p><span lang='it'>Disperato dolor, che il cor mi preme</span></p> -<p><span lang='it'>Gía pur pensando, pria che ne favelle.</span></p> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr class="p2" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER I. -</h2> - -<p> -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_3' href='#Page_3'></a></span> -In the town of Belfont, in Ireland, lived -a learned physician of the name of Everard -St. Clare. He had a brother, who, -misled by a fine but wild imagination, -which raised him too far above the interests -of common life, had squandered -away his small inheritance; and had -long roved through the world, rapt in -poetic visions, foretelling, as he pretended, -to those who would hear him, that which -futurity would more fully develop.—Camioli -was the name he had assumed. -</p> - -<p> -It was many years since Sir Everard -last beheld his brother, when one night -Camioli, bearing in his arms Elinor his -child, about five years of age, returned, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_4' href='#Page_4'>4</a></span> -after his long absence to his native town, -and knocked at Sir Everard’s door. The -doctor was at the castle hard by, and his -lady refused admittance to the mean-looking -stranger. Without informing -her of his name, Camioli departed, and -resolved to seek his sister the Abbess of -Glenaa. The way to the convent was -long and dreary: he climbed, therefore, -with his lovely burthen to the topmost -heights of Inis Tara, and sought temporary -shelter in a cleft of the mountain known -by the name of the “Wizzard’s Glen.” -Bright shone the stars that night, and to -the exalted imagination of the aged seer, -it seemed in sleep, that the spirits of departed -heroes and countrymen, freed -from the bonds of mortality, were ascending -in solemn grandeur before his -eyes;—the song of the Banshees, mourning -for the sorrows of their country, -broke upon the silence of night;—a -lambent flame distinguished the souls of -heroes, and, pointing upwards, formed a -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_5' href='#Page_5'>5</a></span> -path of light before them;—the air resounded -with the quivering of wings, as -with one accord innumerable spirits -arose, fanning the breeze with their -extended plumes, and ascending like a -flight of birds toward the heavens. -</p> - -<p> -Then, for the first time, Camioli beheld, -in one comprehensive view, the -universal plan of nature—unnumbered -systems performing their various but -distinct courses, unclouded by mists, -and unbounded by horizon—endless -variety in infinite space! Then first he -seemed to hear the full harmonious cadences -of the angelic choirs—celestial -music, uttered by happy spirits in praise -of the great Author of Existence, as directing -their flight onwards from sphere -to sphere, from world to world, they felt -joyful in themselves, and rejoiced in the -wonders and variety of creation. -</p> - -<p> -From visions so wild, yet delightful, -the soft sweet voice of his child awoke -him.—“How cold and dreary it is, dear -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_6' href='#Page_6'>6</a></span> -father; how lone these hills. I am -weary unto death, yet I fear to sleep.”—“My -comforter, my delight, my little -black-eyed darling,” said Camioli (enveloping -his child in his long dark mantle), -“why do I thus sully the purity of your -nature by leading you to the abode of -misery, and shewing you the haunts of -men! They are but as the flowers that -blossom and wither, or as the clouds that -pass along to shade for a moment the -brightness of the heavens:—all here on -earth is desolation and woe. But I will -soon take you, my lovely one, to a place -of safety. My sister, the Abbess of -Glenaa, lives in the valley beneath the -mountain: she will protect my Elinor; -and, in her mansion, my child shall find -an asylum. I shall leave you but for a -short time; we shall meet again, Elinor;—yes, -we shall meet again.—Continue -to live with St. Clara your aunt: obey her -in all things, for she is good: and may the -God of Mercy avert from you the heaviest -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_7' href='#Page_7'>7</a></span> -of all my calamities, the power of looking -into futurity.”—He spoke, and -descending the rugged mountain path, -placed his Elinor according to promise, -under the protection of his sister the -Abbess of Glenaa, and bidding her -farewell, walked hastily away. -</p> - -<p> -The morning sun, when it arose, shone -bright and brilliant upon the valley of -Altamonte—its gay castle, and its lake. -But a threatening cloud obscured the sky, -as Camioli raised his eyes and turned -them mournfully upon the ruined priory -of St. Alvin, and the deserted halls of Belfont.—“Woe -to the house of Glenarvon!” -he said. “Woe to the house of my patron -and benefactor! Desolation and sorrow -have fallen upon the mighty. Mourn -for the hero who is slain in battle. Mourn -for the orphan who is left destitute and -in trouble.... Bright shone the sun upon -thy battlements, O Belfont, on the morn -when the hero bade thee a last adieu. -Cold are thy waters, Killarney; and many -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_8' href='#Page_8'>8</a></span> -a tree has been hewn from thy rocky bosom, -thou fair mountain Glenaa, since -the hour in which he parted. But not so -cold, nor so barren is thy bosom, as is -that of the widow who is bereft of every -joy.... Mourn for the house of Glenarvon, -and the orphan who is destitute! -No mother—no companion of boyish -sports and pleasures yet lives to greet -him with one cheering smile.—There is -not left one tongue to welcome him to -his native land; or, should he fall, one -friend to shed a tear upon his grave!” -</p> - -<p> -Thus sung the Bard, while the red deer -were browsing upon the hills, and the -wind whistled through the arches and -colonades of the Castle of Belfont, as if -in hollow murmurs for times which were -long past.—“Woe to the house of our -patron,” said the frenzied old man, as -with bitter tears he departed:—“even in -this moment of time, the fairest star of -Belfont sets for ever: the widowed Countess -of Glenarvon is dead—dead in a foreign -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_9' href='#Page_9'>9</a></span> -country; and strangers hands alone -perform her obsequies.” He spoke, and -looked, for the last time, upon the land -that he loved, then turned from it for -ever.... Previous, however, to his departure -from Ireland, Camioli again sought his -brother, (who was then an inmate in the -family of the Duke of Altamonte,) for -the purpose of commending Elinor to -his care. -</p> - -<p> -Castle Delaval, the property of that -nobleman, was situated in a valley sheltered -from every keen blast by a dark -wood of fir and elm. The river Elle, -taking its rise amidst the Dartland Hills, -flowed through the park, losing by degrees -the character of a mountain torrent, -as it spread itself between its rich and -varied banks in front of the castle, till it -joined the sea beyond the Wizzard’s Glen. -The town of Belfont stands close upon -the harbour, and from one of the highest -cliffs, the ruins of the convent of St. -Mary, and a modern chapel may yet be -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_10' href='#Page_10'>10</a></span> -seen, whilst Heremon and Inis Tara, -raising their lofty summits, capped with -snow, soar above the clouds. -</p> - -<p> -The abbey of Belfont, and the priory -of St. Alvin, both the property of the -Glenarvon family, were now, in consequence -of the forfeiture of the late Earl -of that name, transferred to Lord de -Ruthven, a distant relation. The deserted -priory had fallen into ruin, and Belfont -abbey, as yet unclaimed by its youthful -master, and pillaged by the griping hand -of its present owner, exhibited a melancholy -picture of neglect and oppression.—No -cheerful fires blaze in its ancient -halls; no peasants and vassals feast under -its vaulted roofs.—Glenarvon, the hero, -the lord of the demesne is dead:—he -fell on the bloody field of Culloden:—his -son perished in exile:—and Clarence de -Ruthven, his grandson, an orphan, in a -foreign land, has never yet appeared to -petition for his attainted titles and forfeited -estates.—Of relations and of friends -he has never heard. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_11' href='#Page_11'>11</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -Where are they who claim kindred -with the unfortunate? Where are they -who boast of friendship for the orphan -that is destitute and in trouble? The -Duke of Altamonte, whose domains were -contiguous, and whose attachment extended -to the son of his ancient friend, -had ofttimes written to his sister enquiring -into the fate of the child; but Lady Margaret -had answered her brother’s letters -with coldness and indifference. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_12' href='#Page_12'>12</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER II. -</h2> - -<p> -It is the common failing of an ambitious -mind to over-rate itself—to imagine that -it has been, by the caprices of fortune, -defrauded of the high honours due to its -supposed superiority. It conceives itself -to have been injured—to have fallen from -its destination; and these unfounded -claims become the source of endless discontent. -The mind, thus disappointed, -preys upon itself, and compares its present -lowliness with the imaginary heights -for which it fancies itself to have been -intended. Under the influence of these -reflections, the character grows sullen -and reserved, detaches itself from all -social enjoyments, and professes to despise -the honours for which it secretly -pines. Mediocrity, and a common lot, -a man of this disposition cannot bring -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_13' href='#Page_13'>13</a></span> -himself to endure; and he wilfully rejects -the little granted, because all cannot -be obtained, to which he once aspired. -</p> - -<p> -In this temper, the Duke of Altamonte -had retired from public affairs, and had -quitted the splendour and gaiety of the -court, to seek in retirement that repose -which, of all men, he was the least calculated -to appreciate or enjoy. In the -society of the duchess, he found all that -could sooth his wounded spirit. In Mrs. -Seymour, the duchess’s sister, he welcomed -a mild and unobtrusive guest; and -the project of uniting the Lady Calantha -Delaval, his only daughter, to her cousin -William Buchanan, heir presumptive to -the Dukedom of Altamonte, and son of -his sister Lady Margaret Buchanan, for -some time occupied his hours and engrossed -his attention. -</p> - -<p> -To forward this favourite object, he -communicated to them both, that they -were destined for each other; and by -employing them in the same occupations, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_14' href='#Page_14'>14</a></span> -instructing them in the same studies, by -the same masters, and in every way contriving -that they should be continually -together he hoped that early habits, and -the first affections of childhood, might -unite their hearts in indissoluble bonds. -But how short-sighted, how little founded -in a right knowledge of human nature, -was this project! Habituated to the intimacy -which subsists between near relations, -was it probable that love, when -the age of that passion arrived, would -be content with objects thus familiar; -and that the feelings of the heart would -quietly acquiesce in an arrangement -which had been previously formed upon -the calculations of interest and family -pride?—On the contrary, the system pursued -in their education, accustomed them -to give way to their violent tempers, without -restraint, in their intercourse with -each other; and the frequent recurrence -of petty quarrels, soon produced sentiments, -which bordered on dislike; so that -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_15' href='#Page_15'>15</a></span> -at the moment, when the Duke exulted -most in the success of his project, he was -painfully undeceived. -</p> - -<p> -Happily, a new event which occurred -at this time in the family of the Duke of -Altamonte, soon turned his thoughts from -the failure of his present system of education, -the superintendence of which he -relinquished with as much readiness, as -he had once shewn anxiety to undertake -it.—The Duchess, after a long period of -ill health, was pronounced by her physicians -to be once more in a situation to -realize her husband’s most sanguine -hopes.—“If I have a boy,” he cried, -“from the hour of his birth all I possess -shall be his. Give me but a son, ye powers -who rule over destiny, and I am content -to yield up every other claim, privilege -and possession.”—The wish was heard, -and at the appointed time, the Duchess -of Altamonte, after a few hours illness, -was delivered of a son and heir. It was -in vain for the Duke, that until this event -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_16' href='#Page_16'>16</a></span> -he said to himself daily as he arose from -his stately bed, that none other was his -rival in wealth or power;—it was in vain -that friends surrounded him, and flatterers -attended upon his least commands:—until -this unexpected, and almost unhoped -for event, he could not be said to -have enjoyed one hour of felicity, so unwisely -did he blind himself to every other -blessing which he possessed; and so ardently -solicitous did he suffer his mind -to become, for that one boon which alone -had been refused to his prayers. But -since the birth of his son, he looked -around him, and he had nothing left to -wish for upon earth; his heart became -agitated with its own satisfaction; and -the terror of losing the idol upon which -every feeling and affection was fixed, -rendered him more miserable than he -was even before the fulfilment of his -wishes. -</p> - -<p> -The education of the lady Calantha and -William Buchanan was now entirely laid -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_17' href='#Page_17'>17</a></span> -aside; the feuds and tumults in the adjacent -countries were disregarded; and -he might be said to live alone in those -apartments where, robed in state, and -cradled in luxury, the little infant lay -helpless and unconscious of its honours -and importance. Not a breath of air was -suffered to blow too rudely upon the -most noble and illustrious Sidney Albert, -Marquis of Delaval. The tenants and -peasantry flocked, from far and near, to -kneel and do him homage, gazing in -stupid wonder on their future Lord. The -Duchess feebly resisted the general voice, -which encouraged an excess of care, hurtful -to the health of him, whom all were -but too solicitous to preserve. Yet the -boy flourished, unaffected by this adulation, -the endless theme of discussion, -the constant object of still increasing -idolatry. -</p> - -<p> -Without delay, the Duke resolved to -intimate to his sister, Lady Margaret Buchanan, -who was at Naples, the change -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_18' href='#Page_18'>18</a></span> -which had taken place in her son’s expectations. -He felt the necessity of softening -the disappointment by every soothing -expression; and, as he loved her most -sincerely he wrote to urge her immediate -return, with all the warmth of fraternal -affection;—informing her at the same -time of the circumstance which at once -occasioned his delight, and her disappointment. -With what fond overweaning -vanity did he then flatter himself, that -she, who was the next dearest object of -his affections, would share his present -joy; and forgetful of the entire ruin of -her fondest hope, doat like him upon the -child who had deprived her son of all his -expectations! He knew not Lady Margaret:—less -than any other, he knew -that fierce spirit which never yet had -been controuled—which deemed itself -born to command, and would have -perished sooner than have endured restraint. -</p> - -<p> -At this very period of time, in the prosecution -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_19' href='#Page_19'>19</a></span> -of her sudden and accursed -designs, having bade adieu to brighter -climes and more polished manners, with -all the gaiety of apparent innocence, and -all the brilliancy of wit which belong to -spirits light as air and a refined and highly -cultivated genius, she was sailing, accompanied -by a train of admirers, selected -from the flower of Italy, once again to -visit her native country. With their -voices and soft guitars, they chased away -the lingering hours; and after a fair and -prosperous voyage, proceeded, with their -equipages, horses and attendants, to Castle -Delaval. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Margaret was received with delight -at the house of her father, in her -own native land. A burst of applause -hailed her first appearance before the -wondering crowd assembled to behold -her. Fond of admiration, even from the -lowest, she lingered on the terrace, which -commanded the magnificent scenery of -which Castle Delaval was the central object,—leaning -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_20' href='#Page_20'>20</a></span> -upon the arm of the Duke -and bowing gracefully to the people, as -if in thanks for their flattering reception. -Buchanan alone met his mother without -one mark of joy. Cold and reserved, -from earliest childhood, he had never -yet felt attachment for any other being -than himself; and fully engrossed by the -splendour with which he was at all times -surrounded, he looked with indifference -on every event which did not promote or -prevent his own personal amusements. -He saw many new guests arrive without -experiencing the slightest accession of -pleasure; and when those departed whom -he had been in the habit of seeing around -him, it seldom cost him even a momentary -regret. He had so long and so frequently -been informed that he was heir -of the immense possessions now belonging -to his uncle, that he was overpowered -by the sense of his greatness; nor did the -commiseration of his attendants, on his -disappointed hopes, awaken him to the -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_21' href='#Page_21'>21</a></span> -conviction of the great change which had -occurred since the birth of the Marquis -of Delaval. Indeed he seemed as indifferent -on this occasion as on all others. -Yet whatever his errors, he was at least -in person and manner all that Lady Margaret -could wish. She was also much -pleased with Calantha, and thought she -traced, in her radiant countenance, some -resemblance to her own. -</p> - -<p> -The Duchess of Altamonte had, in mind -and person, won the affections of all who -approached her. She had a countenance -in which languor and delicacy added sensibility -and grace, to beauty,—an air of -melancholy half veiled in smiles of sweetness,—and -a form soft and fragile as the -bright fictions of a poet’s dream; yet a -visible sadness had fallen upon her spirits, -and whilst she appeared alone to sooth -and bless every other heart, she seemed -herself in need of consolation. Lady -Margaret’s beauty irresistibly attracted; -her wit enlivened; and her manners fascinated—but -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_22' href='#Page_22'>22</a></span> -the dreadful secrets of her -heart appalled! -</p> - -<p> -Lady Margaret was not much liked -by Mrs. Seymour, nor by many other of -the guests who frequented the castle. Her -foreign domestics, her splendid attire, -her crafty smiles and highly polished -manners,—all were in turn criticised and -condemned. But neither prejudice nor -vulgarity received from her lips the slightest -censure. She did not even appear to -see the ill will shewn to her. Yet many -thought the discords and disasters which -occurred after her arrival in Ireland, were -the fruits of her intriguing spirit, and all -soon or late regretted her presence at the -castle, till then, the seat of uninterrupted -harmony and almost slumberous repose. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_23' href='#Page_23'>23</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER III. -</h2> - -<p> -Lady Margaret Delaval, only surviving -sister of the Duke of Altamonte, was born -in Ireland, where she remained until her -marriage with Captain Buchanan. She -then established herself at Naples; the -fleet in which her husband served being -stationed in the Mediterranean sea. After -the birth of her son William, she immediately -sent him to Ireland, there to receive, -under her brother’s tuition, an -education more fitting the heir of Altamonte, -and the future husband of Lady -Calantha Delaval. -</p> - -<p> -Freed from the last tie which had -bound her to one feeling of honour or of -virtue, she, without remorse, gave way -during the absence of her child and husband -(who accompanied the boy to -Ireland) to a life of extravagance and -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_24' href='#Page_24'>24</a></span> -vice, ensnaring the inexperienced by her -art, and fascinating the most wary by her -beauty and her talents. The charms of -her person and the endowments of her -mind were worthy of a better fate than -that which she was preparing for herself. -But, under the semblance of youthful -gaiety, she concealed a dark intriguing -spirit, which could neither remain at rest, -nor satisfy itself in the pursuit of great -and noble objects. She had been hurried -on by the evil activity of her own mind, -until the habit of crime had overcome -every scruple, and rendered her insensible -to repentance, and almost to remorse. -In this career, she had improved -to such a degree her natural talent of -dissimulation, that, under its impenetrable -veil, she was able to carry on securely -her darkest machinations; and her understanding -had so adapted itself to her -passions, that it was in her power to give, -in her own eyes, a character of grandeur, -to the vice and malignity, which afforded -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_25' href='#Page_25'>25</a></span> -an inexplicable delight to her depraved -imagination. -</p> - -<p> -While she was thus indulging her disgraceful -inclinations, her heart became -attached with all her characteristic violence -to Lord Dartford, a young English -nobleman, who had accompanied the -Countess of Glenarvon to Naples, and -who, after passing some months in her -society, had already made her the offer of -his hand. He no sooner, however, beheld -Lady Margaret than he left that object -of his first attachment; and the -short-lived happiness of guilty passion -was thus enhanced by a momentary -triumph over a beautiful and unfortunate -rival.—Lady Glenarvon lived not to -lament it: the blow which was given -by the hand she loved, went straight as -it was aimed; it pierced her heart; she -did not long survive. -</p> - -<p> -Her son, already advancing towards -manhood, she committed to the care of -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_26' href='#Page_26'>26</a></span> -the Count Gondimar, the only being -who, amongst the numerous attendants -in the hours of her prosperity, had remained -with her in this last trying scene, -and received her dying wishes.—“He -has no father,” said she, weeping in remembrance -of the gallant husband she -had lost; “but to you I consign this -jewel of my heart, the dear and only -pledge of my true and loyal love. -Whatever crime I have committed since -the loss of Glenarvon, my only protector, -let not a shade of it be cast upon my son, -to sully the bright splendor of his father’s -fame! Promise a dying mother to protect -her child, should he be restored to -his grandfather’s titles and fortunes. To -you, to you I entrust him. Ah! see that -he be safely conducted to his own -country.” -</p> - -<p> -The Italian Count promised all that -Lady Glenarvon desired; and wept as he -kissed the faded cheek of the English -boy. But no sooner was the momentary -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_27' href='#Page_27'>27</a></span> -interest which he had conceived for the -unhappy sufferer at an end—no sooner -had Lady Glenarvon expired, than, disregarding -her last request, he sought -only to render himself useful and necessary -to her son. For this purpose he -eagerly assisted him in all his pursuits, -however criminal, and whilst he lived -upon the sums which were regularly sent -from Ireland to supply the necessary expences -of his charge, he lost no opportunity -of flattering Lord de Ruthven, the -present possessor of the estate, and conniving -with him in the means of detaining -Glenarvon in Italy, and thus depriving -him of a great share of his property. -Gondimar’s lessons were, however, unnecessary; -Glenarvon soon emancipated -himself from his tuition; and the utmost -the base Italian could boast, was that -he had assisted in perverting a heart -already by nature, but too well inclined -to misuse the rare gifts with which it -had been endowed. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_28' href='#Page_28'>28</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -Glenarvon passed the first years after -his mother’s death, in visiting Rome and -Florence. He, after this, expressed a wish -of entering the navy; and having obtained -his desire, he served under the -command of Sir George Buchanan. He -even distinguished himself in his new -profession; but having done so, abruptly -left it. -</p> - -<p> -Love, it was said, was the cause of this -sudden change in Glenarvon’s intentions.—Love -for the most beautiful woman in -Florence. Young as he then was, his -talents and personal attractions soon gained -the object of his pursuit; but a dreadful -tragedy followed this success. The -husband of Fiorabella revenged the -stigma cast upon his wife’s fame, by instantly -sacrificing her to his vengeance; -and, since that fatal deed, neither the chevalier -nor Glenarvon had ever again appeared -in Florence. -</p> - -<p> -Some said that the unhappy victim had -found an avenger; but the proud and -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_29' href='#Page_29'>29</a></span> -noble family of the chevalier, preserved -a faithful silence concerning that transaction. -Glenarvon’s youth prevented any -suspicion from falling upon him; and -the death of Giardini was ascribed to -another, and a more dangerous hand. -Strange rumours were also circulated in -Ireland, after this event; it was every -where affirmed that Glenarvon had been -secretly murdered; and Lady Margaret, -then at Naples, had even written to apprize -her brother of the report. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_30' href='#Page_30'>30</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER IV. -</h2> - -<p> -About the time of the disappearance of -Glenarvon, Captain Buchanan died; and -Lady Margaret expected that Lord Dartford -would immediately fulfil his engagement, -and reward her long and devoted -attachment to himself by the offer of his -hand. Count Gondimar was with her -at the time. In all companies, in all societies, -the marriage was considered certain. -One alone seemed eager to hear -this report contradicted—one who, -dazzled by the charms and beauty of Lady -Margaret, had devoted himself, from the -first hour in which he had beheld her, -entirely to her service. The name of the -young enthusiast was Viviani. A deep -melancholy preyed upon his spirits; a -dark mystery enveloped his fate. Gondimar -had, with some coldness, introduced -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_31' href='#Page_31'>31</a></span> -him to Lady Margaret. He was -the friend of the lost Glenarvon, he said, -and on that account alone he had strong -claims upon his affection. Lady Margaret -received the stranger with more -than common civility: his ill state of -health, his youth, his beauty, were -powerful attractions. He confided his -sorrows to her bosom; and soon he dared -to inform her that he loved. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Margaret was now more than -usually attentive to Lord Dartford: the -day even for her intended nuptials was -fixed. “Oh give not that hand to one -who values not the prize,” said the young -Count Viviani, throwing himself before -her; “let not Dartford call himself your -lord; his love and mine must never be -compared.” “Go, foolish boy,” said -Lady Margaret, smiling on her new victim: -“I can be your friend as readily -when I am Lord Dartford’s wife as now.” -Her young admirer shuddered, and rose -from the earth: “You must be mine -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_32' href='#Page_32'>32</a></span> -alone:—none other shall approach you.” -“The disparity of our ages.” “What -of that?” “Enough, enough. I will -give my hand to Dartford; my heart, -you know, will still be at your disposal.” -A deep blush covered the pale cheeks of -Viviani, he uttered one convulsive sigh, -and left her to ruminate on his hopeless -fate; for every thing, he was informed, -was prepared for the approaching nuptials. -</p> - -<p> -But they knew little of the nature of -man, who could conceive that Lord Dartford -had even a thought of uniting himself -to Lady Margaret by any lasting ties. -On the contrary, he suddenly and secretly, -without even taking leave of her, departed -for England; and the first letter -which she received from him, to inform -her of his absence, announced to her, -likewise, his marriage with a lady of fortune -and rank in his native country. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Margaret was at dinner with a -numerous company, and amongst them -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_33' href='#Page_33'>33</a></span> -the young count, when the letters from -England were placed before her. The quivering -of her lip and the rolling of her -dark eye might have betrayed, to a keen -observer, the anguish of a disordered spirit; -but, recovering herself with that self-command -which years of crime and deep -dissimulation had taught her, she conversed -as usual, till it was time for her to -depart; and only when in her own apartment, -closing the door, gave vent to the -fury that opprest her. For some moments -she paced the room in silent anguish; -then kneeling down and calling -upon those powers, whose very existence -she had so often doubted: “Curse him! -curse him!” she exclaimed. “O may -the curse of a bitter, and deeply injured -heart, blast every promise of his happiness; -pursue him through life; and -follow him to the grave!—May he live to -be the scorn of his enemies, the derision -of the world, without one friend to soften -his afflictions!—May those, whom he -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_34' href='#Page_34'>34</a></span> -has cherished, forsake him in the hour of -need; and the companion he has chosen, -prove a serpent to betray him!—May the -tear of agony, which his falsehood has -drawn from these eyes, fall with tenfold -bitterness from his own!—And may this -blooming innocent, this rival, who has -supplanted me in his affections, live to -feel the pangs she has inflicted on my -soul; or perish in the pride of her youth, -with a heart as injured, as lacerated as -mine!—Oh if there are curses yet unnamed, -prepared by an angry God, against offending -man, may they fall upon the head of -this false, this cold-hearted Dartford!” -</p> - -<p> -She arose, and gasped for breath. She -threw up the sash of the window; but -the cool air, the distant lashing of the -waves, the rising moon and the fine -scene before her, had no power to calm, -even for one moment, a heart torn by -guilt and tortured by self-reproach. A -knock at the door roused her from her -meditations. It was the fair Italian boy, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_35' href='#Page_35'>35</a></span> -he had followed her; for, at a glance, he -had penetrated her secret. With a smile -of scorn he upbraided her for her weakness.—“What! -in tears lady!” he said: -“is it possible? can a marriage, a disappointment -in love, overpower you thus!” -Lady Margaret affecting a calmness, she -could not feel, and opposing art to art, -endeavoured to repel his taunting expressions. -But he knew her thoughts: he -saw at once through the smiles and assumed -manners which blinded others; -and at this moment he watched her countenance -with malignant delight. It was -the face of an Angel, distorted by the -passions of a Dæmon; and he liked it -not the less for the frailty it betrayed. -</p> - -<p> -It happened, however, that he had -just attained the means of turning the -tide of her resentment out of its present -channel, and, by awakening her ambition—her -ruling passion, of at once -quenching the dying embers of every -softer feeling. “You have read I perceive,” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_36' href='#Page_36'>36</a></span> -said he, “but one of the epistles -with which you have been favoured; and -I am already before hand with you in -hearing news of far greater importance -than the loss of a lover.”—The Duchess -of Altamonte. “What of her?” “After -a few hours illness,” continued Viviani, -drawing one of the English papers from -his pocket, “the Duchess of Altamonte -is safely delivered of a son and heir.” -The blood forsook Lady Margaret’s lips: -“I am lost then!” she said: “the vengeance -of Heaven has overtaken me! -where shall I turn for succour? Is there -none upon earth to whom I can apply for -assistance? Will no one of all those who -profess so much, assist me? Shall Dartford -triumph, and my son be supplanted? -Revenge—revenge me, and I will be your -slave.” -</p> - -<p> -If the name of love must be given -alike to the noblest and most depraved of -feelings, the young Viviani loved Lady -Margaret with all the fervor of which -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_37' href='#Page_37'>37</a></span> -his perverted heart was capable. She -had made him the weak instrument of -her arts; and knowing him too well, to -place herself in his power, she had detained -him near her, by all the varying -stratagems of which she was mistress.—He -now knelt before her, and, reading -in her fierce countenance her dreadful -wishes, “I will revenge thee,” he said, -“yes it shall be done!” “Blood—blood -is the price!” said Lady Margaret. “Seal -the compact thus:—be mine but for one -hour:—let me fancy myself blest—and: -....” “My son must be Duke of Altamonte,” -returned Lady Margaret, deeply -agitated.—“He shall.”—“Swear it, -my loveliest, my youngest friend!”—“By -the living God of Heaven, I -swear it.”—“Ah! but your courage -will fail at the moment: your heart, intrepid -as I think it, will shudder, and -misgive you.—Say where, and how, it -can be done with safety.” “Leave that to -me: keep your own counsel: I will do -the rest.” He spoke, and left her. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_38' href='#Page_38'>38</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -When they met again, the following -day, not one word was uttered upon the -dreadful subject of their former discourse: -the compact between them was considered -as made: and when once again the -Count Viviani spoke of his passion, and -his hopes, Lady Margaret reminded him -of his vow; and a fearful silence ensued. -Revenge and ambition had urged her to -a determination, which a sentiment of -prudence inclined her to retract. Viviani -unconscious of her wavering resolution, -enjoyed a momentary triumph. “Is not -this extacy?” he exclaimed, as he viewed -the woman he now considered as entirely -bound to him. “Is it not rapture thus -to love?” “Revenge is sweet,” she -answered. “Will you give yourself to -me Margaret? Shall I indeed press you -to my burning heart! say—can you -love?” “Aye, and hate too,” she replied, -as, convulsed with agony, she -shrunk from the caresses of her importunate -admirer. -</p> - -<p> -From that hour he courted her with unremitting -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_39' href='#Page_39'>39</a></span> - assiduity: he was the slave of -every new caprice, which long indulgence -of every selfish feeling could awaken. -But the promised hour of his happiness -was delayed; and his passion thus continually -fed by hope, and yet disappointed, -overcame in his bosom every feeling of -humanity, till he no longer cherished a -thought that did not tend to facilitate the -immediate gratification of his wishes. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_40' href='#Page_40'>40</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER V. -</h2> - -<p> -It was not long after Lady Margaret’s -arrival at the castle that Count Gondimar, -who had accompanied her to Ireland, -prepared to return to Italy. A few -evenings before he quitted her, he sought -the secret habitation of his friend Viviani -who had likewise followed Lady Margaret -to Ireland, but in order to facilitate -his designs, had never openly appeared -at the castle. “How strong must be the -love,” said Gondimar, addressing him, -“which can thus lead you to endure concealment, -straits and difficulty! return -with me: there are others as fair: your -youthful heart pictures to yourself strange -fancies; but in reality this woman is little -worth you. I love her not, and it is but -imagination, which thus deceives you.” -“I will not leave her—I cannot go,” said -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_41' href='#Page_41'>41</a></span> -Viviani impatiently: “one burning passion -annihilates in my heart every other -consideration. Ah! can it merit the -name of passion, the phrenzy which -rages within me! Gondimar, if I worshipped -the splendid star, that flashed -along my course, and dazzled me with -its meteor blaze, even in Italian climes, -imagine what she now appears to me, in -these cold northern regions. I too can -sometimes pause to think whether the sacrifice -I have made is not too great. But -I have drained the poisoned cup to the -dregs. I have prest the burning firebrand -to my heart, till it has consumed -me—and come what may, now, I am resolved -she shall be mine, though the -price exacted were blood.” Gondimar -shuddered. -</p> - -<p> -It was soon after this, that he returned -to Italy. Before he departed, he once -more in secret affectionately embraced -his friend. “She has deceived me,” -cried Viviani; “months have glided by -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_42' href='#Page_42'>42</a></span> -in vain attempts to realize her depraved -wish. She evades my suit. But the -hour of success approaches:—to-morrow:——nay, -perhaps, to-night.... If thou, -Gondimar—oh! if thou couldst believe: -yet wherefore should I betray myself, or -shew, to living man, one thought belonging -to the darkest of human hearts. -This alone know—I dare do every -thing; and I will possess her. See, she -appears—that form of majesty—that -brow of refulgent brightness. The very -air I breathe speaks to me of her -charms. What matters it to me, whilst -I gaze entranced upon her, if the earth -shake to its foundation, and rivers of -blood were streaming around me!—Pity -me, Gondimar.—Pardon me.—Farewell!” -</p> - -<p> -Hurried on by mad passion, Viviani, -who constantly visited Lady Margaret, -was now upon the eve of fulfilling her -wishes. Yet once, in the hope of dissuading -his savage mistress from her -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_43' href='#Page_43'>43</a></span> -bloody purpose, he placed the infant in -her arms, and bade her take pity on its -helpless innocence. “See thy own—thy -brother’s image in those eyes—that -smile,” he whispered; “ah! can you -have the heart?” But Lady Margaret -turned from the child in haughty displeasure, -thrusting it from her as if afraid -to look on it; and, for many days, would -not vouchsafe to speak to the weak instrument -of her criminal ambition. Yet -he, even he, whose life had been one -continued course of profligacy, who had -misused his superior talents to the perversion -of the innocence of others, and -the gratification of his own ungoverned -passions, shuddered at the thought of -the fearful crime which he had engaged -himself to commit! -</p> - -<p> -His knowledge of human nature, and -particularly of the worst part of it, was -too profound to depend upon any personal -or immediate aid from Lady Margaret: -he, therefore, conceived a project -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_44' href='#Page_44'>44</a></span> -which, by any one but himself, would, -in every view of it, have been considered -as altogether desperate and impracticable. -It was, however, a maxim with Viviani, -which his practice and experience had -justified, that nothing is impossible to a -firmly united league of time, money and -resolution. Alone, he could have accomplished -nothing; but he had a satellite -long trained in his service, who -possessed every quality which fitted him -to assist the designs of such a master. -The name of this man was La Crusca. -In spite of a seeming wish to conceal -himself, in conformity, perhaps, with -his master’s designs, this man was known -at the castle to be a servant to the count, -and by his flattery and the versatility of -his genius, had become familiar with a -few of its inhabitants; but shortly after -his arrival, he had been dismissed, and -it was now three months and more since -his departure. -</p> - -<p> -One evening, according to custom, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_45' href='#Page_45'>45</a></span> -Viviani having secretly entered the castle, -sought Lady Margaret in her own apartment; -his face was fearfully pale; his -hand trembled. He found her in company -with her son, Buchanan, and Calantha. -Alarmed at his manner and appearance, -the latter concealed her face on -the white bosom of her aunt, nor guessed -by what storms of fierce passion that -bosom was disturbed. Viviani mistook -the brilliant hue which heightened Lady -Margaret’s complexion for a softer feeling; -he approached her, and, gently removing -the child, whispered vows of -ardour and tenderness in the ears of his -mistress, and urged his suit with every -argument he could devise to overcome -any remaining scruple. But when he -looked, in expectation of a favorable answer, -he sprung back with terror from -her; for it seemed as if the fiends of hell -were struggling in her eyes and lips for -looks and words with which to express -their horrid desire, already without the -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_46' href='#Page_46'>46</a></span> -aid of words, but too sufficiently manifest! -At length, breaking silence, and -rising in scorn from her seat: “Have I -not promised myself to you?” she whispered -indignantly, “that you thus persecute -me for the performance of a voluntary -vow? Do you think your protestations -can move, and your arguments persuade? -Am I a timid girl, who turns from your suit -bashful or alarmed? Or am I one grown -old in crime, and utterly insensible to -its consequence?—Nothing, you well -know, can make me yours but my own -free will; and never shall that will consign -me to such fate, till the sickly weed -is destroyed, and the fair and flourishing -plant restored to its wonted vigour and -due honors. See there, there is the image -of my brother, of all that is glorious and -lovely.” As she spoke, she pointed to -Buchanan.... “Lady, the deed is already -done! This night,” said the Italian, -trembling in every limb, “yes, on this -fearful night, I claim the performance of -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_47' href='#Page_47'>47</a></span> -thy vow!” He spoke with an emotion -she could not mistake.—“Is it possible?” -said she, “my beautiful, my beloved -friend:” and his hand trembled as he -gave it her, in token of his assent.—Fearing -to utter another word, dreading -even the sound of their own voices, after -such a disclosure, she soon retired. -</p> - -<p> -Was it to rest that Lady Margaret retired?—No—to -the tortures of suspense, -of dread, of agony unutterable. A thousand -times she started from her bed:—she -fancied that voices approached the door—that -shrieks rent the air; and, if she -closed her eyes, visions of murder floated -before her distracted mind, and pictured -dreams too horrible for words half suffocated -by the fever and delirium of her -troubled imagination. She threw up the -sash of her window, and listened attentively -to every distant sound. The moon -had risen in silvery brightness above the -dark elm trees; it lighted, with its -beams, the deep clear waters of Elle. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_48' href='#Page_48'>48</a></span> -The wind blew loud at times, and sounded -mournfully, as it swept through the whispering -leaves of the trees, over the dark -forest and distant moors. A light appeared, -for one moment, near the wood, -and then was lost, Lady Margaret, as -if palsied by terror, remained fixed and -breathless on the spot;—a step approached -the door;—it was the step of one -stealing along, as if anxious no one -should hear it pass. Again, all was silent:—so -silent that the grave itself had -not been more tranquil, and the dead -could not have looked more pale, more -calm, more still, than Lady Margaret! -</p> - -<p> -But how was that silence broken? and -how that calm disturbed?—By the shrieks -of an agonized parent—by the burning -tears of a heart-broken father—by the -loud unrestrained clamours of the menial -train; and that proud mansion, so -lately the seat of gaiety, whose lighted -porticos and festive halls had echoed to -the song of joy and revelry, presented -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_49' href='#Page_49'>49</a></span> -now a scene of lamentation, terror and -despair.—The heir of Altamonte was -dead—the hope so fondly cherished was -cut off—the idol, upon whose existence -so many hearts were fixed, lay in his -gilded cradle and costly attire, affording -a lesson impressive although every day -repeated, yet unheeded although impressive,—that -it is the nature of man to -rest his most sanguine expectations upon -the most frail and uncertain of all his -possessions. -</p> - -<p> -The women who had been employed -to attend upon him were weeping around -him. His nurse alone appeared utterly -insensible to his fate,—her eyes were -fixed,—her lips motionless,—she obeyed -every command that was given; but, -when left to herself, she continued in the -same sullen mood. Some called her hard -and unfeeling, as in loud accents they -bewailed the dire calamity that had -fallen on their master’s house; but there -were others who knew that this apparent -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_50' href='#Page_50'>50</a></span> -insensibility was the effect of a deeper -feeling—of a heart that could not recover -its loss—of a mind totally overthrown. -</p> - -<p> -She had arisen that morning at her accustomed -hour, to take to her breast the -little infant who slept in the cradle beside -her;—but lifeless was that form which, -a few hours before, she had laid on its -pillow, in the full enjoyment of health. -Spasms, it was supposed, had seized the -child in his sleep; for his face was black -and dreadfully disfigured. All efforts -to recover him were fruitless. Physician -nor medicine could avail,—the hand of -death had struck the flower,—the vital -spark was extinguished. -</p> - -<p> -It was in vain that the distracted mother, -pressing his cold lips to hers, declared, in -the agony of hope, that they still retained -a living warmth.—It was in vain that she -watched him till her eyes deceived, fancied -that they saw a change imperceptible -to others—a breath of life restored to -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_51' href='#Page_51'>51</a></span> -that lifeless breathless form. It was in -vain:—and floods of grief, with the sad -rites of a pompous funeral, were all which -the afflicted Duke and his sorrowing family -had to bestow. -</p> - -<p> -The tenants and peasantry were, according -to an ancient custom, admitted to sing -the song of sorrow over the body of the -child: but no hired mourners were required -on this occasion; for the hearts of -all deeply shared in the affliction of their -master’s house, and wept, in bitter woe, -the untimely loss of their infant Lord.—It -was thus they sung, ever repeating the -same monotonous and melancholy strain. -</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<p>Oh loudly sing the Pillalu,</p> -<p class="i1">And many a tear of sorrow shed;</p> -<p><i>Och orro, orro, Olalu</i>;</p> -<p class="i1">Mourn, for the master’s child is dead.</p> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<p>At morn, along the eastern sky,</p> -<p class="i1">We marked an owl, with heavy wing;</p> -<p>At eve, we heard the benshees cry;</p> -<p class="i1">And now the song of death we sing;</p> -<p class="i9"><i>Och orro, orro, Olalu</i>. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_52' href='#Page_52'>52</a></span></p> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<p>Ah! wherefore, wherefore would ye die;</p> -<p class="i1">Why would ye leave your parents dear;</p> -<p>Why leave your sorrowing kinsmen here,</p> -<p class="i1">Nor listen to your people’s cry!</p> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<p>How wilt thy mother bear to part</p> -<p class="i1">With one so tender, fair and sweet!</p> -<p>Thou wast the jewel of her heart,</p> -<p class="i1">The pulse, the life, that made it beat.</p> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<p>How sad it is to leave her boy,</p> -<p class="i1">That tender flowret all alone;</p> -<p>To see no more his face of joy,</p> -<p class="i1">And soothe no more his infant moan!</p> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<p>But see along the mountains side,</p> -<p class="i1">And by the pleasant banks of Larney,</p> -<p>Straight o’er the plains, and woodlands wide,</p> -<p class="i1">By Castle Brae, and Lock Macharney:</p> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<p>See how the sorrowing neighbours throng.</p> -<p class="i1">With haggard looks and faultering breath;</p> -<p>And as they slowly wind along,</p> -<p class="i1">They sing the mournful song of death!</p> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<p>O loudly sing the Pillalu,</p> -<p class="i1">And many a tear of sorrow shed;</p> -<p><i>Och orro, orro, Olalu</i>;</p> -<p class="i1">Mourn, for the master’s child is dead.</p> -</div></div></div> -<p> -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_53' href='#Page_53'>53</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -Thus singing they approached the castle, -and thus amidst cries and lamentations, -was Sidney Albert, Marquis of -Delaval, borne for ever from its gates, -and entombed with his ancestors in the -vault of the ancient church, which, for -many hundred years, had received beneath -its pavement the successive generations -of the family of Altamonte. Heartfelt -tears, more honourable to the dead -than all the grandeur which his rank -demanded, were shed over his untimely -grave; while a long mourning and entire -seclusion from the world, proved that the -sorrow thus felt was not momentary, but -lasting as the cause which had occasioned -it was great. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_54' href='#Page_54'>54</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER VI. -</h2> - -<p> -As sickness falls heaviest on those who are -in the full enjoyment of health, so grief -is most severe, when it comes unexpectedly, -in the midst of happiness.—It was -from this cause, that the Duke, more than -any one in his family, gave vent to the -sorrows of his heart; and murmured at -the irrecoverable loss, by which he had -been afflicted. The Duchess in vain attempted -to share, and lessen the regret -of her husband:—he had that haughtiness -of mind which disdains all confidence, -and flies from all consolation. -But of her far keener suffering, for the -loss she had sustained, little shew was -made; for real misery delights not in -reproaches and complaints. It is like -charity and love—silent, long suffering -and mild. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_55' href='#Page_55'>55</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -There are virtues which admit of no -description—which inspire on the first -mention of them but little interest. Great -faults and heroic qualities, may be pourtrayed; -but those milder merits which -contribute so much to the comfort and -happiness of life—that sweetness of disposition, -to which every hour that passes -by, bears an approving testimony, can be -only felt, enjoyed and regretted. Benevolence -that never fails, patience under the -heaviest calamities, firmness in friendship -under every trying change—these are -among its characteristic features; and -these were all possessed by the Duchess -of Altamonte, who seemed to live for no -other purpose than to endear herself to -those who surrounded her. -</p> - -<p> -With this consideration for others, and -forgetfulness of self, she had apparently -endured the loss of her son with greater -fortitude, than had been expected: indeed -she sustained it with a degree of -firmness which religion alone could have -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_56' href='#Page_56'>56</a></span> -inspired: she murmured not; but submitted -to the trial with the meek spirit -of pious resignation.—“My dear, dear -boy, my pretty Albert” would sometimes -escape her, and a few tears would wait -upon the exclamation; but her whole -study was to share the disappointment, -and lighten the sorrows of her husband; -as well as to check the intemperate complaints, -and soothe the more violent agitations -of Lady Margaret. -</p> - -<p> -But while the soul of the Duchess -rose superior to the ills of life, her -constitution, weakened by a long period -of ill health, and by the agitations -of extreme sensibility, was not in a -state to resist so great a shock; and -though she lingered upwards of a year, -the real cause of her death could not -be mistaken:—an inward melancholy -preyed upon her spirits, which she combated -in vain.—“Many have smiled in -adversity,” she would say; “but it is -left for me to weep in prosperity:—such -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_57' href='#Page_57'>57</a></span> -is the will of Heaven, and I resign myself -as becomes me, to that power, which -knows when to give, and when to take -away.” -</p> - -<p> -On her death-bed, she said to the -Duke: “This is a hard trial for you to -bear; but God, who, when he sends trials, -can send strength also, will, I trust, support -you.—You will pursue your career -with that honour and dignity, which has -hitherto distinguished it—nor would my -feeble aid assist you in it; but I, on the -contrary, like a weak unsupported plant, -must have drooped and pined away, had -I lived to survive the tender and faithful -friend, who has guided and sustained -me. It is far better, as it is. You will -be a guardian and protector to my Calantha, -whose quickness and vivacity, make -me tremble for her. I could not have -watched over her, and directed her as I -ought. But to you, while she smiles, and -plays around you, and fills the space -which I so soon must leave,—to you, she -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_58' href='#Page_58'>58</a></span> -will prove a dear and constant interest. -Never, my dearest Altamonte, ah! never -suffer her to be absent, if possible, from -your guiding care:—her spirits, her passions, -are of a nature to prove a blessing, -or the reverse, according to the direction -they are permitted to take. Watch over -and preserve her—are my last words to -you.—Protect and save her from all evil—is -the last prayer I offer to my God, -before I enter into his presence.” ... -</p> - -<p> -Calantha! unhappy child, whom not -even the pangs of death could tear from -the love, and remembrance of thy mother,—what -hours of agony were thine, when -a father’s hand first tore thee from that -lifeless bosom,—when piercing shrieks -declared the terror of thy mind, oppressed, -astonished at the first calamity, by which -it had been tried,—when thy lips tremblingly -pronounced for the last time, the -name of mother—a name so dear, so -sacred and beloved, that its very sound -awakens in the heart, all that it can feel -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_59' href='#Page_59'>59</a></span> -of tenderness and affection! What is left -that shall replace her? What friend, what -tie, shall make up for her eternal absence? -What even are the present sufferings of -the orphan child, to the dreary void, the -irreparable loss she will feel through all -her future years. It was on that bosom, -she had sought for comfort, when passion -and inadvertence had led her into -error. It was that gentle, that dear voice, -which had recalled her from error, even -when severity had failed.—There is, in -every breast, some one affection that predominates -over the rest—there is still to -all some one object, to which the human -heart is rivetted beyond all others:—in -Calantha’s bosom, the love of her -mother prevailed over every other feeling. -</p> - -<p> -A long and violent illness succeeded, -in Calantha, the torpor which astonishment -and terror at her loss had produced; -and from this state, she recovered only to -give way to a dejection of mind not less -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_60' href='#Page_60'>60</a></span> -alarming: but even her grief was to be -envied, when compared with the disorder -of Lady Margaret’s mind.—Remorse -preyed upon her heart, the pride and -hardness of which, disdained the humility -of acknowledging her offence in the -presence of her Creator. -</p> - -<p> -The great effort of Lady Margaret -was to crush the struggles of passion; -and when, at times, the agony of her mind -was beyond endurance, she found it some -relief to upbraid the wretch who had fulfilled -her own guilty wishes.—“Monster!” -she would exclaim, “without one tender -or honourable feeling, take those detested -and bloody hands from my sight:—they -have destroyed the loveliest innocent -that was ever born to bless a mother’s -wishes:—that mother now appears in -awful judgment against thee:—out, out, -perfidious wretch!—come not near—gaze -not upon me.”—Viviani marked the wild -expression of her eye—the look of horror -which she cast upon him; and a deep -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_61' href='#Page_61'>61</a></span> -and lasting resentment succeeded in his -breast, to every feeling of attachment. -Seizing her hand, which he wrung in -scorn: “What mean you by this mockery -of tardy penitence?” he fiercely cried.—“Woman, -beware how you trifle with the -deep pangs of an injured heart:—not -upon me—not upon me, be the blood of -the innocent:—it was this hand, white -and spotless as it appears, which sealed -his doom:—I should have shewn mercy; -but an unrelenting tigress urged me on.—On -thee—on thine, be the guilt, till it -harrow up thy soul to acts of phrenzy and -despair:—hope not for pardon from man—seek -not for mercy from God.—Away -with those proud looks which once subdued -me:—I can hate—I have learned of -thee to hate; and my heart, released from -thy bonds, is free at last:—spurn me,—what -art thou now? A creature so wretched -and so fallen, that I can almost pity thee.—Farewell.—For -the last time, I look -on thee with one sentiment of love.—When -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_62' href='#Page_62'>62</a></span> -we meet again, tremble:—yes—proud -as thou art, tremble; for, however -protracted, thou shalt find the vengeance -of Viviani, as certain, as it is terrible.” -</p> - -<p> -“Is it possible,” said Lady Margaret, -gazing upon that beautiful and youthful -countenance—upon that form which -scarcely had attained to manhood,—“is -it in the compass of probability that one -so young should be so utterly hardened?” -Viviani smiled on her and left her.—Very -shortly after this interview, he -quitted Ireland, vainly endeavouring in -the hour of his departure to conceal the -deep emotion by which he was agitated -at thus tearing himself from one who -appeared utterly indifferent to his hatred, -his menaces, or his love. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_63' href='#Page_63'>63</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER VII. -</h2> - -<p> -The habit of years, though broken and -interrupted by violent affliction or sudden -prosperity, fails not in the end to resume -its influence over the mind; and the -course that was once pursued with satisfaction, -though the tempest of our passions -may have hurried us out of it, will -be again resumed, when the dark clouds -that gathered over us, have spent their -fury. Even he who is too proud to bow -his mind to the inevitable decrees of an all -wise Creator,—who seeks not to be consoled, -and turns away from the voice of -piety, even he loses sight at length of -the affliction, upon which his memory -has so continually dwelt:—it lessens to -his view, as he journies onward adown -the vale of life, and the bright beam of -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_64' href='#Page_64'>64</a></span> -hope rises at last upon his clouded spirits -and exhausted frame. -</p> - -<p> -From a state of despondency and vain -regret, in which more than a year had -been passed, the inhabitants of Castle -Delaval, by slow degrees, revived; and -the Duke, wearied of a life so gloomy and -solitary, summoned, as before, his friends -around him. Lady Margaret, however, -was no longer the gay companion of his -morning walks, the life and amusement -of his evening assemblies. The absence -of Viviani filled her with anxiety; and -the remembrance of her crimes embittered -every hour of her existence. If she -turned her eyes upon Calantha, the dejected -expression of that countenance reproached -her for the mother whose life -she had shortened, and whose place she -vainly exerted herself to fill; if upon the -Duke, in that care worn cheek and brow -of discontent, she was more painfully reminded -of her crime and ingratitude; and -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_65' href='#Page_65'>65</a></span> -even the son for whom so much had been -sacrificed, afforded her no consolation. -</p> - -<p> -Buchanan estranged himself from her -confidence, and appeared jealous of her -authority.—He refused to aid her in the -sole remaining wish of her heart; and -absolutely declined accepting the hand -of Calantha. “Shall only one will,” -he said, “be studied and followed; -shall Calantha’s caprices and desires be -daily attended to; and shall I see the -best years of my life pass without pleasure -or profit for me? I know—I see -your intention; and, pardon me, dearest -mother, if I already bitterly lament it. -Is Calantha a companion fitted for one -of my character; and, even if hereafter -it is your resolve to unite me -to her, must I now be condemned to -years of inactivity on her account. Give -me my liberty; send me to college, -there to finish my education; and permit -me to remain in England for some years.” -</p> - -<p> -Lady Margaret saw, in the cool determined -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_66' href='#Page_66'>66</a></span> -language of her son, that he had -long meditated this escape from her thraldom:—she -immediately appeared to approve -his intention—she said that a noble -ambition, and all the highest qualities of -the heart and mind were shewn in his -present desire; but one promise she -must exact in return for the readiness -with which she intended instantly to accede -to his request:—provided he was left -at liberty till a maturer age, would he -promise to take no decisive step of himself, -until he had once more seen Calantha -after this separation? To this Buchanan -willingly acceded; his plans were -soon arranged; and his departure was -fixed for no very distant period. -</p> - -<p> -The morning before he left the castle, -Lady Margaret called him to her room; -and taking him and Calantha by the hand, -she led them to the windows of the great -gallery. From thence pointing to the -vast prospect of woods and hills, which -extended to a distance, the eye could -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_67' href='#Page_67'>67</a></span> -scarcely reach, “all are yours my children,” -she said, “if, obedient to parents -who have only your welfare at heart, you -persevere in your intention of being one -day united to each other. Ah! let no disputes, -no absence, no fancies have power -to direct you from the fulfilment of this, -my heart’s most fervent wish:—let this -moment of parting, obliterate every unkind -feeling, and bind you more than -ever to each other. Here, Buchanan,” -continued she, “is a bracelet with your -hair: place it yourself around Calantha’s -arm:—she shall wear it till you meet.” -The bracelet was of gold, adorned with -diamonds, and upon the clasp, under the -initial letters of both their names, were -engraved these words: “<i>Stesso sangue, -Stessa sorte.</i>” “Take it,” said Buchanan, -fastening it upon the arm of Calantha, -“and remember that you are to wear -it ever, for my sake.” -</p> - -<p> -At this moment, even he was touched, -as he pressed her to his heart, and remembered -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_68' href='#Page_68'>68</a></span> -her as associated with all the -scenes of his happiest days. Her violence, -her caprices, her mad frolics, were -forgotten; and as her tears streamed -upon his bosom, he turned away, least -his mother should witness his emotion. -Yet Calantha’s tears were occasioned -solely by the thought of parting from one, -who had hitherto dwelt always beneath -the same roof with herself; and to whom -long habit had accustomed, rather than -attached her.—In youth the mind is so -tender, and so alive to sudden and vivid -impressions, that in the moment of separation -it feels regret, and melancholy -at estranging itself even from those for -whom before it had never felt any warmth -of affection.—Still at the earliest age the -difference is distinctly marked between -the transient tear, that falls for imaginary -woe, and the real misery which attends -upon the loss of those who have been -closely united to the affections by ties, -stronger and dearer than those of habit. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_69' href='#Page_69'>69</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER VIII. -</h2> - -<p> -The accomplishment of her favourite -views being thus disappointed, or at least -deferred, Lady Margaret resolved to return -to Italy, and there to seek for Viviani. -Her brother, however, entreated her -to remain with him. He invited his -friends, his relations, his neighbours. -Balls and festivities once more enlivened -the castle: it seemed his desire to raze -every trace of sorrow from the memory -of his child; and to conceal the ravages -of death under the appearance at least of -wild and unceasing gaiety.—The brilliant -<i>fêtes</i>, and the magnificence of the -Duke of Altamonte and his sister, became -the constant theme of admiration; -from far, from near, fashion and folly -poured forth their victims to grace and -to enjoy them; and Lord and Lady Dartford -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_70' href='#Page_70'>70</a></span> -naturally found their place amidst -the various and general assemblage. To -see Lord Dartford again, to triumph over -his falsehood, to win him from an innocent -confiding wife, and then betray him -at the moment in which he fancied himself -secure, this vengeance was yet wanting -to satisfy the restless fever of Lady -Margaret’s mind; and the contemplation -of its accomplishment gave a new object, -a new hope to her existence; for -Lady Margaret had preferred enduring -even the tortures of remorse, to the listless -insipidity of stagnant life, where the -passions of her heart, were without excitement, -and those talents of which she -felt the power, useless and obscured. -What indeed would she not have preferred -to the society of Mrs. Seymour and her -daughters? -</p> - -<p> -The Duchess of Altamonte had possessed -a mind, as cultivated as her own, -and a certain refinement of manner -which is sometimes acquired by long intercourse -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_71' href='#Page_71'>71</a></span> -with the most polished societies, -but is more frequently the gift of nature, -and, if it be not the constant attendant -upon nobility of blood, is very rarely -found in those who are not distinguished -by that adventitious and accidental circumstance. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Seymour had many of the excellent -qualities, but none of the rare endowments -possessed by the Duchess; she -was a strict follower of the paths of custom -and authority; in the steps which -had been marked by others, she studiously -walked, nor thought it allowable to -turn aside for any object however praiseworthy -and desirable. She might be -said to delight in prejudice—to enjoy -herself in the obscure and narrow prison -to which she had voluntarily confined her -intellects—to look upon the impenetrable -walls around her as bulwarks against the -hostile attacks by which so many had been -overcome. The daughters were strictly -trained in the opinions of their mother. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_72' href='#Page_72'>72</a></span> -“The season of youth,” she would say, “is the season of instruction;” -—and consequently -every hour had its allotted task; -and every action was directed according -to some established regulation. -</p> - -<p> -By these means, Sophia and Frances -were already highly accomplished; their -manners were formed; their opinions -fixed, and any contradictions of those -opinions, instead of raising doubt, or -urging to enquiry, only excited in their -minds astonishment at the hardihood and -contempt for the folly which thus opposed -itself to the final determination of the -majority, and ventured to disturb the -settled empire and hereditary right of -their sentiments and manners.—“These -are <i>your</i> pupils,” Lady Margaret would -often exultingly cry, addressing the mild -Mrs. Seymour—“these paragons of propriety—these -sober minded steady automatons. -Well, I mean no harm to them -or you. I only wish I could shake off -a little of that cold formality which petrifies -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_73' href='#Page_73'>73</a></span> -me. Now see how differently <i>my</i> -Calantha shall appear, when I have opened -her mind, and formed her according to -<i>my</i> system of education—the system -which nature dictates and every feeling -of the heart willingly accedes to. Observe -well the difference between a child -of an acute understanding, before her -mind has been disturbed by the absurd -opinions of others, and after she has -learned their hackneyed jargon: note -her answer—her reflections; and you -will find in them, all that philosophy can -teach, and all to which science and wisdom -must again return. But, in your girls -and in most of those whom we meet, -how narrow are the views, how little the -motives, by which they are impelled. -Even granting that they act rightly,—that -by blindly following, where others lead, -they pursue the safest course, is there any -thing noble, any thing superior in the character -from which such actions spring? -<i>I</i> am ambitious for Calantha. I wish -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_74' href='#Page_74'>74</a></span> -her not only to be virtuous; I will acknowledge -it,—I wish her to be distinguished -and great.” -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Seymour, when thus attacked, -always permitted Lady Margaret to gain -the victory of words and to triumph over -her as much as the former thought it -within the bounds of good breeding to -allow herself; but she never varied, in consequence, -one step in her daily course, or -deviated in the slightest degree from the -line of conduct which she had before laid -down. -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes, however, she would remonstrate -with her niece, when she saw -her giving way to the violence of her -temper, or acting, as she thought, absurdly -or erroneously; and Calantha, -when thus admonished, would acknowledge -her errors, and, for a time at least, -endeavour to amend them; for her heart -was accessible to kindness, and kindness -she at all times met with from Mrs. Seymour -and her daughters. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_75' href='#Page_75'>75</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -It was indeed Calantha’s misfortune to -meet with too much kindness, or rather -too much indulgence from almost all who -surrounded her. The Duke, attentive -solely to her health, watched her with the -fondest solicitude, and the wildest wishes -her fancy could invent, were heard with -the most scrupulous attention and gratified -with the most unbounded compliance. -Yet, if affection, amounting to -idolatry, could in any degree atone for the -pain the errors of his child too often occasioned -him, that affection was felt by -Calantha for her Father. -</p> - -<p> -Her feelings indeed swelled with a -tide too powerful for the unequal resistance -of her understanding:—her motives -appeared the very best, but the actions -which resulted from them were absurd -and exaggerated. Thoughts, swift -as lightening, hurried through her brain:—projects, -seducing, but visionary crowded -upon her view: without a curb she -followed the impulse of her feelings; and -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_76' href='#Page_76'>76</a></span> -those feelings varied with every varying -interest and impression. -</p> - -<p> -Such character is not uncommon, -though rarely seen amongst the higher -ranks of society. Early and constant intercourse -with the world, and that polished -sameness which results from it, smooths -away all peculiarities; and whilst it assimilates -individuals to each other, corrects -many faults, and represses many virtues. -</p> - -<p> -Some indeed there are who affect to -differ from others: but the very affectation -proves that, in fact, they resemble -the ordinary mass; and in general this -assumption of singularity is found in low -and common minds, who think that the -reputation of talent and superiority belongs -to the very defects and absurdities -which alone have too often cast a shade -upon the splendid light of genius, and -degraded the hero and the poet, to the -level of their imitators. -</p> - -<p> -Lovely indeed is that grace of manner, -that perfect ease and refinement which -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_77' href='#Page_77'>77</a></span> -so many attempt to acquire, and for which -it is to be feared so much too often is -renounced—the native vigour of mind, -the blush of indignant and offended integrity, -the open candour of truth, and -all the long list of modest unassuming -virtues, known only to a new and unsullied -heart. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha turned with disgust from the -slavish followers of prejudice. She disdained -the beaten tract, and she thought -that virtue would be for her a safe, -a sufficient guide; that noble views, and -pure intentions would conduct her in -a higher sphere; and that it was left to -her to set a bright example of unshaken -rectitude, undoubted truth and honourable -fame. All that was base or mean, -she, from her soul, despised; a fearless -spirit raised her, as she fondly imagined, -above the vulgar herd; self confident, she -scarcely deigned to bow the knee before -her God; and man, as she had read of him -in history, appeared too weak, too trivial -to inspire either alarm or admiration. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_78' href='#Page_78'>78</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -It was thus, with bright prospects, -strong love of virtue, high ideas of honour, -that she entered upon life. No expence, -no trouble had been spared in her -education; masters, tutors and governesses -surrounded her. She seemed to -have a decided turn for every thing it -was necessary for her to learn; instruction -was scarcely necessary, so readily -did her nature bend itself to every art, -science and accomplishment; yet never -did she attain excellence, or make proficiency -in any; and when the vanity of -a parent fondly expected to see her a proficient -in all acquirements, suited to her -sex and age, he had the mortification of -finding her more than usually ignorant, -backward and uninstructed. With an -ear the most sensible and accurate, she -could neither dance, nor play; with an -eye acute and exact, she could not draw; -with a spirit that bounded within her -from excess of joyous happiness, she -was bashful and unsocial in society; and -with the germs of every virtue that commands -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_79' href='#Page_79'>79</a></span> -esteem and praise, she was already -the theme of discussion, observation and -censure. -</p> - -<p> -Yet was Calantha loved—dearly and -fondly loved; nor could Mrs. Seymour, -though constantly discovering new errors -in her favourite, prevent her from -being the very idol of her heart. Calantha -saw it through all her assumed -coldness; and she triumphed in the influence -she possessed. But Sophia and -Frances were not as cordially her friends:—they -had not reached that age, at -which lenity and indulgence take place -of harsher feelings, and the world appears -in all its reality before us. To them, -the follies and frailties of others carried -with them no excuse, and every course -that they themselves did not adopt, was -assuredly erroneous. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha passed her time as much as -possible by herself; the general society -at the castle was uninteresting to her. -The only being for whom she felt regard, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_80' href='#Page_80'>80</a></span> -was Sir Everard St. Clare, brother to Camioli -the bard, and late physician to her -mother, was the usual object of ridicule to -almost all of his acquaintance. Lady -St. Clare in pearls and silver; Lauriana -and Jessica, more fine if possible and -more absurd than their mother; Mrs. Emmet -a Lady from Cork, plaintive and reclining -in white satin and drapery; and -all the young gentlemen of large property -and fortune, whom all the young -ladies were daily and hourly endeavouring -to please, had no attraction for a mind -like Calantha’s. Coldly she therefore -withdrew from the amusements natural -to her age; yet it was from embarrassment, -and not from coldness, that she -avoided their society. Some favorites -she already had:—the Abbess of Glenaa, -St. Clara her niece, and above all Alice -Mac Allain, a beautiful little girl of whom -her mother had been fond, had already -deeply interested her affections. -</p> - -<p> -In the company of one or other of -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_81' href='#Page_81'>81</a></span> -these, Calantha would pass her mornings; -and sometimes would she stand alone -upon the summit of the cliff, hour after -hour, to behold the immense ocean, watching -its waves, as they swelled to the size of -mountains, then dashed with impetuous -force against the rocks below; or climbing -the mountain’s side, and gazing on -the lofty summits of Heremon and Inis -Tara, lost in idle and visionary thought; -but at other times joyous, and without -fear, like a fairy riding on a sun beam -through the air, chasing the gay images -of fancy, she would join in every active -amusement and suffer her spirits to lead -her into the most extravagant excess. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_82' href='#Page_82'>82</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER X. -</h2> - -<p> -Love, it might be conjectured, would -early shew itself in a character such as -Calantha’s; and love, with all its ardour -and all its wildness, had already subdued -her heart. What, though Mrs. Seymour -had laid it down as a maxim, that no one, -before she had attained her fourteenth -year, could possibly be in love! What, -though Lady Margaret indignantly asserted, -that Calantha could not, and -should not, look even at any other than -him for whom her hand was destined! -She had looked; she had seen; and -what is more, she believed the impression -at this time made upon her heart was as -durable as it was violent. -</p> - -<p> -Sophia Seymour, Mrs. Seymour’s -eldest daughter, in a month, nay in a -week, had already discovered Calantha’s -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_83' href='#Page_83'>83</a></span> -secret:—the same feeling for the same -object, had given her an acuteness in -this instance, with which she was not at -all times gifted:—She herself loved, and, -therefore, perceived her cousin’s passion. -Calantha’s manner immediately confirmed -her in her supposition. She entered -one morning into her room;—she -saw the unfinished drawing;—she could -not mistake it—that commanding air—that -beaming eye—there was but one -whom it could resemble, and that one -was Henry Mowbray, Earl of Avondale. -She taxed Calantha bitterly with her -partiality; “But he thinks not of you,” -she said, and haughtily left the room. -</p> - -<p> -Admiral Sir Richard Mowbray was an -old and valued friend of the Duke of Altamonte. -He had served with Sir George -Buchanan, brother-in-law to Lady Margaret. -He had no children; but his nephew, -the young Earl of Avondale, was, -next to his country, the strongest and -dearest interest of his heart. What happiness -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_84' href='#Page_84'>84</a></span> -must the Admiral then have felt when -he beheld his nephew; and found that, -in mind and person, he was distinguished -by every fair endowment. He had entered -the army young; he now commanded -a regiment: with a spirit natural -to his age and character, he had embraced -his father’s profession; like him, -he had early merited the honours conferred -upon him. He had sought distinction -at the hazard of his life; but -happily for all who knew him well, he -had not, like his gallant father, perished -in the hour of danger; but, having seen -hard service, had returned to enjoy, in -his own country, the ease, the happiness -and the reputation he so well deserved. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Avondale’s military occupations -had not, however, prevented his cultivating -his mind and talents in no ordinary -degree; and the real distinctions he had -obtained, seemed by no means to have -lessened the natural modesty of his character. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_85' href='#Page_85'>85</a></span> -He was admired, flattered, sought -after; and the strong temptation to which -his youth had thus early been exposed, -had, in some measure, shaken his principles -and perverted his inclinations. -</p> - -<p> -Happily a noble mind and warm uncorrupted -heart soon led him from scenes -of profligacy to a course of life more -manly and useful:—deep anxiety for a -bleeding country, and affection for his -uncle, restored him to himself. He quitted -London, where upon his first return from -abroad he had for the most part resided, -and his regiment being ordered to Ireland, -on account of the growing disaffection -in that country, he returned thither -to fulfil the new duty which his -profession required. Allanwater and -Monteith, his father’s estates, had been -settled upon him; but he was more -than liberal in the arrangements he made -for his uncle and the other branches of -his family. -</p> - -<p> -Many an humbler mind had escaped -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_86' href='#Page_86'>86</a></span> -the danger to which Lord Avondale had, -early in life, been exposed;—many a less -open character had disguised the too -daring opinions he had once ventured to -cherish! But, with an utter contempt -for all hypocrisy and art, with a frankness -and simplicity of character, sometimes -observed in men of extraordinary abilities, -but never attendant on the ordinary -or the corrupted mind, he appeared to the -world as he really felt, and neither -thought nor studied whether such opinions -and character were agreeable to his -own vanity, or the taste of his companions; -for whom, however, he was, at -all times, ready to sacrifice his time, his -money, and all on earth but his honour -and integrity. -</p> - -<p> -Such was the character of Lord Avondale, -imperfectly sketched—but true to -nature.—He, in his twenty-first year, now -appeared at Castle Delaval—the admiration -of the large and various company -then assembled there. Flattered, perhaps, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_87' href='#Page_87'>87</a></span> -by the interest shewn him, but reserved -and distant to every too apparent -mark of it, he viewed the motley -groupe before him, as from a superior -height, and smiled with something of -disdain, at times, as he marked the affectation, -the meanness, the conceit -and, most of all, the heartlessness and -cowardice of many of those around him. -Of a morning, he would not unfrequently -join Calantha and Sophia in their walks; -of an evening, he would read to the former, -or make her his partner at billiards, -or at cards. At such times, Sophia -would work at a little distance; and as -her needle monotonously passed the silken -thread through the frame to which -her embroidery was fixed, her eyes -would involuntarily turn to where her -thoughts, in spite of her endeavours, too -often strayed. Calantha listened to the -oft-repeated stories of the admiral; she -heard of his battles, his escapes and his -dangers, when others were weary of the -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_88' href='#Page_88'>88</a></span> -well-known topics; but he was Lord -Avondale’s uncle, and that thought made -every thing he uttered interesting to her. -</p> - -<p> -“You love,” said Alice Mac Allain, -one day to her mistress, as they wandered -in silence along the banks of the river -Elle, “and he who made you alone can -tell to what these madning fires may drive -a heart like yours. Remember your -bracelet—remember your promises to -Buchanan; and learn, before it is too -late, in some measure to controul yourself, -and disguise your feelings.” Calantha -started from Alice; for love, when -it first exists, is so timid, so sacred, that -it fears the least breath of observation, -and disguises itself under every borrowed -name. “You are wrong,” said Calantha, -“I would not bend my free spirit -to the weakness of which you would accuse -me, for all the world can offer; your -Calantha will never acknowledge a master; -will never yield her soul’s free and -immortal hopes, to any earthly affection. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_89' href='#Page_89'>89</a></span> -Fear not, my counsellor, that I will forsake -my virgin vows, or bow my unbroken -spirit to that stern despot, whose -only object is power and command.” -</p> - -<p> -As Calantha spoke, Lord Avondale -approached, and joined them. The deep -blush that crimsoned over her cheek was -a truer answer to her friend’s accusation -than the one she had just uttered.—“Heremon -and Inis Tara have charms for both -of you,” he said, smiling:—“you are always -wandering either to or from thence.” -“They are our own native mountains,” -said Calantha, timidly;—“the landmarks -we have been taught to reverence from -our earliest youth.” “And could you -not admire the black mountains of Morne -as well,” he said, fixing his eyes on Calantha,—“my -native mountains?”—“they -are higher far than these, and soar above -the clouds that would obscure them.” -“They are too lofty and too rugged for -such as we are,” said Calantha. “We -may gaze at their height and wonder; but -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_90' href='#Page_90'>90</a></span> -more would be dangerous.” “The -roses and myrtles blossom under their -shade,” said Lord Avondale, with a -smile; “and Allanwater, to my mind, -is as pleasant to dwell in as Castle Delaval.” -“Shall you soon return there, -my lord,” enquired Calantha. “Perhaps -never,” he said, mournfully; and -a tear filled his eye as he turned away, -and sought to change the subject of conversation. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Margaret had spoken to Lord -Avondale:—perhaps another had engaged -his affections:—at all events, it seemed -certain to Calantha that she was not the -object of his hope or his grief. To have -seen him—to have admired him, was -enough for her: she wished not for -more than that privilege; she felt that -every affection of her heart was engaged, -even though those affections were unreturned. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_91' href='#Page_91'>91</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XI. -</h2> - -<p> -To suffer the pangs of unrequited love -was not, in the present instance, the destiny -of Calantha. That dark eye, the -lustre of whose gaze she durst not meet, -was, nevertheless, at all times fixed upon -her; and the quick mantling blush and -beaming smile, which lighted the countenance -of Lord Avondale, whenever her -name was pronounced before him, soon -betrayed, to all but himself and Calantha, -how much and how entirely his affections -were engaged. He was of a nature -not easily to be flattered into admiration -of others—not readily attracted, -or lightly won; but, once having fixed -his affections, he was firm, confiding and -incapable of change, through any change -of fortune. He was, besides, of that affectionate -and independent character, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_92' href='#Page_92'>92</a></span> -that as neither bribe nor power could -have moved him to one act contrary to -his principles of integrity, so neither -danger, fatigue, nor any personal consideration -could have deterred him from -that which he considered as the business -and duty of his life. He possessed a -happy and cheerful disposition,—a frank -and winning manner,—and that hilarity of -heart and countenance which rendered -him the charm and sunshine of every -society. -</p> - -<p> -When Lord Avondale, however, addressed -Calantha, she answered him in -a cold or sullen manner, and, if he endeavoured -to approach her, she fled unconscious -of the feeling which occasioned -her embarrassment. Her cousins, -Sophia and Frances, secure of applause, -and conscious of their own power of pleasing, -had entered the world neither absurdly -timid, nor vainly presuming:—they -knew the place they were called upon to -fill in society; and they sought not to -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_93' href='#Page_93'>93</a></span> -outstep the bounds which good sense had -prescribed. Calantha, on the other hand, -scarce could overcome her terror and -confusion when addressed by those with -whom she was little acquainted. But how -far less dangerous was this reserve than -the easy confidence which a few short -years afterwards produced, and how -little did the haughty Lady Margaret -imagine, as she chid her niece for this -excess of timidity, that the day would, -perhaps, soon arrive when careless of -the presence of hundreds, Calantha might -strive to attract their attention, by the -very arts which she now despised, or -pass thoughtlessly along, hardened and -entirely insensible to their censure or -their praise! -</p> - -<p> -To a lover’s eyes such timidity was not -unpleasing; and Lord Avondale liked -not the girl he admired the less, for that -crimson blush—that timid look, which -scarcely dared encounter his ardent gaze. -To him it seemed to disclose a heart new -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_94' href='#Page_94'>94</a></span> -to the world—unspoiled and guileless. -Calantha’s mind, he thought, might now -receive the impression which should be -given it; and while yet free, yet untainted, -would it not be happiness to -secure her as his own—to mould her -according to his fancy—to be her guide -and protector through life! -</p> - -<p> -Such were his feelings, as he watched -her shunning even the eyes of him, whom -alone she wished to please:—such were -his thoughts, when, flying from the -amusements and gaiety natural to her -age, she listened with attention, while he -read to her, or conquered her fears to -enter into conversation with him. He -seemed to imagine her to be possessed of -every quality which he most admired; -and the delusive charm of believing that -he was not indifferent to her heart, threw -a beauty and grace over all her actions, -which blinded him to every error. Thus -then they both acknowledged, and surrendered -themselves to the power of love. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_95' href='#Page_95'>95</a></span> -Calantha for the first time yielded up her -heart entirely to its enchantment; and -Lord Avondale for the last. -</p> - -<p> -It is said there is no happiness, and no -love to be compared to that which is felt -for the first time. Most persons erroneously -think so; but love like other arts -requires experience, and terror and ignorance, -on its first approach, prevent our -feeling it as strongly as at a later period. -Passion mingles not with a sensation so -pure, so refined as that which Calantha -then conceived, and the excess of a lover’s -attachment terrified and overpowered the -feelings of a child. -</p> - -<p> -Storms of fury kindled in the eye of -Lady Margaret when first she observed -this mutual regard. Words could not -express her indignation:—to deeds she -had recourse. Absence was the only -remedy to apply; and an hour, a moment’s -delay, by opening Calantha’s mind -to a consciousness of her lover’s sentiments -and wishes, might render even this -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_96' href='#Page_96'>96</a></span> -ineffectual. She saw that the flame had -been kindled in a heart too susceptible, -and where opposition would encrease its -force;—she upbraided her brother for -his blindness, and reproached herself for -her folly. There was but one way left, -which was to communicate the Duke’s -surmises and intentions to the Admiral -in terms so positive, that he could not -mistake them, and instantly to send for -Buchanan. In pursuance of this purpose, -she wrote to inform him of every thing -which had taken place, and to request -him without loss of time to meet her at -Castle Delaval. Mrs. Seymour alone -folded Calantha to her bosom without -one reproach, and, consigning her with -trembling anxiety to a father’s care, reminded -him continually, that she was -his only remaining child, and that force, -in a circumstance of such moment, would -be cruelty. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_97' href='#Page_97'>97</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XII. -</h2> - -<p> -Lady Margaret insisted upon removing -Calantha immediately, to London; but -Lord Avondale having heard from the -Admiral the cause of her intended departure, -immediately declared his intention -of quitting Ireland. Every thing was now -in readiness for his departure; the day -fixed; the hour at hand. It was not perhaps -till Lord Avondale felt that he was -going to leave Calantha for ever, that -he was fully sensible how much, and how -entirely his affections were engaged. -</p> - -<p> -On the morning previous to his departure, -Calantha threw the bracelet, which -Lady Margaret and her cousin had given -her, from her arm; and, weeping upon -the bosom of Alice, bitterly lamented her -fate, and informed her friend that she -never, never would belong to Buchanan.—Lord -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_98' href='#Page_98'>98</a></span> -Avondale had in vain sought an -opportunity of seeing her one moment -alone. He now perceived the bracelet on -the floor of the room she had just quitted; -and looking upon it, read, without being -able to comprehend the application of -the inscription, “<i>Stessa sangue, Stessa -sorte.</i>”—He saw her at that moment:—she -was alone:—he followed her:—she -fled from him, embarrassed and agitated; -but he soon approached her:—they fly -so slowly who fly from what they love. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Avondale thought he had much -to say—many things to ask:—he wished -to explain the feelings of his heart—to -tell Calantha, once at least before he -quitted her, how deeply—how dearly he -had loved,—how, though unworthy in -his own estimation of aspiring to her -hand, the remembrance of her should -stimulate him to every noble exertion, -and raise him to a reputation which, -without her influence, he never could -attain:—he thought that he could -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_99' href='#Page_99'>99</a></span> -have clasped her to his bosom, and -pressed upon her lips the first kiss of -love—the dearest, the truest pledge of -fondness and devotion. But, scarcely -able to speak, confused and faultering, -he dared not approach her:—he saw -one before him robed in purity, and -more than vestal innocence—one timidly -fearful of even a look, or thought, that -breathed aught against that virtue which -alone it worshipped. -</p> - -<p> -“I am come,” he said, at length, “forgive -my rashness, to restore this bracelet, -and myself to place it around your arms. -Permit me to say—farewell, before I leave -you, perhaps for ever.” As he spoke, he -endeavoured to clasp the diamond lock;—his -hand trembled;—Calantha started -from him. “Oh!” said she, “you know -not what you do:—I am enough his -already:—be not you the person to devote -me to him more completely:—do not -render me utterly miserable.” Though not -entirely understanding her, he scarcely -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_100' href='#Page_100'>100</a></span> -could command himself. Her look, her -manner—all told him too certainly that -which overcame his heart with delight.—“She -loves me,” he thought, “and I will -die sooner than yield her to any human -being:—she loves me;” and, regardless -of fears—of prudence—of every other -feeling, he pressed her one moment to his -bosom. “Oh love me, Calantha,” was -all he had time to say; for she broke -from him, and fled, too much agitated to -reply. That he had presumed too far, -he feared; but that she was not indifferent -to him, he had heard and seen. -The thought filled him with hope, and -rendered him callous to all that might -befall him. -</p> - -<p> -The Duke entered the room as Calantha -quitted it.—“Avondale,” he said, -offering him his hand, “speak to me, for -I wish much to converse with you before -we part:—all I ask is, that you will not -deceive me. Something more than common -has taken place:—I observed you -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_101' href='#Page_101'>101</a></span> -with my child.” “I must indeed speak -with you,” said Lord Avondale firmly, -but with considerable agitation. “Every -thing I hold dear—my life—my happiness—depend -on what I have to say.” -He then informed the Duke with sincerity -of his attachment for Calantha,—proud -and eager to acknowledge it, even though -he feared that his hopes might never be -realized. -</p> - -<p> -“I am surprised and grieved,” said -the Duke, “that a young man of your -high rank, fortune and rising fame, -should thus madly throw away your affections -upon the only being perhaps who -never must, never ought, to return them. -My daughter’s hand is promised to another. -When I confess this, do not mistake -me:—No force will ever be made -use of towards her; her inclinations will -at all times be consulted, even though she -should forget those of her parent; but -she is now a mere child, and more infantine -and volatile withal, than it is possible -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_102' href='#Page_102'>102</a></span> -for you to conceive. There can be -no necessity for her being now called -upon to make a decided choice. Buchanan -is my nephew, and since the loss of -my son, I have centered all my hopes in -him. He is heir to my name, as she is -to my fortune; and surely then an union -between them, would be an event the -most desirable for me and for my family. -But such considerations alone would -not influence me. I will tell you those -then which operate in a stronger manner:—I -have given my solemn promise to my -sister, that I will do all in my power to -assist in bringing about an event upon -which her heart is fixed. Judge then, -if during her son’s absence, I can dispose -of Calantha’s hand, or permit her to see -more of one, who has already, I fear, made -some impression upon her heart.” -</p> - -<p> -Lord Avondale appeared much agitated.—The -Duke paused—then continued—“Granting -that your attachment for my -child is as strong as you would have me -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_103' href='#Page_103'>103</a></span> -believe—granting, my dear young friend, -that, captivated by your very superior abilities, -manners and amiable disposition, -she has in part returned the sentiments -you acknowledge in her favour,—cannot -you make her the sacrifice I require of -you?—Yes.—Though you now think -otherwise, you can do it. So short an -acquaintance with each other, authorizes -the term I use:—this is but a mere fancy, -which absence and strength of mind will -soon overcome.” -</p> - -<p> -Lord Avondale was proud even to a -fault. He had listened to the Duke without -interrupting him; and the Duke continued -to speak, because he was afraid -of hearing the answer, which he concluded -would be made. For protestations, -menaces, entreaties he was prepared; -but the respectful silence which continued -when he ceased, disconcerted him. -“You are not angry?” said he: “let us -part in friendship:—do not go from me -thus:—you must forgive a father:—remember -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_104' href='#Page_104'>104</a></span> -she is my child, and bound to -me by still dearer ties—she is my only -one.” His voice faltered, as he said -this:—he thought of the son who had -once divided his affections, and of whom -he seldom made mention since his loss. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Avondale, touched by his manner -and by his kindness, accepted his -hand, and struggling with pride—with -love,—“I will obey your commands,” -he at length said, “and fly from her presence, -if it be for her happiness:—her -happiness is the dearest object of my life. -Yet let me see her before I leave her.”—“No,” -said the Duke, “it is too dangerous.” -“If this must not be,” said -Lord Avondale, “at least tell her, that -for her sake, I have conquered even my -own nature in relinquishing her hand, -and, with it every hope, but too strongly -cherished by me. Tell her, that if I do -this, it is not because I do not feel for her -the most passionate and most unalterable -attachment. I renounce her only, as I -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_105' href='#Page_105'>105</a></span> -trust, to consign her to a happier fate. -You are her father:—you best know the -affection she deserves:—if she casts away -a thought sometimes on me, let her not -suffer for the generosity and goodness of -her heart:—let her not.”—He would have -said more, but he was too deeply affected -to continue:—he could not act, or dissemble:—he -felt strongly, and he shewed -it. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_106' href='#Page_106'>106</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XIII. -</h2> - -<p> -After this conversation, Calantha saw -no more of her lover: yet he was very -anxious to see her once again, and much -and violently agitated before he went. -A few words which he had written to her -he gave into Mrs. Seymour’s own hands; -and this letter, though it was such as to -justify the high opinion some had formed -of his character, was but little calculated -to satisfy the expectations of Calantha’s -absurdly romantic mind; or to realize -the hopes she had cherished. It was not -more expressive of his deep regret at their -necessary separation, than of his anxiety -that she should not suffer her spirits to be -depressed, or irritate her father by an -opposition which would prove fruitless.—“He -does not love you Calantha,” said -Lady Margaret, with a malicious smile, as -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_107' href='#Page_107'>107</a></span> -soon as she had read the letter—(and every -one would read it):—“when men begin to -speak of duty, they have ceased to love.” -This remark gave Calantha but little -consolation. Lord Avondale had quitted -her too, without even bidding her farewell; -and her thoughts continually dwelt -on this disappointment. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha knew not then that her misery -was more than shared,—that Lord Avondale, -though too proud to acknowledge -it, was a prey to the deepest grief upon -her account,—that he lived but in the -hope of possessing the only being upon -earth to whom he had attached himself,—and -that the sentence pronounced -against both, was a death stroke to -his happiness, as well as to her own. -When strong love awakes for the first -time in an inexperienced heart it is so -diffident, so tremblingly fearful, that it -dares scarcely hope even for a return; -and our own demerits appear before us, -in such exaggerated colours, and the superior -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_108' href='#Page_108'>108</a></span> -excellence of the object we worship -arises so often to our view, that it -seems but the natural consequence of -our own presumption, that we should be -neglected and forgotten. -</p> - -<p> -Of Admiral Sir R. Mowbray, Calantha -now took leave without being -able to utter one word:—she wept as -children weep in early days, the hearts’ -convulsive sob free and unrestrained. He -was as much affected as herself, and seeking -Lady Margaret, before he left the -castle and followed his nephew who had -gone straight to England, began an eager -attack upon her, with all the blunt asperity -of his nature. Indeed he bitterly -reproached himself, and all those who -had influenced him, in what he termed -his harsh unfeeling conduct to his nephew -in this affair.—“And as to you, -madam,” he cried, addressing Lady Margaret, -“you make two young people -wretched, to gratify the vanity of your -son, and acquire a fortune, which I would -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_109' href='#Page_109'>109</a></span> -willingly yield to you, provided the dear -children might marry, and go home -with me to Allanwater, a place as pretty, -and far more peaceful than any in these -parts: there, I warrant, they would live -happy, and die innocent—which is more -than most folks can say in these great -palaces and splendid castles.” -</p> - -<p> -A smile of contempt was the only -answer Lady Margaret deigned to give.—Sir -Richard continued, “you are all a -mighty fine set of people, no doubt, and -your assemblies, and your balls are -thronged and admired; but none of -these things will make the dear child happy, -if her mind is set upon my nephew; -I am the last in the world to disparage -any one; but my nephew is just as proper -a man in every point of view as your -son; aye, or any body’s son in the whole -world; and so there is my mind given -free and hearty; for there is not a nobler -fellow, and there never can be, than -Henry Avondale:—he is as brave a soldier -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_110' href='#Page_110'>110</a></span> -as ever fought for his country; and -in what is he deficient?” Lady Margaret’s -lips and cheeks were now become -livid and pale—a fatal symptom, as anger -of that description in all ages has led to -evil deeds; whereas the scarlet effusion -has, from the most ancient times been accounted -harmless. “Take Lady Calantha -then,” exclaimed Lady Margaret, -with assumed calmness, while every furious -passion shook her frame; “and -may she prove a serpent to your bosom, -and blast the peace of your whole family.” -“She is an angel!” exclaimed the Admiral, -“and she will be our pride, and -our comfort.” “She is a woman,” returned -Lady Margaret, with a malicious -sneer; “and, by one means or other, -she will work her calling.” Calantha’s -tears checked Sir Richard’s anger; and, -his carriage being in readiness, he left -the castle immediately after this conversation. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_111' href='#Page_111'>111</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XIV. -</h2> - -<p> -It may easily be supposed that Lady Margaret -Buchanan and Mrs. Seymour had -a most cordial dislike for each other. -Happily, at present, they agreed in one -point: they were both desirous of rousing -Calantha from the state of despondency -into which Lord Avondale’s departure -had thrown her. By both, she was admonished -to look happy, and to restrain -her excessive grief. Mrs. Seymour spoke -to her of duty and self control. Lady -Margaret sought to excite her ambition -and desire of distinction. One only -subject was entirely excluded from conversation: -Lord Avondale’s name was -forbidden to be mentioned in Calantha’s -presence, and every allusion to the past -to be studiously avoided. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Margaret, however, well aware -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_112' href='#Page_112'>112</a></span> -that whosoever transgressed this regulation -would obtain full power over her -niece’s heart, lost no opportunity of thus -gaining her confidence and affection. -</p> - -<p> -Having won, by this artifice, an easy -and favorable audience, after two or three -conversations upon the subject the most -interesting to Calantha, she began, by -degrees, to introduce the name, and with -the name such a representation of the -feelings of her son, as she well knew to -be best calculated to work upon the -weakness of a female heart. Far different -were his real feelings, and far different -his real conduct from that which was -described to her niece by Lady Margaret. -She had written to him a full account of -all that had taken place; but his answer, -which arrived tardily, and, after much -delay, had served only to increase that -lady’s ill humour and add to her disappointment. -In the letter which he sent -to his mother he openly derided her advice; -professed entire indifference towards -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_113' href='#Page_113'>113</a></span> -Calantha; and said that, indubitably, -he could not waste his thoughts or -time in humouring the absurd fancies of -a capricious girl,—that Lord Avondale, -or any other, were alike welcome to her -hand,—that, as for himself, the world -was wide and contained women enough -for him; he could range amongst those -frail and fickle charmers without subjecting -his honour and his liberty to their -pleasure; and, since the lady had already -dispensed with the vows given and received -at an age when the heart was -pure, he augured ill of her future conduct, -and envied not the happiness of the -man it was her present fancy to select:—he -professed his intention of joining the -army on the continent; talked of leaden -hail, glory and death! and seemed resolved -not to lessen the merit of any exploits -he might achieve by any want of -brilliancy in the colouring and description -of them. -</p> - -<p> -Enraged at this answer, and sickening -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_114' href='#Page_114'>114</a></span> -at his conceit, Lady Margaret sent immediately -to entreat, or rather to command, -his return. In the mean time, she talked -much to Calantha of his sufferings and -despair; and soon perceiving how greatly -the circumstance of Lord Avondale’s -consenting to part from her had wounded -her feelings, and how perpetually she -recurred to it, she endeavoured, by the -most artful interpretations of his conduct, -to lower him in her estimation. Sarcastically -contrasting his coldness with Buchanan’s -enthusiasm: “Your lover,” -said she, “is, without doubt, most disinterested!—His -eager desire for your -happiness is shown in every part of his -conduct!—Such warmth—such delicacy! -How happy would a girl like my Calantha -be with such a husband!—What filial -piety distinguishes the whole of his behaviour!—Obey -your father, is the -burthen of his creed! He seems even to -dread the warmth of your affection!—He -trembles when he thinks into what -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_115' href='#Page_115'>115</a></span> -imprudence it may carry you!—Why, he -is a perfect model, is he not? But let me -ask you, my dear niece, is love, according -to your notions and feelings, thus -cool and considerate?—does it pause to -weigh right and duty?—is it so very rational -and contemplative?...” “Yes,” -replied Calantha, somewhat piqued. -“Virtuous love can make sacrifices; -but, when love is united with guilt, it -becomes selfish and thinks only of the -present moment.” “And how, my little -philosopher, did you acquire so prematurely -this wonderful insight into the -nature of love?” “By feeling it,” said -Calantha, triumphantly; “and by comparing -my own feelings with what I have -heard called by that name in others.” -</p> - -<p> -As she said this, her colour rose, and -she fixed her animated blue eyes full -upon Lady Margaret’s face; but vainly -did she endeavour to raise emotion -there; that countenance, steady and unruffled, -betrayed not even a momentary -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_116' href='#Page_116'>116</a></span> -flash of anger: her large orbs rolled -securely, as she returned the glance, -with a look of proud and scornful superiority. -“My little niece,” said she, -tapping her gently on the head, and -taking from her clustering locks the -comb that confined them, “my little -friend is grown quite a satirist, and all -who have not had, like her, every advantage -of education, are to be severely -lashed, I find, for the errors they may -inadvertently have committed.” As she -spoke, tears started from her eyes. Calantha -threw herself upon her bosom. -“O, my dear aunt,” she said, “my -dearest aunt, forgive me, I entreat you. -God knows I have faults enough myself, -and it is not for me to judge of others, -whose situation may have been very -different from mine. Is it possible that -I should have caused your tears? My -words must, indeed, have been very bitter; -pray forgive me.” “Calantha,” -said Lady Margaret, “you are already -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_117' href='#Page_117'>117</a></span> -more than forgiven; but the tears I shed -were not occasioned by your last speech; -though it is true, censure from one’s -children, or those one has ever treated -as such, is more galling than from -others. But, indeed, my spirits are -much shaken. I have had letters from -my son, and he seems more hurt at your -conduct than I expected:—he talks of renouncing -his country and his expectations; -he says that, if indeed his Calantha, -who has been the constant object -of his thoughts in absence, can have already -renounced her vows and him, he -will never intrude his griefs upon her, -nor ever seek to bias her inclinations: -yet it is with deep and lasting regret that -he consents to tear you from his remembrance -and consign you to another.” -</p> - -<p> -Calantha signed deeply at this unexpected -information. To condemn any -one to the pangs of unrequited love was -hard: she had already felt that it was no -light suffering; and Lady Margaret, seeing -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_118' href='#Page_118'>118</a></span> -how her false and artful representations -had worked upon the best feelings -of an inexperienced heart, lost no opportunity -of improving and increasing -their effect. -</p> - -<p> -These repeated attempts to move Calantha -to a determination, which was -held out to her as a virtuous and honourable -sacrifice made to duty and to -justice, were not long before they were -attended with success. Urged on all -sides continually, and worked upon by -those she loved, she at last yielded with -becoming inconsistency; and one evening, -when she saw her father somewhat indisposed, -she approached him, and whispered -in his ear, that she had thought -better of her conduct, and would be most -happy in fulfilling his commands in every -respect. “Now you are a heroine, -indeed,” said Lady Margaret, who had -overheard the promise: “you have -shewn that true courage which I expected -from you—you have gained a victory -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_119' href='#Page_119'>119</a></span> -over yourself, and I cannot but feel -proud of you.” “Aye,” thought Calantha, -“flattery is the chain that will -bind me; gild it but bright enough, and -be secure of its strength: you have -found, at last, the clue; now make use -of it to my ruin.” -</p> - -<p> -“She consents,” said Lady Margaret; -“it is sufficient; let there be no delay; -let us dazzle her imagination, and awaken -her ambition, and gratify her vanity by -the most splendid presents and preparations!” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_120' href='#Page_120'>120</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XV. -</h2> - -<p> -Calantha’s jewels and costly attire—her -equipages and attendants, were now -the constant topic of conversation. -Every rich gift was ostentatiously exhibited; -while congratulations, were on all -sides, poured forth, upon the youthful -bride. Lady Margaret, eagerly displaying -the splendid store to Calantha, -asked her if she were not happy.—“Do -not,” she replied addressing her -aunt, “do not fancy that I am weak enough -to value these baubles:—My heart at -least is free from a folly like this:—I despise -this mockery of riches.” “You -despise it!” repeated Lady Margaret, -with an incredulous smile:—“you -despise grandeur and vanity! Child, believe -one who knows you well, you worship -them; they are your idols; and -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_121' href='#Page_121'>121</a></span> -while your simple voice sings forth romantic -praises of simplicity and retirement, -you have been cradled in luxury, -and you cannot exist without it.” -</p> - -<p> -Buchanan was now daily, nay even -hourly expected:—Lady Margaret, awaited -him with anxious hope; Calantha -with increasing fear. Having one morning -ridden out to divert her mind from -the dreadful suspense under which she -laboured, and meeting with Sir Everard, -she enquired of him respecting her former -favourite: “Miss Elinor,” said the doctor, -“is still with her aunt, the abbess -of Glanaa; and, her noviciate being over, -she will soon, I fancy, take the veil. You -cannot see her; but if your Ladyship -will step from your horse, and enter into -my humble abode, I will shew you a portrait -of St. Clara, for so we now call her, -she being indeed a saint; and sure you -will admire it.” Calantha accompanied -the doctor, and was struck with the singular -beauty of the portrait. “Happy -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_122' href='#Page_122'>122</a></span> -St. Clara, she said, and sighed:—your -heart, dedicated thus early to Heaven, -will escape the struggles and temptations -to which mine is already exposed. Oh! -that I too, might follow your example; -and, far from a world for which I am not -formed, pass my days in piety and peace.” -</p> - -<p> -That evening, as the Duke of Altamonte -led his daughter through the crowded -apartments, presenting her to every one -previous to her marriage, she was suddenly -informed that Buchanan was arrived. -Her forced spirits, and assumed courage -at once forsook her; she fled to her room; -and there giving vent to her real feelings, -wept bitterly.—“Yet why should I grieve -thus?” she said:—“What though he be -here to claim me? my hand is yet free:—I -will not give it against the feelings of -my heart.”—Mrs. Seymour had observed -her precipitate flight, and following, insisted -upon being admitted. She endeavoured -to calm her; but it was too late. -</p> - -<p> -From that day, Calantha sickened:—the -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_123' href='#Page_123'>123</a></span> -aid of the physician, and the care of -her friends were vain:—an alarming illness -seized upon her mind, and affected -her whole frame. In the paroxysm of her -fever, she called repeatedly upon Lord -Avondale’s name, which confirmed those -around her in the opinion they entertained, -that her malady had been occasioned -by the violent effort she had made, -and the continual dread under which -she had existed for some time past, of -Buchanan’s return. Her father bitterly -reproached himself for his conduct; -watched by her bed in anxious suspense; -and under the impression of the deepest -alarm, wrote to his old friend the admiral, -informing him of his daughter’s danger, -and imploring him to urge Lord Avondale -to forget what had passed and to -hasten again to Castle Delaval.—He stated -that, to satisfy his sister’s ambition, the -greater part of his fortune should be settled -upon Buchanan, to whom his title descended; -and if, after this arrangement, Lord -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_124' href='#Page_124'>124</a></span> -Avondale still continued the same as when -he had parted from Calantha, he only requested -his forgiveness of his former apparent -harshness, and earnestly besought -his return without a moment’s loss of time. -</p> - -<p> -His sister, he strove in vain to appease:—Lady -Margaret was in no temper -of mind to admit of his excuses. Her -son had arrived and again left the castle, -without even seeing Calantha; and when -the Duke attempted to pacify Lady Margaret, -she turned indignantly from him, -declaring that if he had the weakness to -yield to the arts and stratagems of a -spoiled and wayward child, she would -instantly depart from under his roof, and -never see him more. No one event could -have grieved him so much, as this open rupture -with his sister. Yet his child’s continued -danger turned his thoughts from -this, and every other consideration:—he -yielded to her wishes:—he could -not endure the sight of her misery:—he -had from infancy never refused her -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_125' href='#Page_125'>125</a></span> -slightest request:—and could he now, on -so momentous an occasion, could he now -force her inclinations and constrain her -choice. -</p> - -<p> -The kind intentions of the Duke were -however defeated. Stung to the soul, -Calantha would not hear of marriage with -Lord Avondale:—pride, a far stronger -feeling than love, at that early period, -disdained to receive concessions even from -a father:—and a certain moroseness began -to mark her character, as she slowly -recovered from her illness, which never -had been observed in it before. She became -austere and reserved; read nothing -but books of theology and controversy; -seemed even to indulge an inclination -for a monastic life; was often with Miss -St. Clare; and estranged herself from all -other society. -</p> - -<p> -“Let her have her will,” said Lady -Margaret, “it is the only means of curing -her of this new fancy.”—The Duke however -thought otherwise: he was greatly -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_126' href='#Page_126'>126</a></span> -alarmed at the turn her disposition seemed -to have taken, and tried every means in -his power to remedy and counteract it.—A -year passed thus away; and the names of -Buchanan and Lord Avondale were rarely -or never mentioned at the castle; when -one evening, suddenly and unexpectedly, -the latter appeared there to answer in -person, a message which the Duke had -addressed to him, through the Admiral, -during his daughter’s illness. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Avondale had been abroad since -last he had parted from Calantha; he -had gained the approbation of the army -in which he served; and what was better, -he knew that he deserved it. His uncle’s -letter had reached him when still -upon service. He had acted upon the -staff; he now returned to join his own -regiment which was quartered at Leitrim; -and his first care, before he proceeded -upon the duties of his profession, was -to seek the Duke, and to claim, with -diminished fortune and expectations, the -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_127' href='#Page_127'>127</a></span> -bride his early fancy had chosen.—“I will -not marry him—I will not see him:”—These -were the only words Calantha pronounced, -as they led her into the room -where he was conversing with her father. -</p> - -<p> -When she saw him, however, her feelings -changed. Every heart which has -ever known what it is to meet after a -long estrangement, the object of its first, -of its sole, of its entire devotion, can -picture to itself the scene which followed. -Neither pride, nor monastic vows, nor -natural bashfulness, repressed the full -flow of her happiness at the moment, -when Lord Avondale rushed forward to -embrace her, and calling her his own -Calantha, mingled his tears with hers.—The -Duke, greatly affected, looked upon -them both. “Take her,” he said, addressing -Lord Avondale, and be assured, whatever -her faults, she is my heart’s pride—my -treasure. Be kind to her:—that I -know you will be, whilst the enthusiasm -of passion lasts: but ever be kind to her, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_128' href='#Page_128'>128</a></span> -even when it has subsided:—remember -she has yet to learn what it is to be controuled.” -“She shall never learn it,” said -Lord Avondale, again embracing Calantha: -“by day, by night, I have lived but -in this hope:—she shall never repent her -choice.” “The God of Heaven vouchsafe -his blessing upon you,” said the Duke.—“My -sister may call this weakness; -but the smile on my child’s countenance -is a sufficient reward.” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_129' href='#Page_129'>129</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XVI. -</h2> - -<p> -What Lord Avondale had said was true.—One -image had pursued him in every -change of situation, since he had parted -from Calantha; and though he had -scarcely permitted his mind to dwell on -hope; yet he felt that, without her, there -was no happiness for him on earth; and -he thought that once united to her, he -was beyond the power of sorrow or misfortune. -So chaste, even in thought, she -seemed—so frank and so affectionate, -could he be otherwise than happy with -such a companion? How then was he -astonished, when, as soon as they were -alone, she informed him that, although -she adored him, she was averse to the -fetters he was so eager to impose. How -was he struck to find that all the chimerical, -romantic absurdities, which he most -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_130' href='#Page_130'>130</a></span> -despised, were tenaciously cherished by -her; to be told that dear as he was, -her freedom was even dearer; that she -thought it a crime to renounce her vows, -her virgin vows; and that she never would -become a slave and a wife;—he must not -expect it. -</p> - -<p> -Unhappy Avondale! even such an -avowal did not open his eyes, or deter -him from his pursuit. Love blinds the -wisest: and fierce passion domineers -over reason. The dread of another separation -inspired him with alarm. Agitated—furious—he -now combatted every objection, -ventured every promise, and loved -even with greater fondness from the increasing -dread of again losing what he -had hoped was already his own.—“Men -of the world are without religion,” said -Calantha with tears; “Women of the -world are without principle. Truth is -regarded by none. I love and honour -my God, even more than I love you; and -truth is dearer to me than life. I am not -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_131' href='#Page_131'>131</a></span> -like those I see:—my education, my -habits, my feelings are different; I am -like one uncivilized and savage; and if -you place me in society, you will have to -blush every hour for the faults I shall involuntarily -commit. Besides this objection, -my temper—I am more violent—Oh -that it were not so; but can I, -ought I, to deceive you?”... “You are -all that is noble, frank and generous: -you shall guide me,” said Lord Avondale; -“and I will protect you. Be mine:—fear -me not:—your principles, I venerate; -your religion I will study—will -learn—will believe in.—What more?” -</p> - -<p> -Lord Avondale sought, and won that -strange uncertain being, for whom he -was about to sacrifice so much. He considered -not the lengthened journey of -life—the varied scenes through which -they were to pass; where all the qualities -in which she was wholly deficient would -be so often and so absolutely required—discretion, -prudence, firm and steady -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_132' href='#Page_132'>132</a></span> -principle, obedience, humility.—But to -all her confessions and remonstrances, he -replied:—“I love, and you return my -passion:—can we be otherwise than -blest! You are the dearest object of my -affection, my life, my hope, my joy. If -you can live without me, which I do not -believe, I cannot without you; and that -is sufficient. Sorrows must come on all; -but united together we can brave them.—My -Calantha you torture me, but to try -me. Were I to renounce you—were I to -take you at your word, you, you would -be the first to regret and to reproach me.”—“It -is but the name of wife I hate,” -replied the spoiled and wayward child.—“I -must command:—my will.”—“Your -will, shall be my law,” said Lord -Avondale, as he knelt before her: “you -shall be my mistress—my guide—my -monitress—and I, a willing slave.”—So -spoke the man, who, like the girl he addressed, -had died sooner than have yielded -up his freedom, or his independence to -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_133' href='#Page_133'>133</a></span> -another; who, high and proud, had no -conception of even the slightest interference -with his conduct or opposition to -his wishes; and who at the very moment -that in words he yielded up his liberty, -sought only the fulfilment of his own -desire, and the attainment of an object -upon which he had fixed his mind. -</p> - -<p> -The day arrived. A trembling bride, and -an impassioned lover faintly articulated -the awful vow. Lord Avondale thought -himself the happiest of men; and Calantha, -though miserable at the moment, -felt that, on earth, she loved but him. In -the presence of her assembled family, they -uttered the solemn engagement, which -bound them through existence to each -other; and though Calantha was deeply -affected, she did not regret the sacred -promise she had made. -</p> - -<p> -When Lord Avondale, however, approached -to take her from her father’s -arms—when she heard that the carriages -awaited, which were to bear them to -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_134' href='#Page_134'>134</a></span> -another residence, nor love, nor force -prevailed. “This is my home,” she -cried: “these are my parents. Share -all I have—dwell with me where I have -ever dwelt; but think not that I can quit -them thus. No spirit of coquetry—no -petty airs, learned or imagined, suggested -this violent and reiterated exclamation—I -will not go.” I will not—was sufficient as -she imagined, to change the most determined -character; and when she found -that force was opposed to her violence, -terror, nay abhorrence took possession of -her mind; and it was with shrieks of despair -she was torn from her father’s bosom. -</p> - -<p> -“Unhappy Avondale!” said Sophia, -as she saw her thus borne away, “may -that violent spirit grow tame, and tractable, -and may Calantha at length prove -worthy of such a husband!” This exclamation -was uttered with a feeling -which mere interest for her cousin could -not have created. In very truth, Sophia -loved Lord Avondale. And Alice MacAllain, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_135' href='#Page_135'>135</a></span> -who heard the prayer with surprise -and indignation, added fervently:—“that -he may make her happy—that he -may know the value of the treasure he -possesses—this is all I ask of heaven.—Oh! -my mistress—my protectress—my -Calantha—what is there left me on earth -to love, now thou art gone? Whatever -they may say of thy errors even those errors -are dearer to my heart, than all the -virtues thou has left behind.” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_136' href='#Page_136'>136</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XVII. -</h2> - -<p> -It was at Allanwater, a small villa amidst -the mountains, in the county of Leitrim, -that Lord and Lady Avondale passed -the first months of their marriage. This -estate had been settled upon Sir Richard -Mowbray, during his lifetime, by his -brother, the late Earl of Avondale. It -was cheerful, though retired; and to Calantha’s -enchanted eyes, appeared all -that was most romantic and beautiful -upon earth. What indeed had not appeared -beautiful to her in the company of -the man she loved! Every one fancies that -there exists in the object of their peculiar -admiration a superiority over others. -Calantha perhaps was fully justified in -this opinion. Lord Avondale displayed -even in his countenance the sensibility of -a warm, ardent and generous character. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_137' href='#Page_137'>137</a></span> -He had a distinguished and prepossessing -manner, entirely free from all affectation. -It is seldom that this can be said of any -man, and more seldom of one possessed -of such singular beauty of person. He -appeared indeed wholly to forget himself; -and was ever more eager in the interests -of others than his own. Many there are, -who, though endowed with the best understandings, -have yet an inertness, an insensibility -to all that is brilliant and accomplished; -and who, though correct in -their observations, yet fatigue in the long -intercourse of life by the sameness of their -thoughts. Lord Avondale’s understanding, -however, fraught as it was with knowledge, -was illumined by the splendid light -of genius, yet not overthrown by its force. -Of his mind, it might be truly said, that -it did not cherish one base, one doubtful -or worldly feeling. He was so sincere -that, even in conversation, he never -mis-stated, or exaggerated a fact. He -saw at a glance the faults of others; -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_138' href='#Page_138'>138</a></span> -but his extreme good nature and benevolence -prevented his taking umbrage -at them. He was, it is true, of a -hot and passionate temper, and if once -justly offended, firm in his resolve, and -not very readily appeased; but he was -too generous to injure or to hate even -those who might deserve it. When he -loved, and he never really loved but one, -it was with so violent, so blind a passion, -that he might be said to doat upon the -very errors of the girl to whom he was -thus attached. To the society of women -he had been early accustomed; but had -suffered too much from their arts, and -felt too often the effects of their caprices, -to be easily made again their dupe and -instrument. Of beauty he had ofttimes -been the willing slave. Strong passion, -opportunity, and entire liberty of conduct, -had, at an early period, thrown him -into its power. His profession, and the -general laxity of morals, prevented his -viewing his former conduct in the light -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_139' href='#Page_139'>139</a></span> -in which it appeared to his astonished -bride; but when she sighed, because she -feared that she was not the first who had -subdued his affections, he smilingly assured -her, that she should be the last—that -no other should ever be dear to him -again. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha, in manner, in appearance, -in every feeling, was but a child. At one -hour, she would look entranced upon -Avondale, and breath vows of love and -tenderness; at another, hide from his -gaze, and weep for the home she had left. -At one time she would talk with him and -laugh from the excess of gaiety she felt; -at another, she would stamp her foot -upon the ground in a fit of childish impatience, -and exclaiming, “You must -not contradict me in any thing,” she -would menace to return to her father, and -never see him more. -</p> - -<p> -If Lord Avondale had a defect, it was -too great good nature, so that he suffered -his vain and frivolous partner, to command, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_140' href='#Page_140'>140</a></span> -and guide, and arrange all things -around him, as she pleased, nor foresaw -the consequence of her imprudence, -though too often carried to excess. With -all his knowledge, he knew not how to -restrain; and he had not the experience -necessary to guide one of her character:—he -could only idolize; he left it to -others to censure and admonish. -</p> - -<p> -It was also for Calantha’s misfortune, -that Lord Avondale’s religious opinions -were different from those in which she -had been early educated. It was perhaps -to shew him the utility of stricter doctrines, -both of faith and morality, that -heaven permitted one so good and noble, -as he was, to be united with one so frail -and weak. Those doctrines which he -loved to discuss, and support in speculation, -she eagerly seized upon, and carried -into practice; thus proving to him -too clearly, their dangerous and pernicious -tendency. Eager to oppose and -conquer those opinions in his wife, which -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_141' href='#Page_141'>141</a></span> -savoured as he thought of bigotry and -prudish reserve, he tore the veil at once -from her eyes, and opened hastily her -wondering mind to a world before unknown. -He foresaw not the peril to -which he exposed her:—he heeded not -the rapid progress of her thoughts—the -boundless views of an over-heated -imagination. At first she shrunk with -pain and horror, from every feeling -which to her mind appeared less chaste, -less pure, than those to which she had -long been accustomed; but when her -principles, or rather her prejudices, -yielded to the power of love, she broke -from a restraint too rigid, into a liberty -the most dangerous from its novelty, its -wildness and its uncertainty. -</p> - -<p> -The monastic severity which she had -imposed upon herself, from exaggerated -sentiments of piety and devotion, gave -way with the rest of her former maxims.—She -knew not where to pause, or rest; -her eyes were dazzled, her understanding -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_142' href='#Page_142'>142</a></span> -bewildered; and she viewed the -world, and the new form which it wore -before her, with strange and unknown -feelings, which she could neither define, -nor command. -</p> - -<p> -Before this period, her eyes had never -even glanced upon the numerous pages -which have unfortunately been traced by -the hand of profaneness and impurity; -even the more innocent fictions of romance -had been withheld from her; and -her mother’s precepts had, in this respect, -been attended to by her with -sacred care. Books of every description -were now, without advice, without selection, -thrown open before her; horror -and astonishment at first retarded the -course of curiosity and interest:—Lord -Avondale smiled; and soon the alarm of -innocence was converted into admiration -at the wit, and beauty with which some -of these works abounded. Care is taken -when the blind are cured, that the strong -light of day should not fall too suddenly -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_143' href='#Page_143'>143</a></span> -upon the eye; but no caution was observed -in at once removing from Calantha’s -mind, the shackles, the superstitions, -the reserve, the restrictions which -overstrained notions of purity and piety -had imposed. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha’s lover had become her -master; and he could not tear himself -one moment from his pupil. He laughed -at every artless or shrewd remark, and -pleased himself with contemplating the -first workings of a mind, not unapt in -learning, though till then exclusively -wrapt up in the mysteries of religion, -the feats of heroes, the poetry of classic -bards, and the history of nations the most -ancient and the most removed.—“Where -have you existed, my Calantha?” he -continually said:—“who have been your -companions?” “I had none,” she replied; -“but wherever I heard of cruelty, -vice, or irreligion, I turned away.” -“Ah, do so still, my best beloved,” said -Lord Avondale, with a sigh. “Be ever -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_144' href='#Page_144'>144</a></span> -as chaste, as frank, as innocent, as now.” -“I cannot,” said Calantha, confused -and grieved. “I thought it the greatest -of all crimes to love:—no ceremony of -marriage—no doctrines, men have invented, -can quiet my conscience:—I know -no longer what to believe, or what to -doubt:—hide me in your bosom:—let -us live far from a world which you say is -full of evil:—and never part from my -side; for you are—Henry you are, all that -is left me now. I look no more for the -protection of Heaven, or the guidance of -parents;—you are my only hope:—do -you preserve and bless me; for I have -left every thing for you.” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_145' href='#Page_145'>145</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XVIII. -</h2> - -<p> -There is nothing so difficult to describe -as happiness. Whether some feeling of -envy enters into the mind upon hearing of -it, or whether it is so calm, so unassuming, -so little ostentatious in itself, that -words give an imperfect idea of it, I -know not. It is easier to enjoy it, than -to define it. It springs in the heart, and -shews itself on the countenance; but it -shuns all display; and is oftener found at -home, when home has not been embittered -by dissensions, suspicions and guilt, -than any where else upon earth. Yes, -it is in home and in those who watch there -for us. Miserable is the being, who turns -elsewhere for consolation! Desolate is -the heart which has broken the ties that -bound it there. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha was happy; her home was -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_146' href='#Page_146'>146</a></span> -blessed; and in Lord Avondale’s society -every hour brought her joy. Perhaps -the feelings which, at this time united -them, were too violent—too tumultuous. -Few can bear to be thus loved—thus indulged: -very few minds are strong -enough to resist it. Calantha was utterly -enervated by it; and when the cares -of life first aroused Lord Avondale, and -called him from her, she found herself -unfit for the new situation she was -immediately required to fill. When -for a few hours he left her, she waited -with trembling anxiety for his return; -and though she murmured not at the -necessary change, her days were spent -in tears, and her nights in restless agitation. -He more than shared in her distress: -he even encouraged the excess of -sensibility which gave rise to it; for men, -whilst they love, think every new caprice -and weakness in the object of it but a new -charm; and whilst Calantha could make -him grave or merry—or angry or pleased, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_147' href='#Page_147'>147</a></span> -just as it suited her, he pardoned every -omission—he forgave every fault. -</p> - -<p> -Used to be indulged and obeyed, she -was not surprised to find him a willing -slave; but she had no conception that -the chains he now permitted to be laid -upon him, were ever to be broken; and -tears and smiles, she thought, must, at all -times, have the power over his heart which -they now possessed. She was not mistaken:—Lord -Avondale was of too fine -a character to trifle with the affections -he had won; and Calantha had too much -sense and spirit to wrong him. He -looked to his home therefore for comfort -and enjoyment. He folded to his bosom -the only being upon earth, for whom he -felt one sentiment of passion or of love. -Calantha had not a thought that he did -not know, and share: his heart was as -entirely open, as her own. -</p> - -<p> -Was it possible to be more happy? It -was; and that blessing too, was granted. -Lady Avondale became a mother:—She -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_148' href='#Page_148'>148</a></span> -gave to Avondale, the dearest gift a wife -can offer—a boy, lovely in all the grace -of childhood—whose rosy smiles, and -whose infant caresses, seemed even more -than ever to unite them together. He -was dear to both; but they were far -dearer to each other. At Allenwater, -in the fine evenings of summer, they -wandered out upon the mountains, and -saw not in the countenance of the villagers -half the tenderness and happiness -they felt themselves. They uttered therefore -no exclamations upon the superior -joy of honest industry:—a cottage offered -nothing to their view, which could -excite either envy or regret:—they gave -to all, and were loved by all; but in all -respects they felt themselves as innocent, -and more happy than those who surrounded -them. -</p> - -<p> -In truth, the greater refinement, the -greater polish the mind and manner -receive, the more exquisite must be the -enjoyment the heart is capable of obtaining. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_149' href='#Page_149'>149</a></span> -Few know how to love:—it is a -word which many misuse; but they who -have felt it, know that there is nothing to -compare with it upon earth. It cannot -however exist if in union with guilt. If -ever it do spring up in a perverted -heart, it constitutes the misery that heart -deserves:—it consumes and tortures, till -it expires. Even, however, when lawful -and virtuous, it may be too violent:—it -may render those who are subject to it, -negligent of other duties, and careless of -other affections: this in some measure -was the case of Lord and Lady Avondale. -</p> - -<p> -From Allenwater, Lord and Lady Avondale -proceeded to Monteith, an estate of -Lord Avondale’s, where his Aunt Lady -Mowbray and his only sister Lady Elizabeth -Mowbray resided. Sir Richard and -Lady Mowbray had never had any children, -but Elizabeth and Lord Avondale -were as dear to them, and perhaps dearer -than if they had been their own. The -society at Monteith was large. There -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_150' href='#Page_150'>150</a></span> -pleasure and gaiety and talent were -chiefly prised and sought after, while a -strong party spirit prevailed. Lady Monteith, -a woman of an acute and penetrating -mind, had warmly espoused the cause -of the ministry of the day. Possessed of -every quality that could most delight in -society,—brilliant, beautiful and of a -truly masculine understanding, she was -accurate in judgment, and at a glance -could penetrate the secrets of others; yet -was she easily herself deceived. She had -a nobleness of mind which the intercourse -with the world and exposure to every -temptation, had not been able to destroy. -Bigotted and prejudiced in opinions which -early habit had consecrated, she was -sometimes too severe in her censures of -others. -</p> - -<p> -At Castle Delaval, the society was even -too refined; and a slight tinge of affectation -might, by those who were inclined -to censure, be imputed to it. Though -ease was not wanting, there was a polish -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_151' href='#Page_151'>151</a></span> -in manner, perhaps in thought, which -removed the general tone somewhat too -far from the simplicity of nature; sentiment, -and all the romance of virtue, -was encouraged. -</p> - -<p> -At Monteith, on the contrary, this over -refinement was the constant topic of ridicule. -Every thought was there uttered, -and every feeling expressed:—there was -neither shyness, nor reserve, nor affectation. -Talent opposed itself to talent with all -the force of argument.—The loud laugh -that pointed out any new folly, or hailed -any new occasion of mirth, was different -from the subdued smile, and gentle hint -to which Calantha had been accustomed. -Opinions were there liberally discussed; -characters stripped of their pretences; -and satire mingled with the good humour, -and jovial mirth, which on every side -abounded. -</p> - -<p> -She heard and saw every thing with -surprise; and though she loved and admired -the individuals, she felt herself -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_152' href='#Page_152'>152</a></span> -unfit to live among them. There was a -liberality of opinion and a satiric turn -which she could not at once comprehend; -and she said to herself, daily, as she considered -those around her—“They are -different from me.—I can never assimilate -myself to them: I was every thing in -my own family; and I am nothing here.” -What talents she had, were of a sort -they could not appreciate; and all the -defects were those which they most despised. -The refinement, the romance, the -sentiment she had imbibed, appeared in -their eyes assumed and unnatural; her -strict opinions perfectly ridiculous; her -enthusiasm absolute insanity; and the -violence of her temper, if contradicted -or opposed, the pettishness of a spoiled -and wayward child. Yet too indulgent, -too kind to reject her, they loved her, they -caressed her, they bore with her petulance -and mistakes. It was, however, as a -child they considered her:—they treated -her as one not arrived at maturity of -judgment. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_153' href='#Page_153'>153</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -Her reason by degrees became convinced -by the arguments which she continually -heard; and all that was spoken at -random, she treasured up as truth: even -whilst vehemently contending and disputing -in defence of her favourite tenets, -she became of another opinion. So dangerous -is a little knowledge—so unstable -is violence. Her soul’s immortal hopes -seemed to be shaken by the unguarded -jests of the profane, who casually visited -at Monteith, or whom she met -with elsewhere:—she read till she confounded -truth and falsehood, nor knew -any longer what to believe:—she heard -folly censured till she took it to be -criminal; but crime she saw tolerated -if well concealed. The names she had -set in her very heart as pure and spotless, -she heard traduced and vilified:—indignantly -she defended them with all the -warmth of ardent youth:—they were -proved guilty; she wept in agony, she -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_154' href='#Page_154'>154</a></span> -loved them not less, but she thought less -favourably of those who had undeceived -her. -</p> - -<p> -The change in Calantha’s mind was -constant—was daily: it never ceased—it -never paused; and none marked its progress, -or checked her career. In emancipating -herself from much that was no -doubt useless, she stripped herself by -degrees of all, till she neither feared, nor -cared, nor knew any longer what was, -from what was not. -</p> - -<p> -Nothing gives greater umbrage than a -misconception and mistaken application -of tenets and opinions which were never -meant to be thus understood and acted -upon. Lady Mowbray, a strict adherent -to all customs and etiquettes, saw with -astonishment in Calantha a total disregard -of them; and her high temper -could ill brook such a defect. Accustomed -to the gentleness of Elizabeth, -she saw with indignation the liberty her -niece had assumed. It was not for her to -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_155' href='#Page_155'>155</a></span> -check her; but rigidity, vehemence in -dispute, and harsh truths, at times too -bitterly expressed on both sides, gave an -appearance of disunion between them, -which happily was very far from being -real, as Calantha loved and admired -Lady Mowbray with the warmest affection. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Avondale, in the mean time, -solely devoted to his wife, blinded himself -to her danger. He saw not the -change a few months had made, or he -imputed it alone to her enthusiasm for -himself. He thought others harsh to -what he regarded as the mere thoughtlessness -of youth; and, surrendering himself -wholly to her guidance, he chided, -caressed and laughed with her in turn. -“I see how it is Henry,” said Sir Richard, -before he left Ireland,—“you are a lost man; -I shall leave you another year to amuse -yourself; and I fancy by that time all -this nonsense will be over. I love you -the better for it, however, my dear boy;—a -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_156' href='#Page_156'>156</a></span> -soldier never looks so well, to my mind, -as when kneeling to a pretty woman, -provided he does his duty abroad, as -well as at home, and that praise every -one must give you.” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_157' href='#Page_157'>157</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XIX. -</h2> - -<p> -The threatening storm of rebellion now -darkened around.—Acts of daily rapine -and outrage alarmed the inhabitants of -Ireland, both in the capital and in the -country: all the military forces were -increased; Lord Avondale’s regiment, -then at Leitrim, was ordered out on -actual service; and the business of his -profession employed every moment of -his time. The vigorous measures pursued, -soon produced a favorable change; -tranquillity was apparently restored; and -the face of things resumed its former appearance; -but the individual minds that -had been aroused to action were not so -easily quieted, and the charms of an -active life were not so readily laid aside. -Lord Avondale was still much abroad—much -occupied; and the time hanging -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_158' href='#Page_158'>158</a></span> -heavy upon Calantha’s hands, she was -not sorry to hear that they were going to -spend the ensuing winter in London. -</p> - -<p> -In the autumn, previous to their departure -for England, they passed a few -weeks at Castle Delaval, chiefly for the -purpose of meeting Lady Margaret Buchanan -who had till then studiously -avoided every occasion of meeting Lady -Avondale. Buchanan had neither seen her -nor sent her one soothing message since -that event, so angry he affected to be, -at what, in reality, gave him the sincerest -delight. -</p> - -<p> -Count Gondimar had returned from -Italy, and was now at the castle. He -had brought letters from Viviani to Lady -Margaret, who said at once when she had -read them: “You wish to deceive me. -These letters are dated from Naples, but -our young friend is here—here even in -Ireland.” “And his vengeance,” said -Gondimar, laughing. Lady Margaret -affected, also, to smile:—“Oh, his vengeance!” -she said, “is yet to come:—save -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_159' href='#Page_159'>159</a></span> -me from his love now; and I will -defend myself from the rest.” -</p> - -<p> -Lord and Lady Dartford were, likewise, -at the castle. He appeared cold -and careless. In his pretty inoffensive -wife, he found not those attractions, those -splendid talents which had enthralled -him for so long a period with Lady Margaret. -He still pined for the tyranny -of caprice, provided the load of responsibility -and exertion were removed: -and the price of his slavery were -that exemption from the petty cares -of life, for which he felt an insurmountable -disgust. From indolence, it -seemed he had fallen again into the -snare which was spread for his ruin; -and having, a second time, submitted to -the chain, he had lost all desire of ever -again attempting to shake it. Lady -Dartford, too innocent to see her danger, -lamented the coldness of her husband, -and loved him with even fonder attachment, -for the doubt she entertained of -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_160' href='#Page_160'>160</a></span> -his affection. She was spoken of by all -with pity and praise: her conduct was -considered as examplary, when, in fact, -it was purely the effect of nature; for -every hope of her heart was centered in -one object, and the fervent constancy of -her affection arose, perhaps, in some -measure from the uncertainty of its being -returned. Lady Margaret continued to -see the young Count Viviani in secret:—he -had now been in Ireland for some -months:—his manner to Lady Margaret -was, however, totally changed:—he -had accosted her, upon his arrival, with -the most distant civility, the most studied -coldness:—he affected ever that marked -indifference which proved him but still -too much in her power; and, while his -heart burned with the scorching flames -of jealousy, he waited for some opportunity -of venting his desire of vengeance, -which, from its magnitude, -might effectually satisfy his rage. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Dartford saw him once as he was -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_161' href='#Page_161'>161</a></span> -retiring in haste from Lady Margaret’s -apartment; and he enquired of her eagerly -who he was.—“A young musician, a -friend of Gondimar’s, an Italian,” said -Lady Margaret. “He has not an Italian -countenance,” said Lord Dartford, -thoughtfully. “I wish I had not seen -him:—it is a face which makes a deep -and even an unpleasant impression. You -call him Viviani, do you?—whilst I live, -I never shall forget Viviani!” -</p> - -<p> -Cards, billiards and music, were the -usual nightly occupations. Sir Everard -St. Clare and the Count Gondimar sometimes -entered into the most tedious and -vehement political disputes, unless when -Calantha could influence the latter -enough to make him sing, which he did -in an agreeable, though not in an unaffected -manner. At these times, Mrs. Seymour, -with Sophia and Frances, unheeding -either the noise or the gaiety, eternally -embroidered fancy muslins, or, -with persevering industry, painted upon -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_162' href='#Page_162'>162</a></span> -velvet. Calantha mocked at these innocent -recreations. “Unlike music, -drawing and reading, which fill the -mind,” she said;—“unlike even to dancing -which, though accounted an absurd -mode of passing away time, is active and -appears natural to the human form and -constitution.” -</p> - -<p> -“Tell me Avondale,” Calantha would -say, “can any thing be more tedious -than that incessant irritation of the fingers—that -plebian, thrifty and useless mode -of increasing in women a love of dress—a -selfish desire of adorning their own -persons?—I ever loathed it.—There is a -sort of self-satisfaction about these ingenious -working ladies, which is perfectly -disgusting. It gratifies all the little -errors of a narrow mind, under the appearance -of a notable and domestic turn. -At times, when every feeling of the heart -should have been called forth, I have seen -Sophia examining the patterns of a new -gown, and curiously noting every fold of -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_163' href='#Page_163'>163</a></span> -a strangers dress. Because a woman -who, like a mechanic, has turned her -understanding, and hopes, and energies, -into this course, remains uninjured by -the storms around her, is she to be admired?—must -she be exalted?” “It is -not their occupation, but their character, -you censure:—I fear, Calantha, -it is their very virtue you despise.” “Oh -no!” she replied, indignantly: “when -real virtue, struggling with temptations -of which these senseless, passionless -creatures have no conception, clinging -for support to Heaven, yet preserves itself -uncorrupted amidst the vicious and -the base, it deserves a crown of glory, -and the praise and admiration of every -heart. Not so these spiritless immaculate -prejudiced sticklers for propriety. I -do not love Sophia:—no, though she ever -affords me a cold extenuation for my -faults—though through life she considers -me as a sort of friend whom fate has imposed -upon her through the ties of consanguinity. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_164' href='#Page_164'>164</a></span> -I did not—could not—cannot -love her; but there are some, far -better than herself, noble ardent characters, -unsullied by a taint of evil; and -I think, Avondale, without flattery, you -are in the list, that I would die to -save; that I would bear every torture -and ignominy, to support and render -happy.”—“Try then my Calantha,” -said Lord Avondale, “to render them -so; for, believe me, there is no agony -so great as to remember that we have -caused one moment’s pang to such as -have been kind and good to us.” “You -are right,” said Calantha, looking upon -him with affection. -</p> - -<p> -Oh! if there be a pang of heart too -terrible to endure and to imagine, it -would be the consideration that we have -returned unexampled kindness, by ingratitude, -and betrayed the generous -noble confidence that trusted every thing -to our honour and our love. Calantha -had not, however, this heavy charge to -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_165' href='#Page_165'>165</a></span> -answer for at the time in which she spoke, -and her thoughts were gay, and all those -around seemed to share in the happiness -she felt. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Avondale one day reproved Calantha -for her excessive love of music.—“You -have censured work,” he said, -“imputed to it every evil, the cold and -the passionless can fall into:—I now retort -your satire upon music.” Some -may smile at this; but had not Lord -Avondale’s observation more weight than -at first it may appear. Lady Avondale -often rode to Glanaa to hear Miss St. Clare -sing. Gondimar sung not like her; and -his love breathing ditties went not to the -heart, like the hymns of the lovely recluse. -But for the deep flushes which -now and then overspread St. Clare’s -cheeks, and the fire which at times animated -her bright dark eye, some might -have fancied her a being of a purer nature -than our own—one incapable of feeling -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_166' href='#Page_166'>166</a></span> -any of the fierce passions that disturb -mankind; but her voice was such as to -shake every fibre of the heart, and might -soon have betrayed to an experienced observer -the empassioned violence of her -real character. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Everard, who had one day accompanied -Calantha to the convent, asked -his niece in a half serious, half jesting -manner, concerning her gift of prophecy. -“Have not all this praying and -fasting, cured you of it, my little Sybel?” -he said.—“No,” replied the girl; -“but that which you are so proud of, -makes me sad:—it is this alone which -keeps me from the sports which delight my -companions:—it is this which makes me -weep when the sun shines bright in the -clear heavens, and the bosom of the sea -is calm.”—“Will you shew us a specimen -of your art?” said Sir Everard, eagerly.—Miss -St. Clare coloured, and smiling -archly at him, “The inspiration is not on -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_167' href='#Page_167'>167</a></span> -me now, uncle,” she said; “when it is, -I will send and let you know.”—Calantha -embraced her, and returned from her -visit more and more enchanted with her -singular acquaintance. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_168' href='#Page_168'>168</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XX. -</h2> - -<p> -As soon as Lord and Lady Avondale had -quitted Castle Delaval, they returned to -Allanwater, previous to their departure -for England. Buchanan, as if to mark his -still-continued resentment against Calantha, -arrived at Castle Delaval, accompanied -by some of his London acquaintance -almost as soon as she had quitted it. -He soon distinguished himself in that circle -by his bold libertine manners, his -daring opinions and his overbearing temper. -He declared himself at utter enmity -with all refinement, and professed his distaste -for what is termed good society. It -was not long, however, before Lady Margaret -observed a strange and sudden alteration -in her son’s manners and deportment:—he -entered into every amusement -proposed; he became more than usually -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_169' href='#Page_169'>169</a></span> -condescending; and Alice Mac Allain, it -was supposed, was the sole cause of his -reform. -</p> - -<p> -Alice was credulous; and when she was -first told that she was as fair as the opening -rose, and soft and balmy as the summer -breeze, she listened with delight to -the flattering strain, and looked in the -mirror to see if all she heard, were true. -She beheld there a face, lovely as youth -and glowing health could paint it, dimpling -with ever-varying smiles, while hair, -like threads of gold, curled in untaught -ringlets over eyes of the lightest blue; -and when she heard that she was loved, -she could not bring herself to mistrust -those vows which her own bosom was -but too well prepared to receive. She -had, perhaps, been won by the first who -had attempted to gain her affections; but -she fell into hands where falsehood had -twined itself around the very heart’s -core:—she learned to love in no common -school, and one by one every principle -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_170' href='#Page_170'>170</a></span> -and every thought was perverted; but it -was not Buchanan who had to answer -for her fall! She sunk into infamy, it -is true, and ruin irreparable; but she -passed through all the glowing course -of passion and romance; nor awoke, till -too late, from the dream which had deluded -her. -</p> - -<p> -Her old father, Gerald Mac Allain, had, -with the Duke’s permission, promised -her hand in marriage to a young man in -the neighbourhood, much esteemed for -his good character. Linden had long -considered himself as an approved suitor. -When, therefore, he was first informed -of the change which had occurred in her -sentiments, and, more than all, when he -was told with every aggravation of her -misconduct and duplicity, he listened to -the charge with incredulity, until the -report of it was confirmed from her own -lips, by an avowal, that she thought herself -no longer worthy of accepting his -generous offer,—that to be plain, she -loved another, and wished never more to -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_171' href='#Page_171'>171</a></span> -see him, or to hear the reproaches which -she acknowledged were her due. “I -will offer you no reproaches,” said -Linden, in the only interview he had -with her; “but remember, Miss Mac Allain, -when I am far away, that if ever -those who, under the name of friend, -have beguiled and misled you, should -prove false and fail you,—remember, that -whilst Linden lives, there is one left who -would gladly lay down his life to defend -and preserve you, and who, being forced -to quit you, never will reproach you: no, -Alice—never.” -</p> - -<p> -“Gerald,” said Lady Margaret, on the -morning when Alice was sent in disgrace -from the castle, “I will have no private -communication between yourself and -your daughter. She will be placed at -present in a respectable family; and her -future conduct will decide in what manner -she will be disposed of hereafter.” -The old man bent to the ground in silent -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_172' href='#Page_172'>172</a></span> -grief; for the sins of children rise up in -judgment against their parents. “Oh -let me not be sent from hence in disgrace,” -said the weeping girl; “drive -me not to the commission of crime.—I -am yet innocent.—Pardon a first offence.” -“Talk not of innocence,” said Lady -Margaret, sternly: “those guilty looks -betray you.—Your nocturnal rambles, -your daily visits to the western cliff, your -altered manner,—all have been observed -by me and Buchanan”—“Oh say not, at -least, that he accuses me. Whatever my -crime, I am guiltless, at least, towards -him.” “Guiltless or not, you must quit -our family immediately; and to-morrow, -at an early hour, see that you are prepared.” -</p> - -<p> -It was to Sir Everard’s house that Alice -was conveyed. There were many reasons -which rendered this abode more -convenient to Lady Margaret than any -other. The Doctor was timid and subservient, -and Count Gondimar was already -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_173' href='#Page_173'>173</a></span> -a great favourite of the youngest -daughter, so that the whole family were -in some measure, in Lady Margaret’s -power. Her ladyship accordingly insisted -upon conveying Alice, herself, to -Lady St. Clare’s house; and having safely -lodged her in her new apartment, returned -to the castle, in haste, and appeared -at dinner, pleased with her morning’s adventure; -her beauty more radiant from -success. -</p> - -<p> -It is said that nothing gives a brighter -glow to the complexion, or makes the -eyes of a beautiful woman sparkle so -intensely, as triumph over another. Is -this, however, the case with respect to -women alone? Buchanan’s florid cheek -was dimpled with smiles; no sleepless -night had dimmed the lustre of his eye; -he talked incessantly, and with unusual affability -addressed himself to all, except to -his mother; while a look of gratified vanity -was observable whenever the absence of -Alice was alluded to. He had been pleased -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_174' href='#Page_174'>174</a></span> -with being the cause of ruin to any -woman; but his next dearest gratification -was the having it supposed that he was -so. He was much attacked upon this -occasion, and much laughing and whispering -was heard. The sufferings of -love are esteemed lightly till they are -felt; and there were, on this occasion, -few at the Duke’s table, if any, who had -ever really known them. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_175' href='#Page_175'>175</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXI. -</h2> - -<p> -Time which passes swiftly and thoughtlessly -for the rich and the gay, treads -ever with leaden foot, for those who are -miserable and deserted. Bright prospects -carry the thoughts onward; but -for the mourning heart, it is the direct -reverse:—it lives on the memory of the -past; traces ever the same dull round; -and loses itself in vain regrets, and useless -retrospections. No joyous morn -now rose to break the slumbers of the -once innocent and happy Alice: peace -of mind was gone, like the lover who -had first won her affections only, it -seemed, to abandon her to shame and -remorse. -</p> - -<p> -At Sir Everard’s, Alice was treated -with impertinent curiosity, tedious advice -and unwise severity. “I hate people in -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_176' href='#Page_176'>176</a></span> -the clouds,” cried the Doctor, as he led -her to her new apartment. “Who -would walk in a stubble field with their -eyes gazing upon the stars?—You would -perhaps, and then let me say, nobody -would pity you, Miss, if you tumbled -into the mire.” “But kind people would -help me up again, and the unkind -alone would mock at me, and pass on.” -“There are so many misfortunes in this -life, Miss Mac Allain, which come unexpectedly -upon us, that, for my life, I -have not a tear to spare for those who -bring them on themselves.” “Yet, -perhaps, sir, they are of all others, the -most unfortunate.” “Miss Alice, mark -me, I cannot enter into arguments, or -rather shall not, for we do not always -think proper to do what we can. Conscious -rectitude is certainly a valuable -feeling, and I am anxious to preserve it -now: therefore, as I have taken charge -of you, Miss, which is not what I am -particularly fond of doing, I must execute -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_177' href='#Page_177'>177</a></span> -what I think my duty. Please then -to give over weeping, as it is a thing in -a woman which never excites commiseration -in me. Women and children cry -out of spite: I have noticed them by the -hour: therefore, dry your eyes; think -less of love, more of your duty; and recollect -that people who step out of their -sphere are apt to tumble downwards till -the end of their days, as nothing is so -disagreeable as presumption in a woman. -I hate presumption, do I not Lady St. -Clare? So no more heroics, young Miss,” -continued he, smiling triumphantly, and -shaking his head:—“no more heroics, -if you value my opinion. I hate romance -and fooleries in women: do I not, Lady -St. Clare?—and heaven be praised, since -the absence of my poor mad brother, we -have not a grain of it in our house. We -are all downright people, not afraid of -being called vulgar, because we are of -the old school; and when you have lived -a little time with us, Miss, we shall, I -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_178' href='#Page_178'>178</a></span> -hope, teach you a little sound common -sense—a very valuable commodity let me -tell you, though you fine people hold it -in disrepute.” -</p> - -<p> -In this manner, Miss Mac Allain’s -mornings were spent, and her evenings -even more tediously; for the Doctor, -alarmed at the republican principles -which he observed fast spreading, was -constantly employed in writing pamphlets -in favour of government, which he -read aloud to his family, when not at the -castle, before he committed them to the -Dublin press. Two weeks were thus -passed, by Alice, with resignation; a -third, it seems was beyond her endurance; -for one morning Sir Everard’s daughters -entering in haste, informed their father -and mother that she was gone. “Gone,” -cried Lady St. Clare! “the thing is impossible.” -“Gone,” cried Sir Everard! -“and where? and how?” The maids -were called, and one Charley Wright, -who served for footman, coachman and -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_179' href='#Page_179'>179</a></span> -every thing else upon occasion, was dispatched -to seek her, while the doctor without -waiting to hear his wife’s surmises, or -his daughter’s lamentations, seized his -hat and stick and walked in haste to the -castle. -</p> - -<p> -His body erect, his cane still under his -arm, the brogue stronger than ever from -inward agitation, he immediately addressed -himself to the Duke and Lady -Margaret and soon converted their smiles -into fear and anger, by informing them -that Alice Mac Allain had eloped. -</p> - -<p> -Orders were given, that every enquiry -should be made for the fugitive; and the -company at the castle being informed one -by one of the event, lost themselves in conjectures -upon it. Lady Margaret had no -doubt herself, that her son was deeply implicated -in the affair, and in consequence -every search was set on foot, but, as it -proved in the event, without the least success. -Mr. Buchanan had left Castle Delaval -the week before, which confirmed -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_180' href='#Page_180'>180</a></span> -the suspicions already entertained on his -account. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Avondale was in London when -she was informed of this event. Her -grief for Alice’s fate was very sincere, -and her anxiety for her even greater; -but Lord Avondale participated in her -sorrow—he endeavoured to sooth her -agitation; and how could he fail in his -attempt: even misery is lightened, if it -is shared; and one look, one word, from -a heart which seems to comprehend our -suffering, alleviates the bitterness. -</p> - -<p> -Though Lady Avondale had not seen -Buchanan since her marriage, and had -heard that he was offended with her, she -wrote to him immediately upon hearing -of Alice’s fate, and urged him by every tie, -she thought most sacred and dear—by -every impression most likely to awaken -his compassion, to restore the unfortunate -girl to her suffering father, or at -least to confide her, to her care, that she -might if possible protect and save her -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_181' href='#Page_181'>181</a></span> -from further misfortune.—To her extreme -astonishment, she received an answer -to this letter with a positive assurance -from him that he had no concern, -whatever in Miss Mac Allain’s departure; -that he was as ignorant as herself, whither -she could be gone; and that it might be -recollected he had left Castle Delaval -some days previous to that event. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Dartford who had returned to -London and sometimes corresponded -with Sophia, now corroborated Buchanan’s -statement, and assured her that she had -no reason to believe Buchanan concerned -in this dark affair, as she had seen him -several times and he utterly denied it. Lady -Dartford was however too innocent, and -inexperienced to know how men of the -world can deceive; she was even ignorant -of her husband’s conduct; and -though she liked not Lady Margaret, she -doubted not that she was her friend:—who -indeed doubts till they learn by -bitter experience the weakness of confiding! -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_182' href='#Page_182'>182</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXII. -</h2> - -<p> -The whole party, at Castle Delaval, now -proceeded to London for the winter, -where Lord and Lady Avondale were already -established in the Duke’s mansion -in .... Square. -</p> - -<p> -A slight cold and fever, added to the -anxiety and grief Lady Avondale had -felt for her unhappy friend, had confined -her entirely to her own apartment; and -since her arrival in town, Count Gondimar -was almost the only person who -had been hitherto admitted to her presence. -</p> - -<p> -He and Viviani now lodged in the -same house; but the latter still concealed -himself and never was admitted to Lady -Margaret’s presence except secretly and -with caution. He often enquired after Calantha; -and one evening the following -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_183' href='#Page_183'>183</a></span> -conversation took place respecting her -between himself and the Count: -</p> - -<p> -“You remember her,” said Gondimar, -“a wild and wayward girl. Is -she less, do you suppose, an object of -attraction now in the more endearing -character of mother and of wife—so gentle, -so young she seems, so pure, and yet so -passionately attached to her husband and -infant boy, that I think even you Viviani -would feel convinced of her integrity. -She seems indeed one born alone to love, -and to be loved, if love itself might -exist in a creature whom purity, and every -modest feeling seem continually to surround.” -</p> - -<p> -Viviani smiled in scorn. “Gondimar, -this Calantha, this fair and spotless flower -is a woman, and, as such, she must be -frail. Besides, I know that she is so in a -thousand instances, though as yet too -innocent to see her danger, or to mistrust -our sex. You have often described to me -her excessive fondness for music. What -think you of it? She does not hear it as the -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_184' href='#Page_184'>184</a></span> -Miss Seymours hear it, you tell me. -She does not admire it, as one of the -lovers of harmony might. Oh no; she -feels it in her very soul—it awakens -every sensibility—it plays upon the -chords of her overheated imagination—it -fills her eyes with tears, and strengthens -and excites the passions, which it appears -to soothe and to compose. There is nothing -which the power of music cannot -effect, when it is thus heard. Your Calantha -feels it to a dangerous excess. -Let me see her, and I will sing to her till -the chaste veil of every modest feeling -is thrown aside, and thoughts of fire -dart into her bosom, and loosen every -principle therein. Oh I would trust every -thing to the power of melody. Calantha -is fond of dancing too, I hear; and -dancing is the order of the night. This -is well; and once, though she saw me -not amidst the crowd, I marked her, as -she lightly bounded the gayest in the -circle, from the mere excess of the animal -spirits of youth. Now Miss Seymour -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_185' href='#Page_185'>185</a></span> -dances; but it is with modest dignity: -her sister Frances dances also, and -it is with much skill and grace, her sidelong -glance searching for admiration as -she passes by; but Calantha sees not, -thinks not, when she dances:—her heart -beats with joyous pleasure—her countenance -irradiates—and almost wild with -delight, she forgets every thing but the -moment she enjoys. Let Viviani but for -one night be her partner, and you shall see -how pure is this Calantha. She boasts -too of the most unclouded happiness, you -tell me, and of the most perfect state of security -and bliss; they who soar above -others, on the wings of romance, will fall. -Oh surely they will fall. Let her but -continue in her present illusion a few -short years—let her but take the common -chances of the life she will be called upon -to lead; and you, or I, or any man, may -possess her affections, nor boast greatly -of the conquest. In one word, she is -now in London. Give but Viviani one -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_186' href='#Page_186'>186</a></span> -opportunity of beholding her: it is all I -ask.” -</p> - -<p> -Gondimar listened to his young friend -with regret. “There are women enough, -Viviani,” he said mournfully; “spare -this one. I have an interest in her safety.”—“I -shall not seek her,” replied Viviani -proudly: “please your own fancy: -I care not for these triflers—not I.” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_187' href='#Page_187'>187</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXIII. -</h2> - -<p> -To that heartless mass of affectation, to -that compound of every new and every -old absurdity, to that subservient spiritless -world of fashion, Lady Avondale was -now for the first time introduced. It -burst at once upon her delighted view, -like a new paradise of unenjoyed sweets—like -a fairy kingdom peopled with -ideal inhabitants. Whilst she resided -at Monteith and Castle Delaval, she had -felt an eager desire to improve her mind; -study of every sort was her delight, for -he who instructed her was her lover—her -husband; one smile, from him could -awaken every energy—one frown, repress -every feeling of gaiety, for every word he -uttered amused and pleased; she learned -with more aptness than a school-boy; -and he who wondered at the quickness -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_188' href='#Page_188'>188</a></span> -of his pupil, forgot to ascribe her exertions -and success to the power which -alone occasioned them—a power which -conquers every difficulty and endures -every trial. -</p> - -<p> -Arrived in that gay city, that fair mart -where pleasure and amusement gather -around their votaries,—where incessant -hurry after novelty employs every energy, -and desire of gaiety fills every hour, every -feeling and every thought, Calantha -hailed every new acquaintance—every -new amusement; and her mind unpolished -and ignorant, opened with admiration -and wonder upon so new, so diversified -a scene. To the language of praise -and affection, she had been used; to unlimited -indulgence and liberty, she was -accustomed; but the soft breathing voice -of flattery, sounded to her ear far sweeter, -than any other more familiar strain; -though often, in the midst of its blandishments, -she turned away to seek for -Lord Avondale’s approbation. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_189' href='#Page_189'>189</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -Calantha was happy before; but now it -was like a dream of enchantment; and -her only regret was that her husband -seemed not to partake as much, as she -could have wished in her delight. Yet -he knew the innocence of her heart, the -austerity with which she shrunk from the -bare thought of evil; and he had trusted -her even in the lion’s den, so certain was -he of her virtue, and attachment. Indeed, -Lord Avondale, though neither puffed -with vanity, nor overbearing with pride, -could not but be conscious, as he looked -around, that both in beauty of person, -in nobility of parentage, and more than -these, in the impassioned feelings of an -uncorrupted heart, and the rich gifts of -a mind enlightened by wisdom and study,—none -were his superiors, and very few -his equals; and if his Calantha could -have preferred the effeminate and frivolous -beings who surrounded her, to his -sincere and strong attachment, would -she be worthy, in such case, of a single -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_190' href='#Page_190'>190</a></span> -sigh of regret or the smallest struggle to -retain her!—No:—he was convinced -that she would not; and, as in word -and deed, he was faithful to her, he -feared not to let her take the course which -others trod, or enjoy the smiles of fortune, -while youth and happiness were in -her possession. -</p> - -<p> -The steed that never has felt the curb, -as it flies lightly and wildly proud of its -liberty among its native hills and valleys, -may toss its head and plunge as it snuffs -the air and rejoices in its existence, while -the tame and goaded hack trots along -the beaten road, starting from the lash -under which it trembles and stumbling -and falling, if not constantly upheld.—Now -see the goal before her. Calantha -starts for the race. Nor curb, nor rein -have ever fettered the pupil of nature—the -proud, the daring votress of liberty -and love. What though she quit the -common path, if honour and praise accompany -her steps, and crown her with -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_191' href='#Page_191'>191</a></span> -success, shall he who owns her despise -her? or must he, can he, mistrust her? -He did not; and the high spirits of uncurbed -youth were in future her only -guide—the gayest therefore, where all -were gay—the kindest, for excess of -happiness renders every heart kind. -In a few months after Lady Avondale’s -arrival in London, she was surrounded, as -it appeared, by friends who would have -sacrificed their lives and fortunes to give -her pleasure. Friends!—it was a name -she was in the habit of giving to the first -who happened to please her fancy. This -even was not required: the frowns of -the world were sufficient to endear the -objects it censures to her affection; and -they who had not a friend, and deserved -not to have one, were sure, without other -recommendation to find one in Calantha. -All looked fresh, beautiful and new to -her eyes; every person she met appeared -kind, honourable and sincere; and every -party brilliant; for her heart, blest in itself -reflected its own sunshine around. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_192' href='#Page_192'>192</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Seymour, after her arrival in -town was pleased to see Calantha so -happy. No gloomy fear obtruded itself; -she saw all things with the unclouded -eye of virtue; yet when she considered -how many faults, how many imprudences, -her thoughtless spirits might lead her to -commit, she trembled for her; and once -when Calantha boasted of the extacy she -enjoyed—“long may that innocent heart -feel thus,” she said, “my only, my beloved -niece; but whilst the little bark is -decked with flowers, and sails gaily in a -tranquil sea, steer it steadily, remembering -that rough gales may come and we -should ever be prepared.” She spoke -with an air of melancholy: she had perhaps, -herself, suffered from the goodness -and openness of her heart; but whatever -the faults and sorrows into which she -had fallen, no purer mind ever existed -than hers—no heart ever felt more -strongly. -</p> - -<p> -The affectation of generosity is common; -the reality is so rare, that its constant -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_193' href='#Page_193'>193</a></span> -and silent course passes along unperceived, -whilst prodigality and ostentation -bear away the praise of mankind.—Calantha -was esteemed generous; yet indifference -for what others valued, and -thoughtless profusion were the only -qualities she possessed. It is true that -the sufferings of others melted a young -and ardent heart into the performance -of many actions which would -never have occurred to those of a colder -and more prudent nature. But was -there any self-denial practised; and was -not she, who bestowed, possessed of -every luxury and comfort, her varying -and fanciful caprices could desire! Never -did she resist the smallest impulse or -temptation. If to give had been a crime, -she had committed it; for it gave her pain -to refuse, and she knew not how to deprive -herself of any gratification. She lavished, -therefore, all she had, regardless of every -consequence; but happily for her, she -was placed in a situation which prevented -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_194' href='#Page_194'>194</a></span> -her from suffering as severely for her -faults, as probably she deserved. -</p> - -<p> -Two friends now appeared to bless her -further, as she thought, by their affection -and confidence—Lady Mandeville, and -Lady Augusta Selwyn. The former she -loved; the latter she admired. Lord -Avondale observed her intimacy with -Lady Mandeville with regret; and once, -though with much gentleness, reproved -her for it. “Henry,” she replied, “say -not one word against my beautiful, though -perhaps unfortunate friend: spare Lady -Mandeville; and I will give you up Lady -Augusta Selwyn; but remember the -former is unprotected and unhappy.” -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Seymour was present when Lord -Avondale had thus ventured to hint his -disapprobation of Calantha’s new acquaintance.—“Say -at once, that Calantha -shall not see any more of one whom -you disapprove:—her own character is -not established. Grace and manner are -prepossessing qualities; but it is decorum -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_195' href='#Page_195'>195</a></span> -and a rational adherence to propriety -which alone can secure esteem. Tell me -not of misfortunes,” continued Mrs. Seymour, -with increasing zeal in the good -cause, and turning from Lord Avondale -to Calantha. “A woman who breaks -through the lesser rules which custom -and public opinion have established, deserves -to lose all claim to respect; and -they who shrink not at your age, from -even the appearance of guilt, because -they dread being called severe and prudish, -too generally follow the steps of the -victims their false sentiments of pity -have induced them to support. Lord -Avondale” continued she, with more of -warmth than it was her custom to shew—“you -will lament, when it is too late, -the ruin of this child. Those who now -smile at Calantha’s follies will soon be -the first to frown upon her faults. She is -on the road to perdition; and now is -the moment, the only moment perhaps, -in which to check her course. You advise:—I -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_196' href='#Page_196'>196</a></span> -command. My girls at least, -shall not associate with Lady Mandeville, -whom no one visits. Lady Avondale -of course is her own mistress.” -</p> - -<p> -Piqued at Mrs. Seymour’s manner, -Calantha appealed to her husband: “and -shall I give up my friend, because she -has none but me to defend her? Shall -my friendship—” “Alas Calantha,” said -Lord Avondale, “you treat the noblest -sentiment of the heart as a toy which is -to be purchased to-day, and thrown aside -to-morrow. Believe me, friendship is -not to be acquired by a few morning visits; -nor is it to be found, though I fear it -is too often lost, in the crowd of fashion.” -He spoke this mournfully. The ready -tears trembled in Lady Avondale’s eyes.—“I -will see no more of her, if it gives -you pain. I will never visit her again.”—Lord -Avondale could not bear to grieve -her. -</p> - -<p> -A servant entered with a note, whilst -they were yet together:—a crimson blush -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_197' href='#Page_197'>197</a></span> -suffused Calantha’s cheeks. “I see” said -Lord Avondale smiling, as if fearful of -losing her confidence,—“it is from your -new friend.” It was so:—she had sent -her carriage with a request that Lady -Avondale would immediately call upon -her.—She hesitated; looked eagerly for -a permission, which was too soon granted; -and, without making any excuse, for she -had not yet learned the art, she hastened -from the lowering eyes of the deeply offended -Mrs. Seymour. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_198' href='#Page_198'>198</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXIV. -</h2> - -<p> -Long as she had now been known to -Lady Mandeville, she had only once before -seen her at her own house. She -now found her reclining upon a sofa in -an apartment more prettily than magnificently -ornamented:—a shawl was thrown -gracefully over her; and her hair, in -dark auburn ringlets, half concealed her -languishing blue eyes. Lady Mandeville -was at this time no longer in the very -prime of youth. Her air and manner -had not that high polish, which at first -sight seduces and wins. On the contrary, -it rather was the reverse, and a certain -pedantry took off much from the charm -of her conversation. Yet something -there was about her, which attracted. -She seemed sincere too, and had less of -that studied self-satisfied air, than most -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_199' href='#Page_199'>199</a></span> -women, who affect to be well informed. -</p> - -<p> -“I am glad you are come, my loved -friend,” she said, extending her hand to -Calantha when she entered. “I have just -been translating an Ode of Pindar:—his -poetry is sublime: it nerves the soul and -raises it above vulgar cares;—but you do -not understand Greek, do you? Indeed to -you it would be a superfluous acquisition, -married as you are, and to such a man.”—Lady -Avondale, rather puzzled as to the -connection between domestic happiness, -and the Greek language, listened for -further explanation;—but with a deep -sigh, her lovely acquaintance talked of -her fate, and referred to scenes and times -long passed, and utterly unknown to her. -She talked much too of injured innocence, -of the malignity of the world, of -her contempt for her own sex, and of the -superiority of men. -</p> - -<p> -Children as fair, and more innocent -than their mother, entered whilst she was -yet venting her complaints. A husband -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_200' href='#Page_200'>200</a></span> -she had not;—but lovers. What man -was there who could see her, and not, at -all events wish himself of the number! -Yet she assured Lady Avondale, who believed -her, that she despised them all; -that moreover she was miserable, but -vicious; that her very openness and -frankness ought to prove that there was -nothing to conceal. The thought of -guilt entered not at that time into Calantha’s -heart; and when a woman affirmed -that she was innocent, it excited -in her no other surprise, than that she -should, for one moment, suppose her so -barbarous, and so malevolent, as to think -otherwise. Indeed there seemed to her -as great a gulph between those she -loved, and vice, as that which separates -the two extremes of wickedness and -virtue; nor had she yet learned to comprehend -the language of hypocrisy and -deceit. -</p> - -<p> -Though the presence of the children -had not made any difference, the entrance -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_201' href='#Page_201'>201</a></span> -of three gentlemen, whom Lady Mandeville -introduced to Lady Avondale, as -her lovers, gave a new turn to the conversation; -and here it should be explained, -that the term lover, when Lady -Mandeville used it, was intended to -convey no other idea than that of an -humble attendant,—a bearer of shawls, -a writer of sonnets, and a caller of carriages. -“With Lord Dallas you are already -acquainted,” she said, sighing -gently. “I wish now to introduce to you -Mr. Clarendon, a poet: and Mr. Tremore, -what are you? speak for yourself; -for I hardly know in what manner to -describe you.” “I am anything, and -everything that Lady Mandeville pleases,” -said Mr. Tremore, bowing to the ground, -and smiling languidly upon her. Mr. -Tremore was one of the most unsightly -lovers that ever aspired to bear the name. -He was of a huge circumference, and -what is unusual in persons of that make, -he was a mass of rancour and malevolence—gifted -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_202' href='#Page_202'>202</a></span> -however with a wit so -keen and deadly, that with its razor edge, -he cut to the heart most of his enemies, -and all his friends. Lord Dallas, diminutive -and conceited, had a brilliant wit, -spoke seldom, and studied deeply every -sentence which he uttered. He affected -to be absent; but in fact no one ever -forgot himself so seldom. His voice, -untuned and harsh, repeated with a forced -emphasis certain jests and bon mots -which had been previously made, and -adapted for certain conversations. Mr. -Clarendon alone seemed gifted with every -kind of merit:—he had an open ingenuous -countenance, expressive eyes, and a -strong and powerful mind. -</p> - -<p> -The conversation alternately touched -upon the nature of love, the use and -beauty of the greek language, the pleasures -of maternal affection, and the insipidity -of all English society. It was -rather metaphorical at times:—there was -generally in it a want of nature—an attempt -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_203' href='#Page_203'>203</a></span> -at display: but to Calantha it appeared -too singular, and too attractive to -wish it otherwise. She had been used, -however, to a manner rather more refined—more -highly polished than any -she found out of her own circle and family. -A thousand things shocked her -at first, which afterwards she not only -tolerated, but adopted. There was a -want of ease, too, in many societies, to -which she could not yet accustom herself; -and she knew not exactly what it -was which chilled and depressed her when -in the presence of many who were, upon a -nearer acquaintance, amiable and agreeable. -Perhaps too anxious a desire to -please, too great a regard for trifles, a -sort of selfishness, which never loses -sight of its own identity, occasions this -coldness among these votaries of fashion. -The dread of not having that air, that -dress, that refinement which they value -so much, prevents their obtaining it; -and a degree of vulgarity steals unperceived -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_204' href='#Page_204'>204</a></span> -amidst the higher classes in England, -from the very apprehension they -feel of falling into it. Even those, who -are natural, do not entirely appear so. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha’s life was like a feverish -dream:—so crowded, so varied, so swift -in its transitions, that she had little time -to reflect; and when she did, the memory -of the past was so agreeable and so brilliant, -that it gave her pleasure to think -of it again and again. If Lord Avondale -was with her, every place appeared even -more than usually delightful; but, when -absent, her letters, no longer filled with -lamentations on her lonely situation, -breathed from a vain heart the lightness, -and satisfaction it enjoyed. -</p> - -<p> -It may be supposed that one so frivolous -and so thoughtless, committed every -possible fault and folly which opportunity -and time allowed. It may also be supposed, -that such imprudence met with its just -reward; and that every tongue was busy -in its censure, and every gossip in exaggerating -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_205' href='#Page_205'>205</a></span> -the extraordinary feats of such -a trifler. Yet Calantha, upon the whole, -was treated with only too much kindness; -and the world, though sometimes called -severe, seemed willing to pause ere it -would condemn, and was intent alone to -spare—to reclaim a young offender. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_206' href='#Page_206'>206</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXV. -</h2> - -<p> -How different from the animated discussion -at Lady Mandeville’s, was the -loud laugh and boisterous tone of Lady -Augusta Selwyn, whom Calantha found, -on her return, at that very moment stepping -from her carriage, and enquiring -for her. “Ah, my dear sweet friend,” -she cried, flying towards Calantha, and -shaking her painfully by the hand, “this -fortuitous concurrence of atoms, fills my -soul with rapture. But I was resolved to -see you. I have promised and vowed -three things in your name; therefore, -consider me as your sponsor, and indeed -I am old enough to be such. In the first -place, you must come to me to-night, for -I have a little supper, and all my guests -attend only in the hope of meeting you. -You are the bribe I have held out—you -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_207' href='#Page_207'>207</a></span> -are to stand me in lieu of a good house, -good cook, agreeable husband, and -pretty face,—in all of which I am most -unfortunately deficient. Having confessed -thus much, it would be barbarous, -it would be inhuman you know to refuse -me. Now for the second favour,” continued -this energetic lady:—“come -alone; for though I have a great respect -for Mrs. and Miss Seymour, yet I never -know what I am about when their very -sensible eyes are fixed upon me.”—“Oh -you need not fear, Sophia would not come -if I wished it; and Mrs. Seymour”—“I -have something else to suggest,” interrupted -Lady Augusta:—“introduce -me immediately to your husband: he is -divine, I hear—perfectly divine!” “I -cannot at this moment; but”—“By the -bye, why were you not at the ball last -night. I can tell you there were some -who expected you there. Yes, I assure -you, a pair of languid blue eyes watching -for you—a fascinating new friend waiting -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_208' href='#Page_208'>208</a></span> -to take you home to a <i>petit souper très-bien -assorti</i>. I went myself. It was -monstrously dull at the ball:—insupportable, -I assure you; perfectly so. Mrs. -Turner and her nine daughters! It is -quite a public calamity, Mrs. Turner -being so very prolific—the produce so -frightful. Amongst other animals, when -they commit such blunders, the brood is -drowned; but we christians are suffered -to grow up till the land is overrun.” -“Heigho.” “What is the matter? You -look so <i>triste</i> to-day, not even my wit -can enliven you.—Isn’t it well, love? -or has its husband been plaguing it? -Now I have it:—you have, perchance, -been translating an Ode of Pindar. I -was there myself this morning; and it -gave me the vapours for ten minutes; -but I am used to these things you know -child, and you are a novice. By the -bye, where is your cousin, <i>le beau capitaine, -le chef des brigands</i>? I was quite -frappè with his appearance.” “You -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_209' href='#Page_209'>209</a></span> -may think it strange,” said Calantha, -“but I have not seen him these eight -years—not since he was quite a child.” -“Oh, what an interview there will be -then,” said Lady Augusta: “he is a perfect -ruffian.” -</p> - -<p> -“Are you aware that we have three sets -of men now much in request?—There -are these ruffians, who affect to be desperate, -who game, who drink, who fight, -who will captivate you, I am sure of it. -They are always just going to be destroyed, -or rather talk as if they were; and -every thing they do, they must do it to -desperation. Then come the exquisites. -Lord Dallas is one, a sort of refined <i>petit -maître</i>, quite thorough bred, though full -of conceit. As to the third set, your -useful men, who know how to read and -write, in which class critics, reviewers, -politicians and poets stand, you may -always know them by their slovenly appearance. -But you are freezing, <i>mon -enfant</i>. What can be the matter? I -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_210' href='#Page_210'>210</a></span> -will release you in a moment from my -visitation. I have ten thousand things -to say.—Will you come to my opera -box Tuesday? Are you going to the -masked ball Thursday? Has Mrs. -Churchill sent for you to her <i>déjeûné -paré</i>. I know she wishes, more than I -can express, to have you. Perhaps you -will let me drive you there. My ponies -are beautiful arabians: have you seen -them? Oh, by the bye, why were you -not at your aunt Lady Margaret’s concert? -I believe it was a concert:—there was a -melancholy noise in one of the rooms; -but I did not attend to it.—Do you like -music?”—“I do; but I must own I am -not one who profess to be all enchantment -at the scraping of a fiddle, because -some old philharmonic plays on it; nor -can I admire the gurgling and groaning -of a number of foreigners, because it is -called singing.” -</p> - -<p> -“They tell me you think of nothing -but love and poetry. I dare say you -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_211' href='#Page_211'>211</a></span> -write sonnets to the moon—the chaste -moon, and your husband. How sentimental!” -“And you,”—“No, my -dear, I thank heaven I never could -make a rhyme in my life.—Farewell—adieu—remember -to-night,—bring -Lord Avondale—that divine Henry: -though beware too; for many a lady has -to mourn the loss of her husband, as soon -as she has introduced him into the society -of <i>fascinating</i> friends.” “He is out -of town.” “Then so much the better. -After all, a wife is only pleasant when -her husband is out of the way. She -must either be in love, or out of love -with him. If the latter, they wrangle; -and if the former, it is ten times worse. -Lovers are at all times insufferable; but -when the holy laws of matrimony give -them a lawful right to be so amazingly -fond and affectionate, it makes one sick.” -“Which are you, in love or out of love -with Mr. Selwyn?”—“Neither, my child, -neither. He never molests me, never -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_212' href='#Page_212'>212</a></span> -intrudes his dear dull personage on my -society. He is the best of his race, and -only married me out of pure benevolence. -We were fourteen raw Scotch girls—all -hideous, and no chance of being got rid -of, either by marriage, or death—so -healthy and ugly. I believe we are all -alive and flourishing somewhere or other -now. Think then of dear good Mr. -Selwyn, who took me for his mate, because -I let him play at cards whenever he -pleased. He is so fond of cheating, he -never can get any one but me to play with -him. Farewell.—<i>Au revoir.</i>—I shall expect -you at ten.—<i>Adieu, chère petite.</i>” -Saying which Lady Augusta left Calantha. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_213' href='#Page_213'>213</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXVI. -</h2> - -<p> -Calantha imagined, and was repeatedly -assured, that her husband neglected her: -the thought gave her pain: she contrasted -his apparent coldness and gravity with -the kindness and flattery of others. Even -Count Gondimar was more anxious for -her safety, and latterly she observed that -he watched her with increasing solicitude. -At a masked ball, in particular, the Italian -Count followed her till she was half -offended. “Why do you thus persecute -me as to the frivolity and vanity of my -manner? Why do you seem so infinitely -more solicitous concerning me than my -husband and my relations?” she said, -suddenly turning and looking earnestly -at him. “What is it to you with -whom I may chance to converse? How is -it possible that you can see imperfections -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_214' href='#Page_214'>214</a></span> -in me, when others tell me I am faultless -and delightful?” “And do you believe -that the gay troop of flatterers who -now follow you,” said a mask, who was -standing near the Count, “do you believe -that they feel any other sentiment -for you than indifference?” “Indifference!” -repeated Calantha, “what can -you mean? I am secure of their affection; -and I have found more friends in -London since I first arrived there, than I -have made in the whole previous course -of my life.” “You are their jest and -their derision,” said the same mask.—“Am -I,” she said, turning eagerly round -to her partner, Lord Trelawny, “am I -your jest, and your derision?” “You -are all that is amiable and adorable,” he -whispered. “Speak louder,” said Lady -Avondale, “tell this Italian Count, and -his discourteous friend, what you think -of me; or will they wait to hear, what we -all think of them.” Gondimar, offended, -left her; and she passed the night at the -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_215' href='#Page_215'>215</a></span> -ball; but felt uneasy at what she had -said. -</p> - -<p> -Monteagle house, at which the masquerade -was given, was large and magnificent. -The folding doors opened into -fine apartments, each decorated with -flowers, and filled with masks. Her -young friends, Sophia and Lady Dartford, -in the first bloom and freshness of -youth, attracted much admiration. Their -dress was alike, and while seeming simplicity -was its greatest charm, every fold, -every turn was adapted to exhibit their -figure, and add to their natural grace. -If vanity can give happiness to the heart, -how must theirs have exulted; for encomium -and flattery was the only language -they heard. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Avondale, in the mean time, fatigued -with the ceremonious insipidity of -their conversation, and delighted at having -for once escaped from Count Gondimar, -sought in vain to draw her companions -into the illuminated gardens, and -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_216' href='#Page_216'>216</a></span> -not succeeding, wandered into them -alone, followed by some masks in the disguise -of gipsies, by whom she was soon -surrounded; and one of them whom she -now recognised to be the same who had -spoken to her with Gondimar, now under -the pretence of telling her fortune, said -to her every thing that was most severe. -“What,” said he, turning to one of his -companions, “do you think of the line -in this lady’s hand? It is a very strange -one: I augur no good from it.” The -dress of the mask who spoke was that of -a friar, his voice was soft and mournful. -“Caprice” said the young man, whom -he addressed: “I read no worse fault. -Come, I will tell her fortune.—Lady, -you were born under a favoured planet,” -“Aaron,”—interrupted the first gipsey, -“you are a flatterer, and it is my privilege -to speak without disguise. Give me the -hand, and I will shew her destiny.” After -pausing a moment, he fixed his dark eyes -upon Calantha, the rest of his face being -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_217' href='#Page_217'>217</a></span> -covered by a cowl, and in a voice like -music, so soft and plaintive begun.— -</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<div class="stanza"> -<p>The task to tell thy fate, be mine,</p> -<p>To guard against its ills, be thine;</p> -<p>For heavy treads the foot of care</p> -<p>On those who are so young and fair.</p> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<p>The star, that on thy birth shone bright,</p> -<p>Now casts a dim uncertain light:</p> -<p>A threatening sky obscures its rays,</p> -<p>And shadows o’er thy future days.</p> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<p>In fashion’s magic circle bound,</p> -<p>Thy steps shall tread her mazy round,</p> -<p>While pleasure, flattery and art,</p> -<p>Shall captivate thy fickle heart.</p> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<p>The transient favorite of a day,</p> -<p>Of folly and of fools the prey;</p> -<p>Insatiate vanity shall pine</p> -<p>As honour, and as health decline,</p> -<p>Till reft of fame, without a friend,</p> -<p>Thou’lt meet, unwept, an early end.</p> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -Lady Avondale coloured; and the -young man who had accused her of caprice, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_218' href='#Page_218'>218</a></span> -watching her countenance, and seeing -the pain these acrimonious lines had -given her, reproved the friar “No, no,” -he cried “if she must hear her destiny, -let me reveal it.” -</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<p class="i1">The task to tell thy fate, be mine,</p> -<p class="i1">And every bliss I wish thee, thine.</p> -<p>So heavenly fair, so pure, so blest,</p> -<p class="i1">Admired by all, by all carest.</p> -<p>The ills of life thou ne’er shalt know,</p> -<p>Or weep alone for others woe.</p> -</div></div> - -<p> -“For the honour of our tribe, cease -Aaron” said a female gipsey advancing: -“positively I will not hear any more of -this flat parody. The friar’s malice I -could endure; but this will mar all.”—Whatever -the female gipsey might say, -Aaron had a certain figure, and countenance -which were sufficiently commanding -and attractive. He had disengaged -himself from his companions; and now -approached Calantha, and asked her to -allow him to take care of her through -the crowd. “This is abominable treachery,” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_219' href='#Page_219'>219</a></span> -said the female gipsey:—“this conduct -is unpardonable: good faith and -good fellowship were ever our characteristics.” -“You should not exert your -power” answered the young man, “against -those who seem so little willing to use -the same weapons in return. I will answer -for it that, though under a thousand -masks, the lady you have attacked, would -never say an ill natured thing” “Take -care of her goodnature then,” said the -gipsey archly:—“it may be more fatal.” -</p> - -<p> -The gipsey then went off, with the rest -of her party; but Aaron remained, and, -as if much pleased with the gentleness of -Lady Avondale’s behaviour, followed -her. “Who are you?” said she. “I will -not take the arm of one who is ashamed -of his name”—“And yet it is only -thus unknown, I can hope to find favour.” -“Did I ever see you before?” “I -have often had the happiness of seeing -you:—but am I then really so altered?” -said he turning to her, and looking full -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_220' href='#Page_220'>220</a></span> -in her face, “that you cannot even -guess my name?” “Had I ever beheld -you before,” answered Lady Avondale, -“I could not have forgotten it.” He -bowed with a look of conceit, and Lady -Avondale coloured at his comprehending -the compliment, she had sufficiently intended -to make. Smiling at her confusion, -he assured her he had a right to her attention—“<i>Stesso -sangue, Stessa sorte</i>”—said -he in a low voice. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha could hardly believe it possible:—the -words he pronounced were -those inscribed on her bracelet. “And -are you my cousin?” said she: “is it indeed -so? no: I cannot believe it.” Buchanan -bowed again. “Yes,” said he; -“and a pretty cousin you have proved -yourself to me. I had vowed never to forgive -you; but you are much too lovely -and too dear for me to wish to keep my -oath.” A thousand remembrances now -crowded on her mind—the days of her -infancy—the amusements and occupations -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_221' href='#Page_221'>221</a></span> -of her childhood; and she looked -vainly in Buchanan’s face, for the smallest -traces of the boy she had known so -well. Delighted with her evening’s adventure, -and solely occupied with her -companion, the masquerade, the heat and -all other annoyances were forgotten, till -Lady Dartford being fatigued, entreated -her to retire. -</p> - -<p> -She had conversed during the greater -part of the evening with Lord Dartford. -The female gipsey to whose party he belonged, -and who had attacked Lady -Avondale, was Lady Margaret Buchanan. -He had asked Lady Dartford many questions -about himself, to all of which she -had answered with a reserve that had -pleased him, and with a praise so unaffected, -so heartfelt, and so little deserved, -that he could not but deeply feel his own -demerit. He did not make himself -known, but suffered Lady Margaret to -rally and torment his unoffending wife; -asking her repeatedly, why so pretty, and -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_222' href='#Page_222'>222</a></span> -so young, Lord Dartford permitted her -to go to a masquerade without a protector. -“It is,” replied Lady Dartford innocently, -“that he dislikes this sort of -amusement, and knows well, that those -who appear unprotected, are sure of finding -friends.” At this speech Lady Margaret -laughed prodigiously; and turning -to the Friar, who, much disguised, still -followed her, asked him, if he had never -seen Lord Dartford at a masquerade, giving -it as her opinion, that he was very -fond of this sort of amusement, and was -probably there at that very moment. -</p> - -<p> -In the mean time, Calantha continued -to talk with Buchanan, and eagerly enquired -of him who it was who, thus disguised, -had with so much acrimony attacked -her. “I do not know the young -man,” he answered:—“my mother calls -him Viviani:—he is much with her; but -he ever wears a disguise, I think; for no -one sees him; and, except Gondimar, he -seems not to have another acquaintance -in England.” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_223' href='#Page_223'>223</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -It has been said that the weak-minded -are alone attracted by the eye; -and they who say this, best know -what they mean. To Calantha it appeared -that the eye was given her for no -other purpose than to admire all that was -fair and beautiful. Certain it is, she -made that use of her’s; and whether the -object of such admiration was man, -woman, or child, horse or flower, if excellent -in its kind, she ever gave them -the trifling homage of her approbation. -Her new-found cousin was therefore -hailed by her with the most encouraging -smile; and how long she might have -listened to the account he was giving her -of his exploits, is unknown, had not -Frances approached her in a hasty manner, -and said, “Do come away:—the strangest -thing possible has happened to me:—Lord -Trelawney has proposed to me, and I—I -have accepted his offer.” “Accepted -his offer!” Calantha exclaimed, with a -look of horror. “Oh, pray, keep my -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_224' href='#Page_224'>224</a></span> -secret till we get home,” said Frances. -“I dare not tell Sophia; but you must -break it to my mother.” -</p> - -<p> -Lord Trelawney was a silly florid -young man, who laughed very heartily -and good humouredly, without the least -reason. He wore the dress, and had -been received in that class of men, whom -Lady Augusta called the exquisites. He -had professed the most extravagant adoration -for Lady Avondale, so that she was -quite astonished at his having attached -himself so suddenly to Frances; but not -being of a jealous turn, she wished her -joy most cordially, and when she did the -same by him,—“Could not help what -I’ve done,” he said, looking tenderly at -her through a spying-glass:—“total -dearth of something else to say:—can never -affection her much:—but she’s your -cousin, you know:”—and then he laughed. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Avondale prevailed on Frances to -keep this important secret from her mother -till morning, as that good lady had -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_225' href='#Page_225'>225</a></span> -not long been in bed, and to arouse her -with such unexpected news at five o’clock -had been cruel and useless. The next -morning, long before Lady Avondale had -arisen, every one knew the secret; and -very soon after, preparations for the marriage -were made. The young bride received -presents and congratulations: her -spirits were exuberant; and her lover, -perfect and delightful. Even Lady Avondale -beheld him with new eyes, and the -whole family, whenever he was mentioned, -spoke of him as a remarkably sensible -young man, extremely well informed, -and possessed of every quality -best adapted to ensure the happiness of -domestic life. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_226' href='#Page_226'>226</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXVII. -</h2> - -<p> -From the night of the masquerade, Lady -Avondale dared hardly confess to herself, -how entirely she found her thoughts engrossed -by Buchanan. She met him -again at a ball. He entreated her to let -him call on her the ensuing day:—he said -he had much to tell her:—his manner was -peculiar; and his eyes, though not full of -meaning in general, had a certain look -of interest that gratified the vainest of -human hearts. “I shall be at home till -two,” said Calantha. “I shall be with -you at twelve,” he answered.—Late as -the hour of rest might appear to some, -Calantha was up, and attired with no ordinary -care to receive him, at the time he -had appointed. Yet no Buchanan came.—Oh! -could the petty triflers in vanity -and vice, know the power they -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_227' href='#Page_227'>227</a></span> -gain, and the effect they produce by these -arts, they would contemn the facility of -their own triumph. It is ridiculous to -acknowledge it, but this disappointment -increased Calantha’s anxiety to see him -to the greatest possible degree: she -scarce could disguise the interest it -created. -</p> - -<p> -Gondimar unfortunately called at the -moment when Calantha was most impatient -and irritable. “You expected another,” -he said sarcastically; “but I care -not. I came not here in the hope of -pleasing Lady Avondale. I came to inform -her.”—“I cannot attend now.” -“Read this letter,” said Gondimar. Calantha -looked carelessly upon it—it was -from himself:—it contained an avowal of -attachment and of interest for her; in -proof of which he asked permission to offer -her a gift, which he said he was commissioned -to bring her from Italy. Lady Avondale -returned the letter coldly, and with -little affectation of dignity, declined the -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_228' href='#Page_228'>228</a></span> -intended present. It is so easy to behave -well, when it is our pleasure to do so, as -well as our duty. Gondimar, however, -gave her but little credit for her conduct. -“You like me not?” he said. -“Do you doubt my virtue?” she replied -eagerly. “Aye, Lady—or, at all -events, your power of preserving it.” -</p> - -<p> -Whilst Gondimar yet spoke, Buchanan -galopped by the window, and stopped at -the door of the house. His hands were -decorated with rings, and a gold chain -and half-concealed picture hung around -his neck:—his height, his mustachios, -the hussar trappings of his horse, the -high colour in his cheek, and his dark -flowing locks, gave an air of savage wildness -to his countenance and figure, which -much delighted Calantha. He entered -with familiar ease; talked much of himself, -and more of some of his military -friends; stared at Gondimar, and then -shook hands with him. After which, he -began a vehement explanation of his conduct -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_229' href='#Page_229'>229</a></span> -respecting Alice; assuring Calantha -upon his honour—upon his soul, that he -had no hand in her elopement. He then -talked of Ireland; described the dreadful, -the exaggerated accounts of what had -occurred there; and ended by assuring -Gondimar that the young Glenarvon was -not dead, but was at this time at Belfont, -concealed there with no other view than -that of heading the rebels. The accounts -which the Duke of Altamonte had received -in part corroborated Buchanan’s -statement. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha listened, however, with more -interest to the accounts Buchanan now -gave; and as he said he was but just -returned from Dublin, even Gondimar -thought the news which he brought worthy -of some attention. “Send that -damned Italian away,” said Buchanan in -a loud whisper—“I have a million of -things to tell you. If you keep him here, -I shall go:—my remaining will be of no -use.” Unaccustomed to curb herself in the -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_230' href='#Page_230'>230</a></span> -least wish, Calantha now whispered to -Gondimar, that she wished him to leave -her, as she had something very particular -to say to her cousin; but he only smiled -contemptuously upon him, and sternly asking -her, since when this amazing intimacy -had arisen—placed himself near the pianoforte, -striking its chords with accompaniments -till the annoyance was past -bearing. -</p> - -<p> -Buchanan consoled himself by talking -of his dogs and horses; and having -given Calantha a list of the names of -each, began enumerating to her the invitations -he had received for the ensuing -week. Fortunately, at this moment, a -servant entered with a note for Gondimar. -“Does the bearer wait?” he -exclaimed with much agitation upon -reading it; and immediately left the -room. -</p> - -<p> -Upon returning home, Count Gondimar -perceived with surprise, in the place of -the person he had expected, one of the attendants -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_231' href='#Page_231'>231</a></span> -of the late Countess of Glenarvon,—a -man whose countenance and person -he well remembered from its peculiarly -harsh and unpleasant expression.—“Is -my young Lord alive?” said the man in -a stern manner. Count Gondimar replied -in the negative. “Then, Sir, I -must trouble you with those affairs which -most nearly concern him.” “Your name, -I think is Macpherson?” said Count -Gondimar. “You lived with the Countess -of Glenarvon.” The man bowed, and -giving a letter into the hands of the Count, -“I am come from Italy at this time,” he -replied, “in search of my late master—La -Crusca and myself.” “Is La Crusca -with you?” said Gondimar starting. -“The letter will inform you of every -particular,” replied the man with some -gravity. “I shall wait for the child, or -your farther orders.” Saying this, he -left the Count’s apartment; and returned -into the anti-chamber, where a beautiful -little boy was waiting for him. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_232' href='#Page_232'>232</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -On that very evening, after a long conversation -with Macpherson, Count Gondimar -again sought Calantha at her father’s -house, where, upon enquiring for -her, he was immediately admitted. After -some little hesitation, he told her that he -had brought her the present of which -he had made mention in his letter; that if -she had the unkindness to refuse it, some -other perhaps would take charge of it:—it -was a gift which, however unworthy -he was to offer it, he thought would be -dearer in her estimation than the finest -jewels, and the most costly apparel:—it -was a fair young boy, he said, fitted to be -a Lady’s page, and trained in every cunning -art his tender years could learn. -“He will be a play mate;” he said smiling, -“for your son, and when,” added he in -a lower voice, “the little Mowbrey can -speak, he will learn to lisp in that language -which alone expresses all that the -heart would utter—all that in a barbarous -dialect it dares not—must not say.” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_233' href='#Page_233'>233</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -As he yet spoke, he took the hat from -off Zerbellini’s head, and gently pushing -him towards Calantha, asked him to sue -for her protection. The child immediately -approached, hiding himself with singular -fear from the caresses of the Count. -“Zerbellini,” said Gondimar in Italian, -“will you love that lady?” “In my -heart;” replied the boy, shrinking back -to Calantha, as if to a late found but only -friend. Sophia was called, and joined in -the general interest and admiration the -child excited. Frances shewed him to -Lord Trelawney, who laughed excessively -at beholding him. Lady Margaret, -who was present, looking upon him stedfastly, -shrunk as if she had seen a serpent -in her way, and then recovering herself, -held her hand out towards him. Zerbellini -fixed his eyes on Calantha, as if -watching in her countenance for the only -commands which he was to obey; and -when she drew him towards her aunt, -he knelt to her, and kissed her hand -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_234' href='#Page_234'>234</a></span> -with the customary grace and courtesy -of an Italian. -</p> - -<p> -From that day Calantha thought of -nothing but Zerbellini. He was a new -object of interest:—to dress him, to -amuse him, to shew him about, was her -great delight. Wherever she went he -must accompany her: in whatever she -did or said, Zerbellini must bear a part. -The Duke of Myrtlegrove advised her -to make him her page; and for this purpose -he ordered him the dress of an -Eastern slave. Buchanan gave him a -chain with a large turquoise heart; and -as he placed it around the boy, he glanced -his eye on Calantha. Presents, however, -even more magnificent were in return -immediately dispatched by her to the -Duke, and to Buchanan. -</p> - -<p> -Count Gondimar read the letters Calantha -had written with the gifts; for she -had left them, as was her custom, open -upon the table. All she wrote, or received, -were thus left; not from ostentation, but -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_235' href='#Page_235'>235</a></span> -indifference and carelessness. “Are you -mad,” said the Italian “or worse than -mad?” “I affect it not,” replied Lady -Avondale. “I conclude, therefore that it -is real.” Indeed there was a strange compound -in Calantha’s mind. She felt but -little accountable for her actions, and she -often had observed that if ever she had -the misfortune to reflect and consequently -to resolve against any particular mode of -conduct, the result was that she ever fell -into the error she had determined to avoid. -She might indeed have said that the spirit -was willing but the flesh was weak; -for whatever she resolved, upon the slightest -temptation to the contrary, she failed -to execute. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_236' href='#Page_236'>236</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXVIII. -</h2> - -<p> -“I am astonished my dear Gondimar,” -said Viviani one day, addressing him, -“at the description which you gave me -of Lady Avondale. I have seen her since -we conversed together about her, more -than once; and there is not, I think, -much trace left of that excessive timidity -of manner—that monastic rigidity in her -opinions and conduct, of which you made -mention in one of your letters from Castle -Delaval.” “I was wrong, utterly -wrong,” said Gondimar, “and you may -now rank this model of purity, this paragon -of wives, this pupil of nature, whom -I have so often praised to you, on a level -with the rest of her fellow mortals.” -“Not on a level—not on a level,” replied -Viviani with gravity; “but falling as -I fear, far beneath it.” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_237' href='#Page_237'>237</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -The Count then repeated in a solemn -tone the description of Rome which Lucian -has placed in the mouth of Nigrinus -applying the enumeration of vices, -temptations and corruptions, attributed -to the fairest capital of the world, to -London; and then asked of Gondimar, -if it were possible for one like Calantha -to sojourn long amidst such scenes, without -in some measure acquiring the manners, -if not falling into the errors to -which the eyes and ears were every hour -accustomed? He spoke of her with regret, -as he thus pronounced her on the verge -of ruin:—“a prey,” he said indignantly, -“for the spoiler—the weak and -willing victim of vanity.” “The courts -of her father are overrun with petitioners -and mendicants,” said Gondimar: “her -apartments are filled with flatterers who -feed upon her credulity: she is in love with -ruin: it stalks about in every possible -shape, and in every shape, she hails it:—woe -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_238' href='#Page_238'>238</a></span> -is it; victim of prosperity, luxury and -self indulgence.” -</p> - -<p> -“And Avondale,” said Viviani. “Lord -Avondale,” replied the Count, “knows -not, thinks not, comprehends not her -danger or his own. But the hour of perdition -approaches; the first years of peace -and love are past; folly succeeds; and -vice is the after game. These are the -three stages in woman’s life. Calantha -is swiftly passing through the second:—the -third will succeed. The days and -months once glided away in a dream of -joy, dangerous and illusive—in a dream, -I repeat; for all that depends on the excess -and durability of any violent passion, -must be called a dream. Such passion, -even though sanctioned by the most sacred -ties, if it engrosses every thought, is -not innocent—cannot be lawful. It plants -the seeds of corruption which flourish -and gain strength hereafter. This is the -climate in which they will soonest ripen:—this -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_239' href='#Page_239'>239</a></span> -is the garden and soil, where they -take the most rapid, and the deepest root.” -“And think you, that Calantha and Avondale, -are already weary of each other? -that the warm and vivid imagination of -youthful love is satiated with excess? or -that disappointment has followed upon -a nearer view?” “All passion,” replied -Gondimar—falling back and impressively -raising his hand—“all passion is founded -on”...“Friend,” said -Viviani, “thy prate is unmercifully -tedious,”—“I half believe that thou -art thyself in love with this Calantha; -but for an explanation and detail of -that master passion, I know not why -I applied to you: Calantha is the object -of your pursuit not mine.” “Of -my pursuit! in truth I believe you feel -more interest in her conduct than I -do, I am old and weary of these follies; -life is just opening upon you; Calantha -is your idol” “No,” replied Viviani, with -a smile of scorn. “It is not that party -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_240' href='#Page_240'>240</a></span> -coloured butterfly, which ranges ever -from flower to flower, spreading its light -pinions in the summer breeze, or basking -in the smiles of fortune, for which my -life is consumed, my soul is scorched -with living fire, and my mind is impaired -and lost! Oh would to heaven -that it were! No arts, no crimes were -then required to win and to enjoy. The -pulse of passion beats high within her, -and pleads for the lover who dares to -ask. Wild fancy, stimulated by keen -sensibility and restless activity of mind, -without employment, render her easy to -be approached, and easy to be influenced -and worked upon. Love is the nature of -these favourites of fortune: from earliest -infancy—they feel its power! and their -souls enervated, live but upon its honied -vows. Chaste—pure! What are these -terms? The solitary recluse is not chaste, -as I have heard; and these, never—never.” -</p> - -<p> -“Yet Lady Margaret you say is unmoved.” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_241' href='#Page_241'>241</a></span> -“What of Lady Margaret?” -interrupted Viviani, while bitter smiles -quivered upon his lip. “Do you mark -the pavement of stone upon which you -tread? Do you see the steel of which -this sabre is composed—once heated by -the flames, now hard and insensible?—so -cold,—so petrified is the heart, when -it has once given full vent to passion. -Marble is that heart which only beats for -my destruction. The time is not yet -arrived, but I will dash the cup of joy -from her lips; then drink the dregs myself, -and die.” “Mere jealous threats,” -said Gondimar. “The curse of innocent -blood is on her,” replied Viviani, as his -livid cheeks and lips resumed a purple -dye. “Name her no more.” “Explain -yourself,” cried his astonished friend. -“You frequently allude to scenes of -deeper guilt and horror, than I dare even -suffer myself to imagine possible.” “The -heart of man is unfathomable,” replied -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_242' href='#Page_242'>242</a></span> -Viviani;—“that which seems, is not:—that -which is, seems not: we should -neither trust our eyes nor ears, in a -world like this. But time, which ripens -all things, shall disclose the secrets even -of the dead.” -</p> - -<p> -A short time after this conversation -with Gondimar, Viviani took leave of -him. He informed him fully of his projects; -and Lady Margaret was also consulted -upon the occasion. “What is -become of your menaced vengeance,” -she said, smiling upon him, in their last -parting interview. He laughed at the -remembrance of his words. “Am I the -object now of your abhorrence,” she said, -placing her white hand carelessly upon -his head. “Not absolutely,” replied the -young Count, shrinking, however, from -the pressure of that hand. “Touch me -not,” he whispered more earnestly, “it -thrills through my soul.—Keep those endearments -for Dartford: leave me in -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_243' href='#Page_243'>243</a></span> -peace.” Immediately after this he left -London; and by the first letter Lady -Margaret received from him, she found -that he was preparing to embark. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_244' href='#Page_244'>244</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXIX. -</h2> - -<p> -Frances Seymour’s marriage with Lord -Trelawny was now celebrated, after which -the whole family left London for Ireland. -</p> - -<p> -Sophia, previous to her departure, reproved -Calantha for her obstinacy, as she -called it, in remaining in town. “I -leave you with pain,” she said: “forgive -me if I say it, for I see you have no conception -of the folly of your conduct. -Ever in extremes, you have acted as I -little expected from the wife of Lord -Avondale; but I blame him equally for -giving you such unbounded freedom:—only -the very wise and the very good -know how to use it.” “Sophia,” replied -Calantha, “I wish not for reproaches:—have -confidence in me:—we -cannot all be exactly alike. You are a -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_245' href='#Page_245'>245</a></span> -pattern of propriety and virtue, and verily -you have your reward:—I act otherwise, -and am prepared for censures:—even -yours cannot offend me. Lord Avondale -talks of soon returning to Ireland: I -shall then leave this dear delightful -London without regret; and you shall -find me when we all meet for the spring -at Castle Delaval, just the same, as when -I entered it.” “Never the same,” thought -Sophia, who marked, with astonishment, -the change a few months had made. -</p> - -<p> -They were yet speaking, and taking a -cold farewell of each other, when a thundering -rap at the door interrupted them, -and before Sophia could retreat, Mr. -Fremore, Count Gondimar and Lady -Mandeville were ushered in. A frozen -courtesy, and an austere frown, were the -only signs of animation Sophia gave, as -she vanished from their view; for she -seemed hardly to have energy sufficient -left, to walk out of the room in an ordinary -manner. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_246' href='#Page_246'>246</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -“You have been ill,” said Lady Mandeville, -accosting Calantha. “It is a -week since I have seen you. Think not, -however, that I am come to intrude upon -your time: I only called, as I passed your -door, to enquire after you. Mr. Fremore -tells me you are about to visit the -Princess of Madagascar. Is this true? -for I never believe any thing I hear?” -“For once,” said Calantha, “you may -do so; and on this very evening, my introduction -is to take place.” “It is -with regret I hear it,” said Lady Mandeville -with a sigh: “we shall never more -see any thing of you. Besides, she is -not my friend.” Calantha assured Lady -Mandeville her attachment could endure -all sorts of trials; and laughingly enquired -of her respecting her lovers, Apollonius, -and the Greek Lexicon she was -employed in translating. Lady Mandeville -answered her with some indifference -on these subjects; and having said all -that she could in order to dissuade her -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_247' href='#Page_247'>247</a></span> -against visiting the Princess, took her -leave. -</p> - -<p> -That evening, at the hour of ten, Lord -Avondale and Mr. Fremore being in readiness, -Calantha drove according to appointment -to visit the wife of the great -Nabob, the Princess of Madagascar. -Now who is so ignorant as not to know -that this Lady resides in an old-fashioned -gothic building, called Barbary House, -three miles beyond the turnpike? and -who is so ignorant as not to be aware -that her highness would not have favoured -Lady Avondale with an audience, -had she been otherwise than extremely -well with the world, as the phrase is—for -she was no patroness of the fallen! the -caresses and <i>petits mots obligeants</i> which -dropt from her during this her first interview, -raised Lady Avondale in her own -opinion; but that was unnecessary. -What was more to the purpose, it won -her entirely towards the Princess. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha now, for the first time, conversed -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_248' href='#Page_248'>248</a></span> -with the learned of the land:—she -heard new opinions started, and old -ones refuted; and she gazed unhurt, but -not unawed, upon reviewers, poets, critics, -and politicians. At the end of a long -gallery, two thick wax tapers, rendering -“darkness visible,” the princess -was seated. A poet of an emaciated -and sallow complexion stood beside -her; of him it was affirmed that in apparently -the kindest and most engaging -manner, he, at all times, said precisely -that which was most unpleasant to the -person he appeared to praise. This yellow -hyena had, however, a heart noble, -magnanimous and generous; and even -his friends, could they but escape from -his smile and his tongue, had no reason -to complain. Few events, if any, were -ever known to move the Princess from -her position. Her pages—her foreign -attire, but genuine English manners, -voice and complexion, attracted universal -admiration. She was beautiful too, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_249' href='#Page_249'>249</a></span> -and had a smile it was difficult to learn to -hate or to mistrust. She spoke of her -own country with contempt; and, even in -her dress, which was magnificent, attempted -to prove the superiority of every -other over it. Her morals were simple -and uncorrupt, and in matters of religious -faith she entirely surrendered herself -to the guidance of Hoiaouskim. She inclined -her head a little upon seeing Lady -Avondale; the <i>dead</i>, I mean the sick poet, -did the same; and Hoiaouskim, her high -priest, cast his eyes, with unassuming civility, -upon Calantha, thus welcoming -her to Barbary House. -</p> - -<p> -The princess then spoke a little sentence—just -enough to shew how much -she intended to protect Lady Avondale. -She addressed herself, besides, in many -dialects, to an outlandish set of menials; -appointing every one in the room some -trifling task, which was performed in a -moment by young and old, with surprising -alacrity. Such is the force of fashion -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_250' href='#Page_250'>250</a></span> -and power, when skilfully applied. -After this, she called Calantha: a slight -exordium followed then a wily pointed -catechism; her Highness nodding at intervals, -and dropping short epigrammatic -sentences, when necessary, to such as -were in attendance around her. “Is she -acting?” said Calantha, at length, in a -whisper, addressing the sallow complexioned -Poet, who stood sneering and -simpering behind her chair. “Is she -acting, or is this reality?” “It is the -only reality you will ever find in the -Princess,” returned her friend. “She acts -the Princess of Madagascar from morning -till night, and from night till morning. -You may fall from favour, but you are -now at the height: no one ever advanced -further—none ever continued there -long.” -</p> - -<p> -“But why,” said Lady Avondale, “do -the great Nabob, and all the other Lords -in waiting, with that black horde of savages”—“Reviewers, -you mean, and -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_251' href='#Page_251'>251</a></span> -men of talents.” “Well, whatever they -are, tell me quickly why they wear collars, -and chains around their necks at -Barbary House?” “It is the fashion,” -replied the poet. “This fashion is unbecoming -your race,” said Lady Avondale: -“I would die sooner than be thus -enchained.” “The great Nabob,” quoth -Mr. Fremore, joining in the discourse, -“is the best, the kindest, the cleverest -man I know; but, like some philosophers, -he would sacrifice much for a -peaceable life. The Princess is fond of -inflicting these lesser tyrannies: she is -so helplessly attached to these trifles—so -overweaningly fond of exerting her -powers, it were a pity to thwart her. -For my own part, I could willingly bend -to the yoke, provided the duration were -not eternal; for observe that the chains -are well gilded; that the tables are well -stored; and those who bend the lowest -are ever the best received.” “And if I -also bow my neck,” said Calantha, “will -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_252' href='#Page_252'>252</a></span> -she be grateful? May I depend upon -her seeming kindness?” The Poet’s naturally -pale complexion turned to a bluish -green at this enquiry. -</p> - -<p> -Cold Princess! where are your boasted -professions now? You taught Calantha -to love you, by every petty art of which -your sex is mistress. She heard, from -your lips, the sugared poisons you were -pleased to lavish upon her. You laughed -at her follies, courted her confidence, and -flattered her into a belief that you loved -her. Loved her!—it is a feeling you -never felt. She fell into the mire; the -arrows of your precious crew were shot -at her—like hissing snakes hot and -sharpened with malice and venomed -fire; and you, yes—you were the first -to scorn her:—you, by whom she had -stood faithfully and firmly amidst a host -of foes—aye, amidst the fawning rabble, -who still crowd your doors, and laugh at -and despise you. Thanks for the helping -hand of friendship in the time of need—the -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_253' href='#Page_253'>253</a></span> -mud and the mire have been washed -from Calantha; the arrows have been -drawn from a bleeding bosom; the -heart is still sound, and beats to disdain -you. The sun may shine fairly again -upon her; but never, whilst existence is -prolonged, will she set foot in the gates -of the Palace of the great Nabob, or -trust to the smiles and professions of the -Princess of Madagascar. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_254' href='#Page_254'>254</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXX. -</h2> - -<p> -“And what detains you in town?” said -Gondimar, on the eve of Mrs. Seymour -and Sophia’s departure. “Will this love -of gaiety never subside. Tell me, Lady -Avondale, do you believe all that the -Duke of Myrtlegrove, and your more -warlike cousin have said to you?—What -means the blush on your indignant cheek? -The young duke is more enamoured of -the lustre of his diamond ring and broach, -than of the brightest eyes that ever gazed -on him; and though the words glory and -renown drop from the mouth of Buchanan, -love, I think, has lost his time in -aiming arrows at his heart. Has he -one?—I think not? But who has one -in London?” “You have not assuredly,” -said the Count: “and, if you knew the -censures that are every where passed upon -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_255' href='#Page_255'>255</a></span> -you, I think, for Lord Avondale’s sake, -you would regret it.” “I do; but -indeed—” -</p> - -<p> -The entrance of Buchanan put a stop -to this conversation. “Are you ready?” -he cried. “Ready! I have waited for -you three hours: it is five, and you promised -to come before two.” “You would -excuse me, I am sure, if you knew how -excessively ill I have been. I am but -this moment out of bed. That accursed -hazard kept me up till ten this morning. -Once, I sat two days and nights at it: but -it’s no matter.” “You take no care of -yourself.—I wish for my sake you would.” -The manner in which Calantha said this, -was most particularly flattering and kind: -it was, indeed, ever so; but the return -she met with (like the lady who loved the -swine. “Honey,” quoth she, “thou -shalt in silver salvers dine.” “Humph,” -quoth he) was most uncourteous. “Truly -I care not if I am knocked on the head -to-morrow,” replied Buchanan. “There -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_256' href='#Page_256'>256</a></span> -is nothing worth living for in life: every -thing annoys me: I am sick of all society, -Love, sentiment, is my abhorrence.” -“But driving, dearest Buchanan,—riding,—your mother—your—your -cousin.” “Oh, d..n it; don’t talk -about it. It’s all a great bore.” -</p> - -<p> -“And can Lady Avondale endure this -jargon?” “What is that Italian here -again?” whispered Buchanan. “But -come, let’s go. My horses must not wait, -they are quite unbroke; and the boy can’t -hold them. Little Jem yesterday had his -ribs broke; and this youngster’s no hand. -Where shall we drive?” “To perdition,” -whispered Gondimar. “Can’t wait,” -said Buchanan, impatiently: and Calantha -hurried away. -</p> - -<p> -The curricle was beautiful; the horses -fiery; Buchanan in high spirits; and -Calantha—ah must it be confessed?—more -elated with this exhibition through -the crowded streets, than she could have -been at the most glorious achievement. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_257' href='#Page_257'>257</a></span> -“Drive faster,—faster still,” she continually -said, to shew her courage. Alas! -real courage delights not in parade; but -anything that had the appearance of risk -or danger, delighted Calantha. “Damn -it, how Alice pulls.” “Alice!” said Calantha. -“Oh hang it; don’t talk of that. -Here’s Will Rattle, let me speak to him; -and Dick, the boxer’s son. Do you mind -stopping? Not in the least.” Saying -which they pulled in, as Buchanan termed -it; and a conversation ensued, which -amused Calantha extremely. “How -soon shall you be off?” said Will Rattle, -as they prepared to drive on.—“It’s a -devilish bore staying in London now,” -replied Buchanan: “only I’ve been commanded -to stay,” saying which he smiled, -and turned to Lady Avondale, “or I -should have been with my regiment -before this. The moment I am released, -however, I shall go there.—Hope to see -you to-night, Will. Mind and bring -Charles Turner.—There’s a new play. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_258' href='#Page_258'>258</a></span> -Oh I forgot:—perhaps I shan’t be let off; -shall I?” “No,” replied Calantha, extremely -pleased at this flattering appeal. -Will bowed with conceit, and off they -galloped, Buchanan repeating as they -went, “A damned strange fellow that—cleverer -than half the people though, who -make such a noise. I saved his life once -in an engagement. Poor Will, he’s so grateful, -he would give all he has for me,—I’ll -be d—d if he would not.” Let this -suffice. The drive was not very long; -and, the danger of being overturned excepted, -utterly devoid of interest. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Dartford had returned to town. -Perhaps no one ever heard that she had -left it: like the rose leaf upon the glass -full of water, her innocent presence made -not the slightest difference, nor was her -absence at any time observed. She, however, -called upon Calantha, a few moments -after Buchanan had taken her -home. Lady Avondale was with her -lord, in the library when she came. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_259' href='#Page_259'>259</a></span> -“Why did you let her in?” she said -rather crossly to the servant; when another -loud rap at the door announced Lady -Mandeville and Lady Augusta Selwyn. -Calantha was writing a letter; and Lord -Avondale was talking to her of the arrangements -for their departure. “I wish -I ever could see you one moment alone,” -he said, “Say I am coming—or shall -not come,” she replied; and during the -time she remained to finish the conversation -with her husband, she could not -help amusing herself with the thought of -Lady Dartford’s alarm, at finding herself -in the presence of Lady Mandeville, -whom she did not visit. “You do not attend -at all,” said Lord Avondale; “you -are of no use whatever;” Alas! he had -already found that the mistress of his -momentary passion, was not the friend -and companion of his more serious -thoughts. Calantha was of no use to -any one. She began to feel the bitterness -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_260' href='#Page_260'>260</a></span> -of this certainty, but she fled from -the reflection with pain. -</p> - -<p> -Eager to amuse Lady Dartford, Lady -Augusta, who knew her well, entertained -her till Lady Avondale joined them, with -a variety of anecdotes of all that had taken -place since her departure; and, having -soon exhausted other subjects, began -upon Calantha herself. “She is positively -in love with Captain Buchanan,” -said she. “At every ball he dances with -her; at every supper he is by her -side; all London is talking of it. Only -think too how strange, just as he was said -to have proposed to Miss Macvicker—a -fortune—twenty thousand a year—a nice -girl, who really looks unhappy. Poor -thing, it is very hard on her.—I always -feel for girls.” “Come,” said Lady -Mandeville, “last night you know, they -did not interchange a word: he talked -the whole evening to that young lady -with the singular name. How I detest -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_261' href='#Page_261'>261</a></span> -gossiping and scandal. Calantha deserves -not this.” “Bless us, how innocent we -are all of a sudden,” interrupted Lady -Augusta! “have you any pretentions, -dearest lady, to that innoxtious quality? -Now are you not aware that this is the -very perfection of the art of making -love—this not speaking? But this is -what always comes of those who are so -mighty fond of their husbands. Heavens, -how sick I have been of all the stories of -their romantic attachment. There is -nothing, my dear, like Miss Seymour, -or making one sick. She always gives -me the vapours.” -</p> - -<p> -“Where do you go to-night?” said -Lady Dartford, wishing to interrupt a -conversation which gave her but little -pleasure. “Oh, to fifty places; but I -came here partly too in the hope of engaging -Lady Avondale to come to me to-night. -She is a dear soul, and I do not -like her the worse for shewing a little -spirit.” “I cannot,” said Lady Mandeville, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_262' href='#Page_262'>262</a></span> -“think there is much in this; a -mere caprice, founded on both sides in a -little vanity. After seeing Lord Avondale, -I cannot believe there is the smallest -danger for her. Good heavens, if I had -possessed such a husband!” “Oh, now -for sentiment,” said Augusta: “and God -knows, if I had possessed a dozen such, I -should have felt as I do at this moment. -Variety—variety! Better change for the -worse than always see the same object.” -“Well, if you do not allow the merit of -Henry Avondale to outweigh this love of -variety, what say you to Mr. Buchanan, -being her cousin, brought up with her -from a child.” “Thanks for the hint—you -remember the song of -</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<p>“<i>Nous nous aimions dès l’enfance</i></p> -<p><i>Tête-à-Tête à chaque instant.</i>”</p> -</div></div> - -<p class="post"> -and I am certain, my dear sentimental -friend, that -</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<p class="i1">“<i>A notre place</i></p> -<p><i>Vous en auriez fait autant.</i>”</p> -</div></div> -<p> -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_263' href='#Page_263'>263</a></span> -</p> - -<p> -Then going up to the glass Lady Augusta -bitterly inveighed against perverse -nature, who with such a warm heart, -had given her such an ugly face. “Do -you know,” she said, still gazing upon her -uncouth features, addressing herself to -Lady Dartford—“do you know that I -have fallen in love myself, since I saw -you;—and with whom do you think?” -“I think I can guess, and shall take great -credit to myself, if I am right. Is not -the happy man an author?” said Lady -Dartford.—“You have him, upon my -honour—Mr. Clarendon, by all that is -wonderful:—he is positively the cleverest -man about town.—Well I am glad -to see my affairs also make some little -noise in the world,”—“I can tell you -however,” said Lady Mandeville, “that -he is already engaged;—and Lady Mounteagle -occupies every thought of his -heart.” -</p> - -<p> -“Good gracious, my dear, living and -loving have done but little for you; and -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_264' href='#Page_264'>264</a></span> -the dead languages prevent your judging -of living objects.—Engaged! you talk -of falling in love, as if it were a matrimonial -contract for life. Now don’t you -know that every thing in nature is subject -to change:—it rains to-day—it shines -to-morrow;—we laugh,—we cry;—and -the thermometer of love rises and falls, -like the weather glass, from the state of -the atmosphere:—one while it is at freezing -point;—another it is at fever heat.—How -then should the only imaginary -thing in the whole affair—the object I -mean which is <i>always purely ideal</i>—how -should that remain the same?” -</p> - -<p> -Lady Mandeville smiled a little, and -turning her languid blue eyes upon Lady -Dartford, asked her if she were of the -christian persuasion? Lady Dartford -was perfectly confounded:—she hesitatingly -answered in the affirmative. Upon -which, Lady Augusta fell back in her -chair, and laughed immoderately; but -fearful of offending her newly made acquaintance, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_265' href='#Page_265'>265</a></span> -observed to her, that she wore -the prettiest hat she had ever seen. -“Where did you get it?” said she.—The -question was a master key to Lady Dartford’s -thoughts:—caps, hats and works -of every description were as much a solace -to her, in the absence of her husband, -as the greek language, or the pagan -philosophy could ever have been to -Lady Mandeville, under any of her misfortunes.—“I -got it,” said she, brightening -up with a grateful look, at the only -enquiry she had heard, that was at all -adapted to her understanding, at Madame -de la Roche’s:—“it is the cheapest thing -you can conceive:—I only gave twenty -guineas for it:—and you know I am not -reckoned very clever at making bargains.” -“I should think not,” answered Lady -Augusta, adverting only to the first part -of the sentence. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha entered at this moment. “Oh -my sweet soul,” said Lady Augusta, embracing -her, “I began to despair of seeing -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_266' href='#Page_266'>266</a></span> -you.—But what was the matter with you -last night? I had just been saying that -you looked so very grave. Notwithstanding -which, Lord Dallas could think, and -talk only of you. He says your chevelure -is perfectly grecian—the black ringlets -upon the white skin; but I never -listen to any compliment that is not paid -directly or indirectly to myself. He is quite -adorable:—do you not think so, hey?—no—I -see he is too full of admiration for you—too -refined. Lady Avondale’s heart must -be won in a far different manner:—insult—rudeness—is -the way to it.—What! -blush so deeply! Is the affair, then, too -serious for a jest? Why, <i>mon enfant</i>, you -look like Miss Macvicker this morning.—And -is it true she will soon be united -to you by the ties of blood, as she now -seems to be by those of sympathy and -congeniality of soul?” -</p> - -<p> -The eternal Count Gondimar, and afterwards -Buchanan interrupted Lady Augusta’s -attack. New topics of discourse -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_267' href='#Page_267'>267</a></span> -were discussed:—it will be needless to detail -them:—time presses. Balls, assemblies -follow:—every day exhibited a -new scene of frivolity and extravagance;—every -night was passed in the same -vortex of fashionable dissipation. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_268' href='#Page_268'>268</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXXI. -</h2> - -<p> -The spring was far advanced. Calantha’s -health required the sea air; but her situation -rendered a long journey hazardous. -Lord Avondale resolved to await -her confinement in England. The birth -of a daughter was an additional source -of happiness: Anabel was the name given -to the little infant. Harry Mowbray was -now in his second year. The accounts -from Ireland were more satisfactory. Mrs. -Seymour wrote constantly to Calantha -regretting her absence. Weeks, however, -flew by, in the same thoughtless vanities: -months passed away without regret -or care.—Autumn was gone:—winter -again approached.—London, though deserted, -by the crowd, was still gay. Calantha -lived much with her Aunt Margaret, -Lady Mandeville, and the Princess of -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_269' href='#Page_269'>269</a></span> -Madagascar. The parks and streets, but -lately so thronged with carriages, were -now comparatively lonely and deserted. -Like the swallows at the appointed hour, -the gay tribe of fashionable idlers had -vanished; and a new set of people appeared -in their place:—whence, or why, -nobody could guess. -</p> - -<p> -One day Zerbellini, Calantha’s little -page, had just returned with a note from -Buchanan; a french hair dresser was cutting -her hair; milliners and jewellers were -displaying upon every table new dresses—caps—chains—rings—for -the ensuing -winter; and Calantha’s eye was dazzled—her -ear was charmed—when her aunt Margaret -entered.—“God bless your Ladyship, -God preserve you,” said a woman -half starved, who was waiting for an answer -to her petition.—“<i><span lang="fr">Mi Lady; ne -prendra-t-elle pas ce petit bonnet?</span></i>” said -Madame la Roche. “Yes, every thing, -any thing,” she answered impatiently, -as she got up to receive her aunt.—She -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_270' href='#Page_270'>270</a></span> -was unusually grave. Calantha trembled; -for she thought she was prepared to speak -to her about Buchanan. She was extremely -relieved when she found that her -censures turned solely upon her page. -“Why keep that little foreign minion?” -she said, indignantly. “Is the Count -Viviani so very dear, that any present of -his must be thus treasured up and valued?” -“The Count Viviani?” said Calantha astonished: -“who is he?”—“Well, then, Gondimar,” -replied Lady Margaret. “Calantha—as -a favour, I request you send back that -boy.”—Lady Avondale’s prayers were at -first her sole reply; and like Titania, in her -second, when Oberon demanded the trusty -Henchman, she boldly refused. Lady -Margaret left her immediately:—she was -calm, but offended. She was then going to -Castle Delaval. Calantha told her they -should join her there in the course of -the next month. She only smiled, with -a look of incredulity and contempt; asking -her, if her beloved Henry would -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_271' href='#Page_271'>271</a></span> -really be so cruel as to tear her away at -last from London? and saying this she -took leave. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Avondale and Calantha had been -conversing on this very subject in the -morning. He was surprised at her ready -acquiescence in his wish to return to Ireland. -“You are then still the same,” he -said affectionately.—“I am the same,” -she replied rather fretfully; “but you are -changed:—every one tells me you neglect -me.” “And have they who tell you -so,” said he with a sigh, “any very good -motive in thus endeavouring to injure -me in your opinion? If I attended to -what every one said, Calantha, perhaps I -too should have some reason to complain.—Business -of importance has alone engaged -my attention. You know I am -not one who assumes much; and if I say -that I have been employed, you may depend -on its being the case. I hope, then, -I am not wrong when I have confided -myself, and every thing that is dearest to -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_272' href='#Page_272'>272</a></span> -me, to your honour and your love.”—“Ah -no:—you are not wrong,” she answered; -“but perhaps if you confided less, -and saw more of me, it would be better. -Before marriage, a woman has her daily -occupations: she looks for the approving -smile of her parents:—she has friends -who cheer her—who take interest in her -affairs. But when we marry, Henry, we -detach ourselves from all, to follow one -guide. For the first years, we are the -constant object of your solicitude:—you -watch over us with even a tenderer care -than those whom we have left, and then -you leave us—leave us too, among the -amiable and agreeable, yet reprove us, if -we confide in them, or love them. Marriage -is the annihilation of love.” -</p> - -<p> -“The error is in human nature,” said -Lord Avondale smiling—“We always -see perfection in that which we cannot -approach:—there is a majesty in distance -and rarity, which every day’s intercourse -wears off. Besides, love delights in gazing -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_273' href='#Page_273'>273</a></span> -upon that which is superior:—whilst -we believe you angels, we kneel to you, -we are your slaves;—we awake and find -women, and expect obedience:—and is -it not what you were made for?”—“Henry, -we are made your idols too—too -long, to bear this sad reverse:—you -should speak to us in the language -of truth from the first, or never.—Obey—is -a fearful word to those who have -lived without hearing it; and truth from -lips which have accustomed us to a dearer -language, sounds harsh and discordant. -We have renounced society, and all the -dear ties of early friendship, to form one -strong engagement, and if that fails, what -are we in the world?—beings without -hope, or interest—dependants—encumbrances—shadows -of former joys—solitary -wanderers in quest of false pleasures—or -lonely recluses, unblessing and unblest.” -</p> - -<p> -Calantha had talked herself into tears, -at the conclusion of this sentence; and -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_274' href='#Page_274'>274</a></span> -Lord Avondale, smiling at a description -she had given, so little according with -the gay being who stood before him, -pressed her fondly to his bosom; and said -he would positively hear no more. -“You treat me like a child—a fool,”—she -said:—“you forget that I am a reasonable -creature.” “I do, indeed, -Calantha:—you so seldom do any thing -to remind me of it.” “Well, Henry, -one day you shall find your error. I feel -that within, which tells me that I could be -superior—aye—very superior to those who -cavil at my faults, and first encourage and -then ridicule me for them. I love—I -honour you, Henry. You never flatter -me. Even if you neglect me, you have -confidence in me—and, thank God, my -heart is still worthy of some affection.—It -is yet time to amend.” Calantha—thought -it had been—as she took in haste -a review of her former conduct—of time, -how neglected!—friends, how estranged!—money -lavished in vain!—and health -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_275' href='#Page_275'>275</a></span> -impaired by the excess of late hours, -and endless, ceaseless dissipation. -</p> - -<p> -London had still attractions for Calantha; -but the thought of fresh air, -and green fields recurring, she was -soon prepared for the journey. She -passed the intervening days before her -departure in taking leave of her friends. -Lady Mandeville, in bidding adieu to -her, affirmed that the interchange of ideas -between congenial souls, would never be -lessened, nor interrupted by absence. She -would write to her, she said, and she -would think of her; and, seeing Calantha -was really sorry to part with her, -“You have none of the philosophy,” -she said, “which your cousin and your -aunt possess, and every trifle, therefore, -has power to afflict you:—you scarcely -know me, and yet you are grieved to leave -me. Promise ever to judge of me by -what you see yourself, and not through -the medium of others; for the world, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_276' href='#Page_276'>276</a></span> -which I despise from my soul, has long -sought to crush me, because I had pride -of character enough to think for myself.” -</p> - -<p> -If any thing had been wanting to -strengthen Calantha’s regard, this boast -had been sure of its effect; for it was one -of her favourite opinions, not indeed that -the world should be despised, but that -persons should dare to think, and act for -themselves, even though against its judgments. -She was not then, aware how -this cant phrase is ever in the mouths of -the veriest slaves to prejudice,—how little -real independence of character is -found amongst those who have lost sight -of virtue. Like spendthrifts, who boast of -liberality, they are forced to stoop to arts -and means, which those whom they affect -to contemn, would blush even to think of. -Virtue alone can hope to stand firm and -unawed above the multitude. When vice -assumes this fearless character, it is either -unblushing effrontery and callous indifference -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_277' href='#Page_277'>277</a></span> -to the opinion of the wise and -good, or at best, but overweening pride, -which supports the culprit, and conceals -from the eyes of others, the gnawing tortures -he endures—the bitter agonizing -consciousness of self-reproach. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_278' href='#Page_278'>278</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXXII. -</h2> - -<p> -Lord Avondale was desirous of passing -the winter with his family at Monteith, -and in the spring he had promised -the Duke of Altamonte to accompany -Lady Avondale to Castle Delaval. -Lady Mandeville and Lady Augusta -Selwyn were invited to meet them -there at that time. The wish of pleasing -Calantha, of indulging even her very -weaknesses, seemed to be the general -failing of all who surrounded her:—yet -what return did she make?—each day -new follies engrossed her thoughts;—her -levity and extravagance continually increased; -and whilst with all the ostentation -of generosity she wasted the fortune -of her husband upon the worthless and -the base,—he denied himself every amusement, -secretly and kindly to repair the -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_279' href='#Page_279'>279</a></span> -ruin—the misery—the injustice her imprudence -and wanton prodigality had -caused. -</p> - -<p> -During a long and melancholy journey, -and after her arrival at Monteith, -Calantha, with some astonishment, considered -the difference of Lord Avondale’s -views, character and even talents for society -and conversation, as compared with -those of her former companions. Lord -Avondale had no love of ostentation—no -effort—a perfect manliness of conduct and -character, a real, and not feigned, indifference -to the opinion and applause of the -vain and the foolish; yet with all this, he -was happy, cheerful, ready to enter into -every amusement or occupation which -gave others pleasure. He had not one selfish -feeling. It was impossible not to be -forcibly struck with the comparison. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha, with her usual inconsistency, -now made all those sensible and judicious -remarks which people always make, when -they have lived a life of folly, and suddenly -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_280' href='#Page_280'>280</a></span> -return to a more tranquil course. -She compared the false gaiety which arises -from incessant hurry and vanity, with that -which is produced by nature and -health. She looked upon the blue sky -and the green fields; watched the first -peeping snow-drop and crocus; and entered -with delight into all the little innocent -pleasures of a rural life: nor did -even a slight restlessness prevail, nor any -erring thoughts steal back to revisit the -gay scenes she had left. In very truth -she was more adapted, she said, to her -present course of life than to any other; -and, however guilty of imprudence, she -thanked God she had not heavier sins to -answer for; nor was there a thought of her -heart, she would not have wished her husband -to know, unless from the fear of either -giving him pain or betraying others. -</p> - -<p> -At length, however, and by degrees, -something of disquiet began to steal in -upon the serenity of her thoughts:—her -mind became agitated, and sought an object:—study, -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_281' href='#Page_281'>281</a></span> -nay, labour she had preferred -to this total want of interest. While politics -and military movements engaged Lord -Avondale almost wholly, and the rest of -the family seemed to exist happily enough -in the usual course, she longed for she -knew not what. There was a change in -her sentiments, but she could not define -it. It was not as it had been once: yet -there was no cause for complaint. She -was happy, but her heart seemed not to -partake of her happiness: regret mingled -at times with her enjoyments. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Mowbray spoke with some -asperity of her late conduct; Lady -Elizabeth enquired laughingly if all -she heard were true; for every folly, -every fault, exaggerated and misrepresented, -had flown before her: she found -that all which she had considered as -merely harmless, now appeared in a new -and more unpleasing light. Censures at -home and flattery abroad are a severe trial -to the vain and the proud. She thought -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_282' href='#Page_282'>282</a></span> -her real friends austere; and cast one -longing glance back upon the scene -which had been so lately illumined by -the gaiety, the smiles, the kindness and -courtesy of her new acquaintance. -</p> - -<p> -Whilst the first and only care of Lord -Avondale, every place was alike delightful -to Calantha; for in his society she enjoyed -all that she desired; but now that -she saw him estranged, absent, involved -in deeper interests, she considered, with -some feelings of alarm, the loneliness of -her own situation. In the midst of hundreds, -she had no real friends:—those of -her childhood were estranged from her -by her marriage; and those her marriage -had united her with, seemed to perceive -only her faults, nor appreciated the merits -she possessed. To dress well, to talk -well, to write with ease and perspicuity, -had never been her turn. Unused to the -arts and amusements of social intercourse, -she had formerly felt interest in -poetry, in music, in what had ceased to -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_283' href='#Page_283'>283</a></span> -be, or never had existed; but now the -same amusements, the same books, had -lost their charm: she knew more of the -world, and saw and felt their emptiness -and fallacy. In the society of the generality -of women and men she could find -amusement when any amusement was to -be found; but, day after day, to hear sentiments -she could not think just, and to -lose sight of all for which she once had -felt reverence and enthusiasm, was hard. -If she named one she loved, that one was -instantly considered as worthless: if she -expressed much eagerness for the success -of any project, that eagerness was the -subject of ridicule. -</p> - -<p> -Oh I am changed, she continually -thought; I have repressed and conquered -every warm and eager feeling; I love and -admire nothing; yet am I not heartless -and cold enough for the world in which -I live. What is it that makes me miserable? -There is a fire burns within my -soul; and all those whom I see and hear -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_284' href='#Page_284'>284</a></span> -are insensible. Avondale alone feels as -I do; but alas! it is no longer for me. -Were I dead, what difference would it -make to any one? I am the object of -momentary amusement or censure to -thousands; but, of love, to none. I am as -a child, as a mistress to my husband; but -never his friend, his companion. Oh for -a heart’s friend, in whom I could confide -every thought and feeling; who would -share and sympathize with my joy or -sorrow; to whom I could say, “you love -me—you require my presence;” and for -whom in return I would give up every -other enjoyment. Such friend was once -Lord Avondale. By what means have -I lost him? -</p> - -<p> -Often when in tears she thus expressed -herself. Her husband would suddenly -enter; laugh with her without penetrating -her feelings; or, deeply interested in -the cares of business, seek her only as a -momentary solace and amusement. Such, -however, he seldom now found her; -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_285' href='#Page_285'>285</a></span> -for she cherished a discontented spirit -within her; and though too proud and -stubborn to complain, she lived but on -the memory of the past. -</p> - -<p> -Calantha’s principles had received a -shock, the force and effect of which was -greatly augmented by a year of vanity -and folly; her health too was impaired -from late hours and an enervating life; -she could not walk or ride as formerly; -and her great occupation was the indulgence -of a useless and visionary train of -thinking. She imagined that which was -not, and lost sight of reality;—pictured -ideal virtues, and saw not the world as it -is. Her heart beat with all the fervour -of enthusiasm; but the turn it took was -erroneous. She heard the conversation -of others; took a mistaken survey of society; -and withdrew herself imperceptibly -from all just and reasonable views. -Ill motives were imputed to her, for what -she considered harmless imprudence; -she felt the injustice of these opinions; -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_286' href='#Page_286'>286</a></span> -and, instead of endeavouring to correct -those appearances which had caused such -severe animadversion, in absolute disgust -she steeled herself against all remonstrances. -Every one smiles on me and -seems to love me—the world befriends -me—she continually thought; yet I am -censured and misrepresented. My relations—the -only enemies I have—are those -who profess to be my friends. Convinced -of this, she became lonely. She had -thoughts which once she would have mentioned -as they occurred, but which she -now concealed and kept solely to herself. -She became dearer in her own estimation, -as she detached herself from others, -and began to feel coldly, even towards -those whom she had once loved. -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_287' href='#Page_287'>287</a></span> -</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2> -CHAPTER XXXIII. -</h2> - -<p> -It is dangerous to begin life by surrendering -every feeling of the mind and the -heart to any violent passion—Calantha -had loved and been loved to such an excess, -that all which followed it appeared -insipid. Vanity might fill the space for -a moment, or friendship, or charity, or -benevolence; but still there was something -gone which, had it never existed, -had never been missed and required. -Lord Avondale was perhaps more indulgent -and more affectionate now, than at -first; for a lover ever plays the tyrant; -but even this indulgence was different; -and that look of adoration—that blind -devotion—that ardent, constant solitude, -when, without a single profession, one -may feel certain of being the first object -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_288' href='#Page_288'>288</a></span> -in life to the person thus attached,—all -this was past. -</p> - -<p> -Such love is not depravity. To have -felt it, and to feel it no more, is like being -deprived of the light of the sun, and -seeing the same scenes, which we once -viewed brilliant beneath its beams, dark, -clouded and cheerless.—Calantha had -given up her heart too entirely to its -power, ever more to endure existence -without it. Her home was a desert; her -thoughts were heavy and dull; her spirits -and her health were gone; and even -the desire of pleasing, so natural to the -vain, had ceased. Whom was she to -wish to please, since Avondale was indifferent? -or what to her was the same, -absent and preoccupied. -</p> - -<p> -Such depression continued during the -gloomy wintry months; but with the -first warm breeze of spring, they left her; -and in the month of May, she prepared -to join the splendid party which was expected -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_289' href='#Page_289'>289</a></span> -at Castle Delaval—as gay in heart -herself as if she had never moralized upon -the perishableness of all human happiness. -</p> - -<p> -Upon a cool and somewhat dreary morning -in the month of May, Calantha left -Monteith, and, sleeping one night at Allenwater, -hastened to Castle Delaval, where -blazing hearths and joyous countenances, -gave her a cheering welcome. Lady -Mandeville and Lady Augusta had, according -to promise, arrived there a week -before, to the utter consternation of Mrs. -Seymour. Calantha perceived in one -moment, that she was not extremely well -with her or with her cousins upon this -account. Indeed the former scarcely offered -her her hand, such a long detail -of petty offences had been registered -against her, since they had last parted. -It was also justly imputed to Calantha -that Lady Mandeville had been invited -to the Castle. A stately dignity was -therefore assumed by Sophia and Mrs. -Seymour on this occasion: they scarce -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_290' href='#Page_290'>290</a></span> -permitted themselves to smile during the -whole time Lady Mandeville remained, -for fear, as Calantha concluded, that -Satan, taking advantage of a moment of -levity, should lead them into further evil. -The being compelled to live in company -with one of her character, was more than -enough. -</p> - -<p> -“I am enraptured at your arrival,” -said Lady Augusta, flying towards Calantha, -the moment she perceived her. -“You are come at the happiest time: -you will be diverted here in no ordinary -manner: the days of romance, are once -again displayed to our wondering view.” -“Yes,” said Lady Trelawney, “not a day -passes without an adventure.” Before Calantha -enquired into the meaning of this, -she advanced to Lady Mandeville, who, languidly -reclining upon a couch, smiled -sweetly on seeing her. Secure of the impression -she had made, she waited to be -sought, and throwing her arm around her, -gave her kisses so soft and so tender, that -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_291' href='#Page_291'>291</a></span> -she could not immediately extricate herself -from her embrace. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Augusta, eager to talk, exclaimed—“Did -you meet any of the patrole?” “I -was reading the address to the united -Irishmen,” said Calantha, who could hear -and think of nothing else. “Are you aware -who is the author?” “No; but it is so -eloquent, so animated, I was quite alarmed -when I thought how it must affect the -people.” “You shock me, Calantha,” -said Mrs. Seymour. “The absurd rhapsody -you mean, is neither eloquent nor -animating: it is a despicable attempt to -subvert the government, a libel upon the -English, and a poor piece of flattery to -delude the infatuated malcontents in -Ireland.” Lady Augusta winked at Calantha, -as if informing her that she touched -upon a sore subject. “The author,” -said Lady Trelawney, who affected to be -an enthusiast, “is Lord Glenarvon.” -</p> - -<p> -“I wish Frances,” said Mrs. Seymour, -“you would call people by their right -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_292' href='#Page_292'>292</a></span> -names. The young man you call Lord -Glenarvon, has no claim to that title; his -grandfather was a traitor; his father was -a poor miserable exile, who was obliged -to enter the Navy by way of gaining a -livelihood; his mother was a woman of -very doubtful character (as she said this -she looked towards Lady Mandeville); -and this young man, educated nobody -knows how, having passed his time in a -foreign country, nobody knows where, -from whence he was driven it seems by -his crimes, is now unfortunately arrived -here to pervert and mislead others, to -disseminate his wicked doctrines amongst -an innocent but weak people, and to -spread the flames of rebellion, already kindled -in other parts of the Island. Oh, he is -a dishonour to his sex; and it makes me -mad to see how you all run after him, -and forget both dignity and modesty, -to catch a glimpse of him.” -</p> - -<p> -“What sort of looking man is he, dear -aunt?” said Calantha. “Frightful—mean,” -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_293' href='#Page_293'>293</a></span> -said Mrs. Seymour. “His stature is -small,” said Lady Mandeville; “but his eye -is keen and his voice is sweet and tunable. -Lady Avondale believe me, he is possessed -of that persuasive language, which -never fails to gain upon its hearers. Take -heed to your heart: remember my words,—beware -of the young Glenarvon.” Gondimar, -after the first salutation upon entering -the room, joined in the conversation; -but he spoke with bitterness of -the young Lord; and upon Lady Trelawney’s -attempting to say a few words -in his favour, “Hear Sir Everard on this -subject,” said the Count—“only hear -what he thinks of him.” “I fear,” said -Sophia, “that all these animadversions -will prevent our going to-morrow, as we -proposed, to see the Priory.” “Nothing -shall prevent me,” replied Lady Augusta. -“I only beg,” said Mrs. Seymour “that -I may not be of the party, as the tales -of horror I have heard concerning the -inhabitants of St. Alvin Priory, from -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_294' href='#Page_294'>294</a></span> -old Lord de Ruthven, at Belfont Abbey, -prevent my having the smallest wish or -curiosity to enter its gates.” -</p> - -<p> -Count Gondimar, now coming towards -Calantha, enquired after Zerbellini. At the -request of every one present, he was sent -for. Calantha saw a visible change in Lady -Margaret’s countenance, as he entered -the room. “He is the living images”—she -murmured, in a low hollow tone—“Of -whom?” said Calantha eagerly.—She -seemed agitated and retired. Gondimar -in the evening, took Calantha -apart, and said these extraordinary words -to her, “Zerbellini is Lady Margaret -and Lord Dartford’s son: treat him according -to his birth; but remember, she -would see him a slave sooner than betray -herself: she abhors, yet loves him. Mark -her; but never disclose the secret with -which I entrust you.” Astonished, confounded, -Calantha now looked upon the -boy with different eyes. Immediately his resemblance -to the family of Delaval struck -<span class='pagenum'><a id='Page_295' href='#Page_295'>295</a></span> -her—his likeness to herself—his manner -so superior to that of a child in his situation. -The long concealed truth, at once -flashed upon her. A thousand times -she was tempted to speak upon the subject. -She had not promised to conceal -it from Lord Avondale: she was in the -habit of telling him every thing: however -she was now for the first time silent, -and there is no more fatal symptom than -when an open communicative disposition -grows reserved. -</p> -</div> - -<p class="center p4"> -END OF VOL. I. -</p> - -<hr /> -<p class="center p4 s08"> -LONDON: PRINTED BY SCHULZE AND DEAN,<br /> -13, POLAND STREET.</p> -<hr /> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLENARVON, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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