jfe ''^^"-^^i "t^^^it^ //^ //^y^y^/C/^-^^ II B R.ARY OF THE U N IVERSITY or ILLI NOIS LlGBgl V. 1 The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its return on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN JL'H. - •'> 13T1 MAK/ SEP 2 '^ W90 OCT 2 4 1390 W ^■lI^i^fA'ii'^/Oi^f Vi)'L,'l jl.OKDOK GLENARVON. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. L Les passions sont les vents qui enflent les voiles du vais- seau : elles le submergeut quelquefois, mais sans dies il ne pourrait voguer. Tout est dangereux ici-bas, et tout est uecessaire. ^I&iri) ©tJitiott, LONDON: PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN, CONDUIT SRREET. 1816. London : Printed by Schulze and Dean, 13, Poland Street. PREFACE TO THE SECOND.EDITION, Glenarvon was written and committed to the press without permission, commu- nication, advice, or assistance — this may account for, though it cannot excuse all the slighter, and many, it is trusted, of the more serious errors of the composi- tion. But if indeed the charge of im- moral tendency, which some have pre- ferred against these volumes, be well- founded, what palliation can in any de- gree extenuate so great an offence, or what praise can compensate for so odious an imputation ? The Author must bow with submission to the adverse judgment of the public, if that judgment be once pronounced decidedly, and upon due consideration ; but the flattering hope a 11 PREFACE. had been indulged, that the general ten- dency of the work was favourable to the interests of virtue. It is too late, it is presumed, to enquire whether those in- terests are, or are not injured by the de- scription of desperate characters, depraved conduct, and daring crimes ? Such have been from the earliest to the most recent times, the subjects of fiction ; such have ever been the themes of tragedians of all countries ; of the writers of novels, ro- mances, and romantic poems ; and the present period presents us with almost daily examples, which at least equal, if they do not surpass their prototypes of old, in the horrors, and atrocities, whicli they describe. The scene of the following pages is laid, for the most part, in Ireland, in the time of the Irish Rebellion. The events have no foundation in fact, and with re- spect to the characters, the painter well knows, that, when he is sketching the personages of history, or the creatures PREFACE. Ill of his imagination, the lineaments, with which he is most familiar, will sometimes almost involuntarily rise beneath the touch of his pencil. The same cause has perhaps produced in this work, those resemblances, if resemblances they be, which have been recognized, admitted, claimed with so much eagerness, and then condemned with so much asperity. Yet a distinction is always to be drawn between the attempt at painting human nature as it is, and the base desire of de- forming, and degrading it. The crimes related in these volumes are evidently imaginary ; the situations fictitious ; much of the ridicule which has received a per- sonal application, is harmless in itself, and directed against trifling peculiarities; some imputations there are, no doubt of a heavier nature, and these were conceived to have been justified by in- jury and provocation. The language of resentment is generally more violent, than the occasion demands, and he who IV PREFACE. uses it, is of all mankind the least quali- fied to judge impartially of its propriety ; but those who suffer deeply, will express themselves strongly ; those w ho have been cruelly attacked, will use the means of resistance, which are within their reach ; and observations, which appear to a general observer, bitter and acrimo- nious, may perhaps wear another cha- racter to him who is acquainted with the circumstances, which occasioned them. This work is not the offspring of calm tranquillity, and cool deliberation, it does not bear the marks of such a temper, or of such a situation. It was written under the pressure of affliction, with the feelings of resentment which are excited by misrepresentation, and in the bitter- ness of a wounded spirit, which is natu- rally accompanied by a corresponding bit- terness both of thought and expression. " The blood will follow, where the knife is driven 5 " The flesh will quiver, where the pincer tears, " And sighs and tears by nature grow on pain." PREFACE. V These avowals being fairly, and dis- tinctly made, an appeal is still confidently urged to those, who have read impartially, whether, whatever may be the character of the more general reflections, the fea- tures of the few supposed portraits are overcharged and distorted, as if by the hand of malevolence, or whether their beauties, are not studiously heightened and brought forth, and their defects in some measure thrown into shade and concealed. When we cast a glance around us upon the frailty of human nature, and the errors and follies of the world, we must, it is to be feared, confess that malignity, had malignity guided the pen, might, without departing from truth, or in the slightest degree infringing the sacred confidence of friendship, have found it easy to expose foibles far more ridicu- lous, and to cast aspersions far more ill natured and injurious. — One observation further there is an anxiety to press upon VI PREFACE. the consideration of the public. The Author cannot be accused of having sought the favour of those who are gene- rally admired, and courted, of those who are powerful in influence and popularity, who are surrounded by friends and sup- porters, and who give, in a great measure, the tone and turn to the conversation of society, and the opinions of the world ; nor on the other hand, is the shaft of satire in any one instance directed against the weak, the fallen, or the defenceless. In the vain, frivolous and unrestrained character of Calantha, and in the kind, the generous, the noble one of Avondale, it was intended to enforce the danger of too entire liberty either of conduct, or of opinion ; and to shew that no endow- ments, no advantages, can ensure happi- ness and security upon earth, unless we adhere to the forms, as well as to the prin- ciples of religion and morality. Nor will it be held by the truly wise, or the trufy pious, to be too heavy an imputation PREFACE. Vil upon the character of Lord Avondale, that he is represented as having in early youth suffered his mind to be overpow- ered, and his judgment in some measure misled by the vain wisdom, and false philosophy, which have distinguished and disturbed the times, in which it has been our fortune to live. The error attribut- ed, is one which unhappily has been in our day neither unusual, nor unnatural; it is one, into which have fallen men of the most powerful talents, and the warmest hearts, betrayed often by a confi- dence in their own strength ; and with the candid and tolerant the question will ever be, not whether the delusion has prevailed for a time, but whether it has been after- wards shaken off by the returning recti- tude of the feelings, and the growing vigour of the understanding. If this cha- racter had been represented, (as would have been easy) without blame or blemish, it would also have been without proba- bility, without interest, without admoni- Vlll PREFACE. tion. This transient error, which darkens for a moment the splendor of Avondale's virtues, is adduced not as forming an apology for the misconduct of Calantha, but as accounting for the tenderness and mercy, her husband afterwards evinced, when remembering that perhaps he had too little sought to strengthen and con- firm in her, those principles, which none more deeply venerated, or more strictly observed than himself. He commiser- ated her fate and wept upon her grave. The character of Calantha, of the Miss Seymours, of Lady Dartford, may be in part applied to many — they are not out of na- ture, nor overstrained ; those of Miss St.- Clare and Lad^ Margaret Buchanan are -iiore entirely fictitious. Their situation, their disposition, their vices, their projects have not the remotest allusion to any per- son who ever existed, or to any event that ever took place. Designing ill-will and erring curiosity, may exert themselves to discover realities in murdei^s, intrigues, PREFACE. IX marriages and separations, which have been only introduced for the sake of giv- ing some interest to the narrative ; but good sense, and discernment, will easily distinguish between such ill-founded applications, and those observations in which, it is trusted, the fair freedom of remark, and censure, which belongs to the British press, has neither been exceeded, nor abused. It is needless further to explain the plan, and object of each particular pas- sage, or character, which is introduced into the composition. Unless that object be delineated with such clearness, as to exhibit itself to the mind of the reader in the moment of perusal, it is vain to sug- gest and point it out in the preface. The whole has been written with the general design of inculcating the necessity of seeing both actions and opinions, in their true light, and as they really are ; of found- ing religion, not Hke Calantha, upon en- thusiasm, but upon reason and faith ; of X PREFACE. founding morality, upon principle and experience, not upon ignorance of evil. If in any part of the work, any deviation from this prescribed course can be disco- vered : if any sentiment throughout these volumes, appears even to approach to the toleration of vice and immorality, it is vain now to say, how from the heart it is wished unwritten ; but in censures, which spring from very different motives, in misconstructions, misrepresentations, and, above all, in the charge of malevo-^ lence, the author never will silently and tamely acquiesce. GLENARVON. CHAPTER 1 In the town of Belfont, in Ireland, lived a learned physician of the name of Eve- rard St. Clare. He had a brother, who, misled by a fine but wild imagination, which raised him too far above the in- terests of common life, had squandered away his small inheritance; and had long roved through the world, rapt in poetic visions, foretelling, as he pretend- ed, to those who would hear him, that which futurity would more fully develop. — Camioli was the name he had as- sumed. It was many years since Sir Everard last beheld his brother, when one night Camioli, bearing in his arms Elinor his VOL. I. B 2 GLENARVON. child, about five years of age, returned, after 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 strafiger. 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 tempo- rary shelter in a cleft of the mountain known by the name of the " Wizard's Glen." Bright shone the stars that night, and to the imagination of the aged seer, it seemed in sleep, that the spirits of de- parted heroes and countrymen, freed from the bonds of mortality, were ascending in solemn grandeur before his eyes; — Glenarvon's form appeared before him — his patron 1 his benefactor! — he spoke of times long past, of scenes by all forgot, pointed with a look of despondency to GLENARVON. 3 his infant son ! — " Who shall protect the orphan that is destitute ?" he cried — " who shall restore him to the house of his fathers T' From visions so wild and terrible, the soft sweet voice of his child awoke Ca- mioli — '' 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 the Bard, (enveloping her in his long dark mantle,) '' I will soon take you 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 B 2 4 GLENARVON. futurity." — He spoke, and descending the rugged mountain path, placed his Elinor 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 Bel- font. — *' Woe to the house of Glenar- von !" 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 ?. last ^dieu. Cold are thv waters, Killarney ; and many a tree has been hewn from thy rocky bosom, thou fair GLBNARVON. 5 fountain 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 mo- ther — 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 Sling the Bard, while the red deer were browsinq: upon the hills, and the wind whistled through the arches and colonnades of the Castle of Behont, as if in hollow murmurs for times whirh 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 forever: the widowed Coun- tess of Glenarvon is dead — dead in a fo- reign country ; and stranger hands alone 6 GLENARVON. perform her obsequies." He spoke, and looked, for the last time, upon the land that he loved, then turned from it as if for ever.. ..Previous, however, to his de- parture from Ireland, Camioli again sought his brother, (who was then an inmate in the family of the Duke of Al- tamonte,) for the purpose of commending Elinor to his care. Castle Delaval, the property of that nobleman, was situated in a valley shel- tered from every keen blast by a dark wood of beach and fir. The river Elle, taking its rise amidst the Dartland Hills, flowed through the park, losing by de- grees the character of a mountain torrent, as it spread itself between rich and varied banks in front of the castle, till it joined the sea beyond the Wizard'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, GLENARVON. 7 raising their lofty summits, capped with snow, soar above the clouds. The abbey of Belfont, snd th© priory of St. Alvin, both the property of the Glenarvon family, were row, in conse- quence of the forfeiture of the late Earl of that name, transferred to Lord de Ruthven, a distant relation. Thedsserted 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 melan- choly 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 Ruth- ven, his grandson, an orphan, in a foreign land, had never yet appeared to petition for his attainted titles and forfeited estates. — Of relations and of friends he had never heard. 8 GLENARVON. Where are they who claim kindred \vith the unfortunate? Where are they who boast of friendship for the orphan that is destitute and in trouble? Yet the Duke of Altamonte, whose domains were contiguous, and whose attachment ex- tended to the son of his ancient friend, had ofttimes written to his sister enquir- ing into the fate of the child ; but Lady Margaret had answered her brother's let- ters with coldness and indifference. GLENARVON, CHAPTER IL It is the common failing of an ambitious mind to over-rate itself — to imagine that it has, by the caprices of fortune, been 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 dis- content. The mind, thus disappointed, preys upon itself, and compares its pre- sent lowliness with the imaginary heights for which it fancies itself to have been designed. Under the influence of these reflections, the character grows sullen and reserved, detaches itself from all social enjoyaients, and professes to de- spise the honours for which it secretly pines. Mediocrity aod a common lot, a man of this disposition cannot bring him- B 5 10 GLENARVOjr. self to endtire ; and he wilfully rejects the little granted, because all cannot be obtained to which he had aspired. In this temper, the Dukeof iVltamonte had r. tired from public affairs, and quit- ted the splendour and gaiety of the court, to seek in retirement that repose which, of ail men, he was the least calculated to appreciate or enjoy. He had married into a Roman Catholic family. In the society of the Duchess, he had found all that could sooth his wounded spirit: in Mrs. Seymour, the duchess's sister, he also welcomed a mild and unobtrusive guest; while the project of uniting the Lady Calantha Delaval, his only daugh- ter, to her cousin William Buchanan, heir presumptive to the Dukedom of Al- tamonte, and son of his sister Lady Mar- garet Buchanan, (the titles descending in the female line,) occupied his thoughts, and engrossed his attention. To forward this favourite object, he communicated to them both, that they GLENARVON. 11 were destined for each other; and, by- employing them in the same occupations, causing them to be instructed in the same studies, and in every way contriv- ing that they should be continually to- gether, he hoped that early habits, and the first affections of childhood, might unite their hearts in indissoluble bonds. But how short-sighted, how little found- ed in a right knowledge of human nature, was this project ! Habituated to the in- timacy which subsists between near re- lations, 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 pur- sued in their education, accustomed them in their intercourse with each other, to give way to their violent tempers, with- out restraint; and the frequent recurrence 12 GLENARVON, of petty quarrels, soon produced senti- ments, which bordered on dislike; so that at the moment when the Duke hoped to exult in the success, he had to contemplate the failure, of his project. Happily,a most important event occur- red at this time in his family, which turned his thoughts into another channel. — 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 consent to yield up every other claim, privilege and posses- sion." — The wish was heard, and at the appointed time, the Duchess of Alta- monte, after a few hours' illness, was de- livered 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 GLENARVON. 13 in wealth or power ; — it was in vain that friends surrounded him, and flatterers attended upon his least commands: — until this unexpected, and almost un- hoped for, event, he could not be said to have enjoyed one hour of felicity, so un- wisely did he blind himself to every other blessing: which he possessed ; and so ar- dently 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 nothins: 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 14 GLEICARVON. 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 x\lbert, Marquis of Delaval. The tenants and peasantry flocked, from far and near, to 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 ido- latry. Without delay, the Duke resolved to ietimate to his sister. Lady Margaret Buchanan, who was at Naples, the change wnicn had taKen piace in ner son^s ex- pectations. He felt the necessity of soft- GLENARVON. K5 ening the disclosure by every soothing expression ; and, as he loved her most sincerely, he wrote to urge her imnriediate 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 disap- pointment. With what fond overweening 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 lier son of all his expectations ! He knew not Lady Mar- garet : — less than any other, he knew that fierce spirit which never yet had been controled — which deemed itself born to command, and would have perished sooner than have endured re- straint. At this very period of time, having bade adieu to brighter climes and more polished manners, with all the gaiety of \6 GLENARVON. apparent innocence, and all the brilliancy of wit whicl) bplong: to spirits light as air, and a refined and highly ci itivated genius, she was sailing in the prosecu- tion of ht^r accursed designs, accompa- nied 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 h\r and pro- sperous voyage, proceeded, with their equipages and attendants to Castle De- laval. Lady Margaret was received with de- light at the house of her father, in her native land. A burst of applause liailed her first appearance before the wondering crowd assembled to behold her. Fond of admiration, even from the lowest, she lingered on the terrace, which command- ed 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 GLENARVON. 17 thanks for their flattering reception. Bu- chanan alone met his mother without one mark of joy. Cold and reserved, from earliest childhood, he had never yet felt attachnient for any other being than himself; and fuWy 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 Ids own personal amusements. He saw many new guests arrive without experiencing the slightest accession of pleasure- .lud wiieu those departed whom he had beeii in the habit of seeing around him, ii seltlom cost him even a momen- tary regret. He had so long and so fre- quently been informed that he was heir of the immense possessions 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 18 GLENARYON. of Delaval. Indeed he seemed as indif- ferent on this occasion as on all others. Yet whatever his errors, he was at least in person and manner all that Lady Mar- garet 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 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 fic- tions 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 her- self in need of consolation. Lady Mar- garet's beauty irresistibly attracted ; her wit enlivened ; and her manners fasci- nated — but the dreadful secrets of her heart appalled ! GLENARVON. 19 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 highl}^ 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 ap- pear to see the ill will shewn to her. Yet many thought the discorc-s and dis- asters 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. 90 GLEN AR VON, CHAPTER III. Lady Margaret Delaval, only surviving sister of the Duke of Altamonte, was born in Trel uid, wiiere she r inained until her marriage vith Captain Buchanan. She then established herself at Naples; the fleet in which her husband served being stationed in the Medit^rr^mean Sea. After rhe birth of her son William, she jmmediatf'ly sent him to Ireland, there to receive, under her brother's tuition, an education more fitting the heir of Al- tamonte, 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 hus- band (who accompanied the boy to Ire- land) to a life of extravagance and vice, GLEN AR VON. 21 ensnaring the inexperienced by her art, and fasf'irjan'ng the most wary by her beauty and her talents. T'ne charms of her pi rson and the endowments of her mind were worthy of a better tate than that whic!h slie was preparing for htrself. But, under the semblance of youthful gaiety, she concealed a dark intriguing spirit, which could neither remain at rest, nor satist'y itself in the pursuit of great and noble objects. She had been hurried on by the evil activity oi her own mind, until the habit of crime had overcome every scruple, and rendered her insen- sible to repentance, and almost to re- morse. In this career, she had improved to such a degree her natural talent of dis- simulation, that, under its impenetrable veil, she was able to carry on securely her darkest machinations ; and her un- derstanding 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 aflbrded 22 GLENARVON. an inexplicable delight to her deprived imagination. While she was thus indulging her dis- graceful inclinations, her heart becanie attached with all her characteristic vio- lence 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, be- held Lady Margaret than he left that ob- ject 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 GLENARVON. 23 who, amongst the numerous attendants in the hours of her prosperity, had re- mained with her in this last trying scene, and received her dying wishes. — " He has no father," she said, weeping in re- membrance 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, or sully the bright splendor of his father's fame ! Promise a dying mother to pro- tect 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 safelv 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 24 GLENARVON. unhappy sufferer ?t an end — no sooner had Lady Glenarvon expired, than, dis- regar'iiug her last request, he sought only to render himself useful and neces- sary 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 ex- penses of his charge, he lost no oppor- tunity of flattering Lord de Ruthven, the present possessor of the estate, and of conniving with him in the means of de- taing Glenarvon in Italy, and thus de- priving him of a great share of his pro- perty. Gondimar*s lessons were, how- ever, in this instance unnecessary; Gle- narvon 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. GLENARYON. 25 Glenarvon passed the first years after his mother's death, in visiting Rome ad Florence. He then expressed a wish of entering the navy; and having obtained his desire, he served under the comaiand of Sir George Buchanan. He even dis- tinguished himself in his new profes- sion ; 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 in- stantly 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 hnd found an avenger ; but the proud and VOL. I. c 26 GLENARVON. noble family of the Chevalier preserved a faithful silence concerning that trans- action. 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 ap- prize her brother of the report. GLENAKVON. 27 CHAPTEK IV. About the time of the disappearance of Gienarvon, Captain Buchanan died; Lady Margaret then 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 con- sidered 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 be- held her, entirely to her service. The name of the young enthusiast was Vi- viani. A deep melancholy preyed upon his spirits ; a dark mystery enveloped his fate. Gondimar had, with some coldness, c 2 28 GLENARVON. 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 supposetl to be 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 frienci, as readily when I am Lord Dartford's wife as now.'' Her young admirer shuddered, and rose from the GLENARVON. ^9 earth: ''You must be mine alone: — none other shall a}3proach 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 cheek of Viviani, he uttered one convulsive sigh, and left her to ruminate on his hopeless fate ; for every thing, he was informed, was pre- pared for the approaching nuptials. But they knew little of the nature of man, who could coiiceive that Lord Dart- ford had one serious 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 ngland ; and the first letter which she received from him, to inform her of his absence, announced to her, likewise, his marriao;e with .» la ly of fortune and rank in his native country. Lady Margaret was at dinner with a numerous company, and amongst them 30 GLENARVON. 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 spi- rit; but, recovering herself with that self- command which years of crime and deep dissimulation had taught her, she con- versed as usual, till it was time for her to depart; nor till alone in her own apartment did she suffer herself to give vent to the fury which 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 exclaim- ed. *' 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 ene- mies, the derision of the world, without one friend to soften his afflictions! — GLENARYOX. 31 May those, whom he has cherished, for- sake him in the hour of need ; and the companion he has chosen, prove a ser- pent to betray him ! — May the tear of agony, which his falsehood has drawn from these eyes, fall with tenfold bitter- ness from his own ! — And nTay 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 1 — Oh, if there are curses yet un- named, 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 momsnt, a heart torn by guilt and tortured by self-reproach. A knock 39 GLENARVON. at the door roused her from her medita- tions. It was the fair Italian boy ; he had followerl her ; for, at a glance, he had penetrated her secret. With a smile of scorn he upbraided her for her weak- ness. — *' What! in tears lady \" he said: *' is it possible? can a marriage, a disap- pointment in love, overpower you thusT' Lady Margaret, affecting a calmness she could not feel, and opposing art to art, endeavoured to repel his taunting expres- sions. But he knew her thoughts, he at once saw 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 daemon ; 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 from its present channel, ad by awakening her ambition — her ruling passion, of at once quench- GLENARVON. 33 ing every softer feeling. " You have read I perceive/' he said, '' but one of the epistles with which you have been favoured; and I am already b- fore hand with you, in hearing news of fir 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 T* she said : '• the vengeance of Heaven has overtaken me! where shall I turn for succour? Is there none upon earth to whom lean apply for assistanj*e? Will no one of all those who profess so much assist me? Sliall Darttbrd triuaiph, and my son.be supplanted? Revenge — re- venge me, and I will be your slave/' If the name of love must be g-iven alike to the noblest and most dcfiraved of feelings, the young Viviani loved Lady c 5 34 GLENARVON. Margaret with all the fervor of which his heart was capable. She had made liim the weak instrument of her arts ; and knowing him too well to place her- self in his power, she had detained him near her, by all the varying stratagems of which her sex is sometimes 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 1" '' Blood — blood is the price!" said Lady Margaret. " My son must be Duke of Altamonte," returned Lady Margaret, deeply agitat- ed. — '' He shall." — "Swear it, my love- liest, my youngest friend 1" — " 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. GLENARVON. 36 When tb^y met again, the following day, not one word was uttered upon the dreadful subject of their former dis- course : 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 wa- vering 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?'* " Re- venge 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. 36 GLENARVO!^, From that hour he. courted her with unremitting assiduity : he was the slave of every new caprice, which long indul- gence 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 gratifi- cation of his wishes. GLENARVON. 37 CHAPTER Y. It was not long after Lady Margaret^s arrival at the castle that Count Gondi- mar proposed returning to Italy. Pre- vious to his departure, he sought his friend Yiviani, who was at this time con- cealed in the town of Belfont, and who, in order to pronnote his designs, had never openly appeared at the castle. " How strong must be the love," said Gondiniar, 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 itself strange fancies ; but in reality this woman is not worthy of you. You 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 pas- 38 GLENARVON. sion annihilates in me every other con- sideration ! Ah ! can it merit the name of prission — 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 some- times pause to think whether the sacri- fice I have made is not too great. But I have drained the poisoned cup to the dregs. I have prest the burning fire- brand 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. The evening before he depart- ed, he once more in secret affectionately embraced his friend. " She has deceived me,'* cried Viviani ; " Months have glided by, and she still evades my suit. GLEN A R VON-. 39 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 hu- man 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 foundations, and rivers of blood were streaming around me! — Pity me, Gondimar. — Pardon me.- — Fare- well!" 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 dis- suading his savage mistress from her bloody purpose, he placed the infant in her arms, and bade her tak\3 pity on its 40 GLENARVON. 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 dis- pleasure, thrusting it from her as if afraid to look on it ; and, for many days, would not vouchsafe to speak to the weak in- strument 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 per- version 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 per- sonal or immediate aid from Lady Mar- garet : he, therefore, conceived a project which, by any one but himself, would, in every view of it, have been considered GLENARVON. 41 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 liave ac- complished nothing ; but he had a sa- tellite 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 apart- 42 GLENARVON. ment; his face was fearfully pale; his hand trembled : he approached her, and whispered vows of ardour and tenderness in the ears of his mistress, and urged his suit with every argument he could de- vise to overcome her remaining scruples. But when he had looked, in expectation of a favourable 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, al- ready, without the aid of words, but too sufficiently manifest ! At length, break- ing silence, and rising in scorn from her seat : '' Have I not promised rnyself to you?" she whispered indignantly, "that you thus persecute me for the perform- ance of a voluntary vow? Do you think your protestations can move, and your arguments persuade ? Am 1 a timid girl, who turns from your suit bashful and alarmed ? Or am I one grown old in crime, and utterly insensible to its con- GLENARVON. 43 sequence? — 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. " 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 ?'' she said, " 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 re- tired ? — No — to the tortures of suspense, of dread, ofagony unutterable. A thousand times sho started from her bed : — she tancied that voices approached the door — that shrieks rent the air ; and, if she closed her eyes, visions of murder floated 44 clenarVon. before her distracted mind, and pictured dreams too horrible for words. Half suf- focated by the fever and delirium of her troubled imagination, she threw up the sash of her window, and listened at- tentively to every distant sound. The moon had risen in silvery brightness ; it lighted, with its beams, the deep clear waters of Elle. The wind blew loud at times, and sounded mourn- fully, as it swept through the whis- pering branches of the pines, 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; — astt^p approach- ed the door ; — it was the step of one stealing along, as if anxious no one should hear it pass. Again, all was si- lent : — 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 GLENARVOK. 45 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 me- nial train ; and that proud mansion, so lately the seat of gaiety, whose lighted porches 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 impres- sive — that it is the nature of man to rest his most sanguine expectations upon the most frail and uncertain of ail 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 46 GLENARVON. 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 ac- customed 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. GLENARVON. 47 It was in vain that a 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, fan- cied 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 pompons funeral, were all which the afflicted Duke and his sorrowing family had to bestow. The tenants and peasantry were, accord- ing to ancient custom, admitted to sing the song of sorrow over the body of the child : but no hired mourners were re- quired 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 melancholv strain. 4?S GLENARVON. Oh loudly sing the Pillalu, And many a tear of sorrow shed ; 0oy, rny pretty Albert" would sometimes escape her, and a few tears would wait upon the exclamation ; but her whole study was to lighten the sorrows of her husband ; as well as to check the intem- perate complaints, and soothe the more violent agitations of Lady Margaret. But while her soul 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 com- bated 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 GLENARVON. 53 » 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, sup- port 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 Calan- tha, whose quickness and vivacity make me tremble for her. I could not have watche J over her, and directed her as T 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 54> GLENARVON. suffer her to be absent, if possible, from your guiding care, her spirits, her pas- sions, 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— these are my last words to you. — To protect and save her from all evil — is also the last prayer I offer to my God, before I enter into his presence/' Calantha I unhappy child, whom not even the pangs of death could tear from the love, and remembrance of thy mother, — what hours o«f agony were thine, when a father's hand first tore thee from that lifeless bosom — when piercing shrieks declared the terror of thy mind, oppress- ed, astonished at the first calamity, by which it had been tried — when thy lips tremblingly pronounced for the last time, the n sue of mother — a name so dear, so sacr d 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 GLENARVON. S5 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 pas- sion and inadvertence had led her into error. It was that gentle, that dear voice, which had recalled her, even when severity had failed. — There is, in every breast, some one affection that predo- minates over the rest — there is still to all some one object, to which the heart is rivetted beyond all other : — in Calanlha's bosom, the love of her mother prevailed over every other feeling. A long and violent illness succeeded, in Calantha ; a torpor which astonish- ment 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 S6 GLENARVON. preyed upon her heart, the pride and hardness ot which, disdained the humili- ty of acknowledging her offences 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 ful- filled her own guilty wishes. — *' Mon- ster \" she would exclaim, " without one tender or honourable feeling, take these detested and bloody hands from my sight: — they have destroyed the loveliest inno- cent that was ever born to bless a mo- ther'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 combated in his breast every feeling of attachment. Seizing her hand, which he wrung in GLENARVON. bl 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 tygress 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 sub- dued 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 no w.^ — a creature so wretch- ed and so fallen, that I can almost pity thee. — Farewell. — For the l^ist time, I look on thee withonesentiment of love. — And, when we meet again, tremble : — • yes — proud as thou art, tremble ; for, however protracted, thou shalt find the J) 5 6S GLENARVON. 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 within the compass of possibility that one so young should be so utterly hard- ened? 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 inditferent to his ha- tred, his menaces, or his love. GLENARVON. 59 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 satis- faction, though the tempest of our pas- sions 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 con- soled, 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 60 GLENARVON. hope rises at last upon his clouded spirit and exhaust d 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 embitter- ed every hour of her existence. If she turned her eyes upon Calantha, the de- jected 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 re- minde(i of her crime and ingratitude ; and even the son for whom so much had been sacrificed, afforded her no consolation. GLENARVOK. 6\ 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 plea- sure 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 here- after it is your resolve to unite me to her, must I now be condemned to yearsof 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 deter- mined language of her son, that he had long meditated this escape from her thral- 62 GLENARYON. dom. She immediately appeared to ap^ prove his intention : — she said that a noble ambition, and all the highest qua- lities of the heart and mind were shewn in his present desire ; but one promise she must exact in return for the readi- ness with which she intended instantly to accede to his request ; — provided he were 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. Thence pointing to the vast prospect of woods and hills, which extended to a distance the eye could scarcely reach, '* all are yours my chil- dren," she said, *' if, obedient to parents GLENARVON. 63 who have only your welfare at heart, you persevere in your intention of being one day united to each other. Ah ! let no dis- putes, no absence, no fancies have power to divert you from the fulfilment of this, my heart's most fervent wish : — let this moment of parting obliterate every un- kind feeling, and bind you more than ever to each other. Here, Buchanan,'* she continued, " 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 their names, were en- graved these words : " Stesso sangue, St€$sa sorte," " Take it," said Bucha- nan, fastening it upon the arm of Calan- tha, and remember that, for ray sake, you are to wear it ever.*' At this moment, even he was touched, as he pressed her to his heart, and re- membered her as associated with all the scenes of his happiest days. Her vio- 64 GLEAAKVOr<. lence, 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 be- neath tlie 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, which fall« for imagi- nary woe, and the real misery which at- tends upon the loss of those who have been closely united to the affections by ties, stronger and dearer than those of habit. GLENARVON. 65 CHAPTER VIIL The accomplishment of her favourite views being thus disappointed, or at least deferred, Lady Margaret resolved to return to Italy, and there to seek Vi- viani. 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 hrilliaut fites^ and the magnificence of the Duke of Altamonte and his sister, became the constant theme of admiration ; and from far, from near, fashion an some es- tablished ree; Illation. By these mt ris, Sophia and Frances were already highly accomplished ; their manners were formed ; their opinions fixed and any contradiction of those opinions, instead of raising doubt, or ur- ging to inquiry, only excited in their minds astonishment at the hardihood and contempt for the folly which thus oppo- sed 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 yowr pupils,'* Lady Margaret would often exultingly cry, addressing the mild Mrs. Seymour: " these paragons of pro- priety — these sober minded steady auto- matons. Well, I mean no harm to them or you. I only wish I could shake ofl GLENARVON. 69 a little of that cold formality which pe- trifies mCi Now see how differently my Calantha shall appear, when 1 have opened her mind, and formed her accord- ing to my system of education — the sys- tem 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 ab- surd opinions of others, and after she has learned their hackneyed jargon : note her answers — her reflections ; and you will find in them, all that philosophy can teach, and all to which science and wis- dom 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 I 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 70 GLENARVON. spring ? / 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 re- monstrate with her niece, when she saw her giving way to the violence of her temper, or acting, as she thought, ab- surdly or erroneously ; and Calantha, when thus admonished, would acknow- ledge 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. Sey- mour and her daughters. GLENARVON. 71 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, amount- ing 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 resis- tance of her understanding : — her motives appeared the very best, but the actions which resulted from them were absurd and exaggerated. Thoughts, swift as lightning, hurried through her brain : — projects, seducing, but visionary crowded upon her view: without a curb she fol- lowed the impulse of her feelings ; and 72 GLENARVOK. 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 po- lished 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 affecta- tion 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 be- longs to those very defects and absurdi- ties 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, GLENARVON. 7^ that perfect ease and refinement which so many attempt to acquire, and for which it is to be feared so much is too often renounced — the native vigour of mind, the blush of indignant and offended in- tegrity, the open candour of truth, and all the long list of modest unassuming virtues, known only to a new and unsul- lied heart. Calantha turned with disgust from the slavish followers of prejudice. She dis- dained the beaten track, 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 honour- able 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 VOL. 1. E 74? GLENARVON. 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 ho- nour, that she entered upon life. No expense, no trouble had been spared in her education : masters, professors, and governesses surrounded her. She seemed to have a decided turn for every thing it was necessary for her to learn : instruc- tion was scarcely necessary, so readily did her nature bend itself to every art, science and accomplishment. Yet never did she attain excellence, or make pro- ficiency 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 ; at GLENARVON. 76 the same time, with a spirit that bounded within her from excess of joyous happi- ness, she was bashful and unsocial in society ; and with the germs of every vir- tue 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 severer feelings, and the world appears in all its reality before us. To them, the follies and frail- ties of others carried with them no ex- cuse, and every course which they them- selves did not adopt, was assuredly er- roneous. E 2 76 GLENARVON. 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 Ca- mioli the bard, and late physician to her mother, and he was the usual object of ridicule to almost all his acquaintance. Lady St. Clare in pearls and silver; Lau- riana and Jessica, more fine if possible, ajid more absurd than their mother; Mrs. Emmet, a lady from Cork, plaintive and reclining in white sattin and drapery; and all the young gentlemen of large pro- perty and fortune, whom all the young ladies were daily and hourly endeavour- ing 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 embarrass- ment, and not from coldness, that she avoided iheir society. Some favorites she already had : the Abbess of Glenaa, St. Clara her niece, and above all Alice GLENARVON. 77 Mac Allain, a beautiful little girl of whom her mother had been fond : — these had already deeply interested her affections. In the company of one or other of these, Calantha would pass her morn- ings ; and sometimes she would stand alone upon the summit of the cliff, hour after hour, to behold the immense o<;ean, watching its waves, as they swelled to the size of mountains, and dashed with impetuous force against the rocks below : or she would climb the mountain's side, and gaze on the lofty summits of Here- mon and Inis Tara, lost in idle and vi- sionary thought. 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 extra- vagant excess. 78 GLENARVON. 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. \Yhat, though Mrs. Seymour had laid it down as a maxim, that no one, before attaining their fourteenth year, could possibly be in love ! What, though Lady Margaret indignantly as- serted, that Calantha could not, and should not, look even al 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 discovered Calantha's secret : GLENARVOX. 79 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. Calan- tha's manner immediately confirmed her in her supposition. She entered one morning into her room : — she saw the unfinished drawing; — she could not mis- take it — that commanding air — that beaming eye — there was but one whom it could resemble, and that one was Henry Mowbrey, Earl of Avondale. She taxed Calantha with her partiality: " But he thinks not of you," she said, and haughtily left the room. Admiral Sir Richard Mowbrey was an old and valued friend of the Duke of Al- tamonte. lie had served with Sir George Buchanan, brother-in law to Lady Alar- garet. Fie had no children; fuit his ne- phew, the young Earl of Avoi.dale was, next to his country, the strong^^st and dearest interest of his heart. What happi- 80 GLENAIIVON. ness must the Admiral then have felt when he beheld him ; and found that, in mind and person, he was distinguished by every fair endowment. Lord Avon- dale 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 ; and 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 cultivat- ing 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 c.ha- GLENARVON. 81 racter. He was admired, flattered, sought after; and the strong temptations to which his youth had thus early been ex- posed, had, in some measure, shaken his principles, and inflamed his imagination. Happily a noble mind and a warm un- corrupted 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 quit- ted London, where, upon his first return from abroad, he had for the most part re- sided, and his regiment being ordered to Ireland, on account of the growing dis- affection in that country, he returned thither to fulfil the new duties which his profession might require. Allanwater and Monteith, his father's estates, had been settled upon him : but he was more than liberal in the arrangements he mr»de for his uncle and the other brandies of his family. '. Many an humbler mind had escaped. E 6 82 GLENARVON. the danger to which Lord Avondale had, early in life been exposed : — many a less open character had disguised the too dar- ing opinions he had once ventured to cherish ! But, with an utter contempt for all hypocrisy and art — with a frank- ness and simplicity of character, some- times observed in men of extraordinary abilities, but never attendant on the or- dinary or the corrupted mind, he appear- ed 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 com- panions ; 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 Avon- dale, imperfectly sketched — but true to nature. — He, in his twenty-first year, now appeared at Castle Delaval — the admiration of the large and various com- pany then assembled there. Flattered, GLENARVON. 83 perhaps, by the interest shewn hin), but reserved and distant to every too appa- rent mark of it, he viewed the motley groupe before him, as from a superior height ; and he smiled with something of disdain, at times, as he marked the affectation, the meanness, the conceit, and, most of alU the hearllessness, and cowardice of many of those around him. Of a morning, he would not unfrequently join Calantha and Sophia in their walks : and of an evening, he would read to the former, or make her his partner at bil- liards, or at cards. At such times, So- phia 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 whither her thoughts, in spite of her endeavours, too often strayed. Calantha listened to the oft- repeated stories of the admiral ; and heard of his battles, his escapes and his dangers, when others were weary of the S4 GLENARVON. 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 Eile ; " and he who made you alone can tell to what these maddening 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 control your- self, and disguise your feelings. '^ Ca- lantha 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 Calan- tha : *' I would not bend my free spirit to the weakness of which you would ac- cuse me, for all the world can offer: your Calantha will never acknowledge a mas- ter ;— will never yield her soul's free and immortal hopes to any earthly affection. GLENARVON, 85 Fear not, my counsellor, that I will for- sake my virgin vows, or bow my un- broken 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 I for both of you," he said, smiling : — you are always wandering either to or from them/' '* They are our own native mountains," said Calantha, timidly; — " the land-marks 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 na- tive 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 S5 GLENARVON. their height and wonder ; but more would be dangerous." " The roses and myrtles blossom under their shade/* said Lord Avondale with a smile ; " and Al- lanwater, to my mind, is as pleasant to dwell in as Castle Delaval/' " Shall you soon return thither, my lord?'' en- quired Calantha. " Perhaps never/' he said, mourntuUy; 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 : — perhiips another had engag- ed his affections : — at all events, it seem- ed 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 ; but she felt that every affection of her heart was en- gaged, even though those affections were unreturned. GLENARVON. 87 CHAPTER XI, To suffer the pangs of unrequited love was not, however in the present instance, the destiny of Calantha. That dark eye, the lustre of whose gaze she durst not meet, was, at all times fixed upon her ; and the quick mantling blush and beam- ing smile, which lighted the counte- nance of Lord Avondale, whenever her name was pronounced before him, soon betrayed, to all but himself and Calantha, how much and how entirely his affec- tions were engaged. He was of a na- ture not easily to be flattered into admi- ration 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 af- fectionate and independent character, 88 GLENARVOK. 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 con- sideration 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 Avondaie addressed Ca- lantha, 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 em- barrassment. Her cousins, Sophia and Frances, secure of applause, ind con- scious of their own power of pleasing, bad 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 GLENARVON. 89 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 Marga- ret 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 utterly 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 90 tlLENARVON. to the world — unspoiled and guileless. Calantha's mind, bethought, might now receive the impression which should be given it ; and while yet free, yet un- tainted, would it not be happiness to secure lier 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 fear of en- tering into conversation with him. He seemed to imagine her to be possessed of every quality which he most admired ; and the delusive charm ot believing: that he was not indifferent to her heart, threw a be-riuty and grace over all her actions, which blinded him to every error. Thus then they both acknowledged, and sur- rendered themselves to the power of love. GLENARVON. 91 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 errone- ously think so ; but love, like other arts, requires experience, and terror and igno- rance, on its first approach, prevent our feeling it as strongly as at a later period. Passion mingles not with a sentiment 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 she first 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 mo- ment's delay, by opening Calantha's mind to a consciousness of her lover's sentiments and wishes, might render 99 GLENARVON. even this ineffectual. She saw that the flame had been kindled in a heart too sus- ceptible, and in which opposition would increase 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 bo- som without one reproach, and, consign- ing her with trembling anxiety to a fa- ther's care, reminded him continually, that she was his only remaining child, and that force, in a circumstance of such moment, would be absolute crueltv. GLENARVON. 93 CHAPTER XIL Lady Margaret insisted upon removing Calantha immediately to London ; but Lord Avondale having heard from the Admiral the cause of her intended depar- ture, immediately declared his intention of quitting Ireland. Every thing w^as now in readiness for his departure ; the day fixed; the hour at hand. It was not perhaps till Lord Avondale felt that he wds going to leave Calantha for ever, that he v^^as fully sensible how much, and how entirely his affections were en- gaged. On the morning previous to his depar- ture, Calantha threw the bracelet, which Lady Margaret and her cousin had given her, from her arm ; and, weeping upon the bosom of x\lice, bitterly lamented her fate, and informed her friend that sjie 94 GLENARVON. 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, " Stesso sangue, Stessa sorteJ*^ — 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 hearts — 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 GLENARVON. 95 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 ves- tal 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 arm. 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!" she said. " you know not what you do: — I am enough his already : — be not you the person to devote me to him more com- pletely: — do not render me utterly mi- 96 CLENARVON. serable. Though not entirely under- standing her he scarcely could command himself. Her look, her manner — all told him too certainly that which over- came his heart with delight. — " She loves me," he thought, " and I will die sooner than yield her to auy 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 thous^ht filled him with hope, and rendered him careless of all that might befall him. The Duke entered the room as Calan- tha quitted it. — " Avondale," he said, offering him his hand, " speak to me, for I wish much to converse with you before we part : — ail I ask is, that you will not deceive me. Something more than com- GLENARVO.V. ^ mon engrosses your thoughts : — even now I observed you with my child." — " I must indeed speak with you/' said Lord Avondale firmly, but with considerable agitation. " Every thing 1 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 af- fections upon the only being perhaps who never must, never ought, to return them. My daughter's hand is promised to another. When 1 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 VOL. I. F 98 GLENAllVON. she is now a mere child, and more infan- tine and volatile withal, than it is pos- sible for vou to conceive. There can be no necessity for her being now called upon to make a decided choice. Bucha- nan 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 agi- tated. — The Duke paused — then conti- nued — " Granting that your attachment GLENARVON. 99 for ray 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 re- turned 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 con- cluded would be made. For protesta- tions, menaces, entreaties, he was pre- pared ; but the respectful silence which continued when he ceased, disconcerted him. — '' You are not angry?" he said: F 2 100 GLENARVON. *' let us part in friendship r—do not go from me thus : — you must forgive a fa- ther: — remerpber she is my child, and bound to me by still dearer ties — she is my only one." His voice faultered, 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 man- ner 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 pre- sence, 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 dan- gerous." " 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 soo strongly cherished by me. Tell her, that if I do GLENARVON. 101 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. 102 GLENARVON 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 GLEN A R VON. lOS 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 fare- well; and her thoughts continually dwelt on this disappointment. Calantha knew not then that her nai- sery was more than shared — that Lord Avondale, though too proud to acknow- ledge it, was a prey to the deepest grief upon her account — that he lived but in the hope of possessing the only being iipon earth to whom he had attached himself — and that the sentence pro- nounced 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, 104 GLENARVON. in such exaggerated colours, and the su- perior excellence of the object we wor- ship 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 II. Mowbrey, Calan- tba now took leave without being able to utter one vv^ord : she wept as children weep in early days, the heart's convul- sive 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 at- tack upon her, with all the blunt asperity of his nature. Indeed he bitterly re- proached himself, and all those who had influenced him, in what he termed his harsh unfeelinsr conduct 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 GLENARVON. 105 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 an- swer 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 ne- phew. 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 F 5 106 GLENARVON. 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 1" 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 readi- ness, he left the castle immediately after this conversation. QLENARVON. 10? CHAPTER XIV It may be easily 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 t,he state of despondency into which Lord Avondale's departure had thrown her. By both, she was ad- monished 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 sub- ject was entirely excluded from conver- sation: Lord Avondale's name was for- bidden to be mentioned in her presence, and every allusion to the past was to be studiously avoided. Lady Margaret, however, well aware 103 GLENARVON. that whosofever transgressed this regula- tion 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 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 disap- pointment. In the letter which he sent to his mother, he openly derided her ad- vice ; professed entire indifference to- GLENARVON. 109 wards Calantha ; and said that, indubi- tably, he would not waste his thoughts or time in humouring the absurd fancies of a capricious girl ; — that Lord Avon- dale, 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 sub- jecting his honour and his liberty to their pleasure; and, since the lady had already dispensed with the vows given and re- ceived at an age when the heart was pure, he augured ill of her future con- duct, 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 re- solved not to lessen the merit of any exploits he might achieve, by any want of brilliancy in the colouring and descrip- tion of them. Enraged at this answer, and sickening 110 GLENARVON* at his conceit. Lady Margaret sent imme- diately 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. Sarcas- tically contrasting his coldness with Bu- chanan's enthusiasm: "Your lover,'* she said, *' is, without doubt, most dis- interested! — 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 Calan- tha he with such a husband ! — What filial piety distinguishes the whole of his be- haviour! — " 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 GLENARVON. Ill ittiprudeiice it may carry you !— Why he is a perfect model, is he not ? But let me ask you, my dear niece, is love, accord- ing to your notions and feelings, thus cool and considerate ?~-does it pause to weigh right and duty ?— is it so very ra- tional and contemplative ?...." Yes/' replied Calantha, somewhat picqued. " 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 lit- tle philosopher, did you acquire so pre- maturely this wonderful insight into the nature of love?" " By feeling it," said Calantha, triumphantly ; " and by com- paring 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 quick blue eyes full upoQ^.. 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 112 GLENARYON. anger : her large orbs rolled securely, as she returned the glance, with a look of proud and scornful superiority. "My little niece," she said, tapping her gently on the head, and taking from her cluster- ing locks the comb that confined them, " my little friend is grown quite a sati- rist, and all who have not had, like her^ every advantage of education, are to be severely lashed, 1 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 dear- est aunt, forgive me, 1 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 for- give me." '' Calantha," said Lady Mar- garet, " you are already more than for- given ; but the tears I shed were not GLENARVON. 113 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 irom 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 ab- scence, can have already renounced her vows and him, he will never intruo/- his griefs upon her, nor ever seek to bias her inclinations: yet it is with deep and last- ing regret that he consents to tear you from his remembrance and consign you to another/' Calantha sighed deeply at this unex- pected 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, see- ing how her false and artful representa- 114' GLENARVOX. tions had worked upon the best feelings of an inexperienced heart, lost no oppor- tunity of improving and increasing their effect. These repeated attempts to move Ca- lantha to a determination, which was held out to her as a virtuous and ho- nourable 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 eve- ning, when she saw her father somewhat indisposed, she approached him, and whispered in his ear, that she had thoughtbetter of her conduct, and would be most happy in fulfilling his commands in every respect. " Now yt)u are a he- roine, indeed,'* said Lady Margaret, who had overheard the promise : " you have shewn that true courage which I ex- pected from you— you have gained a victory over yourself, and I cannot but GLENARVON. 115 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, awaken her ambition, and gratify her vanity by the most splendid presents and prepa- rations !*' 116 GLENARVON CHAPTER XV. Calantha's jewels and costly attire— her equipages and attendants, were now the constant topic of conversation. Every rich gift was ostentatiously exhi- bited ; while congratulations, w^ere on all sides, poured forth on the youthful bride. Lady Margaret, eagerly dis- playing the splendid store, asked her if she were not happy. — *' Do not," she replied, addressing her aunt, " do not fancy that 1 am weak enough to value these baubles : — My heart is at least free from a folly like this : I de- spise this mockery of riches." " You despise it !*' repeated Lady Marga- ret, with an incredulous smile: — "you despise grandeur and vanity I Child be- lieve one who knows you well, you wor- ship them : they are your idols ; and GLENARYOK. 117 while your simple voice sings forth ro- mantic praises of simplicity and retire- ment, you have been cradled in luxury, and you cannot exist without it/* Buchanan was now daily, nay even hourlyexpectedt—LadyMargaret 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 la- boured, and meeting with Sir Everard, she enquired of him respecting her former favourite : " Miss Elinor/' said the doc- tor, '' 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 por- trait 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 sin- gular beauty of the portrait. '' Happy IIS GLENARVON. 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." Thatevening,astheDukeof Altamonte led his daughter through the crowded apartments, presenting her to every one previous to her marriage, she was sud- denly informed that Buchanan was ar- rived. 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 1 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. GLENARVOxN'. 119 From that day, Calantha sickened : — the aid of the physician, and the care of her friends were vain : — an alarming ill- ness 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 enter- tained, that her malady had been occa- sioned by the violent effort she had made, and the continual dread under which she had existed for some time past, of Bu- chanan's return. Her father bitterly reproached himself for his conduct; watched by her bed in anxious suspence; 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 Avon- dale to forget what had passed, and to hasten again to Castle Delaval.— Restated that, to satisfy his sister's ambition, the greater part of his fortune should be set- tled upon Buchanan, to whom his title 120 GLENARVON. 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 besouo^ht his return without a moment's loss of time. His sister he strove in vain to ap- pease: — 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 Mar- garet, 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 con- sideration : — he yielded to her wishes : — GLJiNARVON. 121 be could not endure the sight of her mi- sery : — he had from her 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 be- came 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 VOL. I. e 1:99 GLENARVON. her of this new fancy." — The Duke, however, thought otherwise : he was greatly alarmed at the turn her disposi- tion seemed to have taken, and tried every means in his power to remedy and coun- teract it. A year passed thus away; and the names of Buchanan and Lord Avon- dale were never or rarely 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, by means of the Admiral, during his daughter's illness. Lord Avoudale 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 bet- ter, 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 v/ns quartered at Lei- trim ; and i)is first care, before he pro- ceeded upon the duties of his profession, GLENARVO^. 193 was, to see the Duke, and to claim, with diminished fortune and expectations, the brfde 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, lier feel- ings changed. Every heart which has 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 A von dale 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, ad- dressing Lord A von dale, ''and be as- sured, whatever her faults, she is my g2 Ifi GLENARVON. 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 her : " 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 re- ward." GLENARYON. 125 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 mis- fortune. ^ 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 chime- rical, romantic absurdities, which he most 19G GLENARVON. despised, were tenaciously cherished by her ; to be told that dear as he was, her freedom was even dearer ; that shje 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 xVvondale ! 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 sepa- ration inspired him with alarm. Agitated — furious— he now combatted every ob- jection, ventured every promise, and loved even with greater fondness from the in- creasing 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 honor my God, even more than I love you ; and truth is dearer to me than life. I am GLENARVON. 127 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 ob- jection, my temper— I am more violent — Oh that it were not so ! but can T, ought I, to deceive you V You are ail 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 w^ill study, will learn, will believe in. What more ?'^ Lord Avondale sought and won that strange uncertain being, for whom he was about to Sdcrifice so much. He con* sidered not the lengthened journey of life— the varied scenes through which they were to pass ; where all the quali- ties in which she was wholly deficient would be so often and so absolutely required — discretion, prudence, firm and 128 GLENARVON. Steady principle, obedience, humility. But to all her confessions and remon- strances 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 mu«t 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 1 a willing slave.'* So spoke the man, who, like the girl he addressed, had died sooner than have yielded up his freedom or his GLENARVON. 129 independence to another ; who, high and proud, had no conception of even the sligrhtest 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 articu- lated 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 assem- bled family, they uttered the solemn en- gagement, which bound them througli existence to each other ; and though Calantha was deeply affected, she did not regret the sacred promise she had made. When Lord Avondale, however, ap- proached to take her from her father's arms — when she heard that the carriages G 5 130 GLENARVON* awaited which were to bear them ta 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 suffi- cient, as she imagined, to change the most determined character ; and when she found that force was opposed to her vio- lence, terror, nay, abhorrence took posses- sion of her mind ; and it was with shrieks of despair she was torn from her father'^ bosom. '' Unhappy Avondale!'' said Sophia, as she saw her thus borne away, " may that violent spirit grow tame and tract- able, and may Calantha at length prove worthy of such a husband !" This ex- clamation was uttered with a feeling which mere interest for her cousin could GLENARVON. 131 not have created. In very truth, Sophia loved Lord Avondale. And Alice Mac Allain, who heard the prayer with sur- prise 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 hast left behind/' 132 GLENARVON. CHAPTER XVII It was at Allan water, 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 Mowbrey, during his life time, by his brother, the late Earl of Avondale. It was cheerful, though retired ; and Xq Calantha's enchanted eyes appeared all that was most romantic and beautiful upon earth. What indeed had not ap- peared beautiful to her in the company of the man she loved! Everyone 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. GLENARVON. 133 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 un- derstandings, 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 un- derstanding, however, fraught as it was with knowledge, was illumined by the splendid light of genius, yet not over- thrown by its force. In his mind, it might be truly said, that he did not cherish one base, one doubtful or worldly feeling. He was so sincere that, even in conversation, he never mis-stated, or ex- aggerated a fact. He saw at a glance the 134 GLENARVON. 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 re- solve, 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 ac- customed ; 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 wil- ling 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 GLENARVON. 135 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 affec- tions, 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 breathe 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 w^as too great good nature, so that he suffered his vain and frivolous partner, to com- 136 GLENAKVON. mand, 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 ex- perience 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. She, as has been heretofore related, was a Roman Catholic, and had adopted with that ex- cess and exaggeration, which belonged to her character, the most enthusiastic devotion to that captivating and delusive worship. It was perhaps to shew him the necessity of stricter doctrines, and observances, that heaven permitted one so good and noble, as he was, to be united with one so frail and weak. Those doc- trines which he loved to discuss, au GLENARVON. 137 support in speculation, she eagerly seized upon, and carried into practice ; thus proving to him clearly, and fatally, their dangerous and pernicious tendency. Eager to oppose and conquer those opi- nions in his wife, which savoured as he thought of bigotry and rigour, 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 rigid, less pure, than those to which she had long been accustomed ; but when her principles, or rather her preju- dices, yielded to the power of love, she broke from a restraint too severe, into a liberty the most dangerous from its no- velty, its wildness and its uncertainty. The monastic severity which she had J38 GLENARVON. imposed upon herself, from exaggerated sentiments of piety and devotion, gave way with the rest of her former maxims — She knew not where to pa^ise, 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 com- mand. Before this period, her eyes had never even glanced upon the numerous pages which have unfortunately been traced by the hand of unrestrained enquiry, and daring speculation ; even the more inno- cent fictions of romance had been with- held from her ; and her mother's precepts had, in this respect, been attended to by her with sacred care. Books of every description, the works of Historians, Philosophers, and Metaphysicians, were now eagerly devoured by her ; horror and astonishment at first retarded the course of curiosity and interest : — and soon the GLENARVON. 139 surprise of innocence was converted into admiration of 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 of what avail was caution to Cakntha — ever in extremes, she threw off at once the sb?.ckles, the superstition, the re- strictions, which, perhaps, overstrained notions of purity and piety had im- posed. Calantha*s lover had become her mas- ter; and he could not tear hrmseff one moment from his pupil. He laughed at every artless or shrewd rtmiirk, 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 140 GLENARVON. continually said: — " who have been your companions?" ''I had none," she re- plied ; '' but wherever I heard of cruelty, rice, 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." '* 1 cannot," said Calantha, confused and grieved. " I thought it the greatest of all crimes to love : — no cen mony of marriage — no doctrines men have invent- ed, can quiet my conscience : — 1 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 prQtection 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." Such is the transient nature of en- thusiasm; such the instability of over GLENARVON. 141 zeal ; and so short the adherence to the firmest, and most austere deter- minations, which are not founded in right principle, and accompanied by a tranquil and humble spirit. To a mind so ardent, and so irregular as Ca- lantha's, knowledge and information are full of danger and hazard. It is impos- sible to foresee the impressions which may be made, or in any degree to regu- late the course which may be taken by such an imagination. Some mistaken conclusion is eagerly seized upon, some false interpretation is easily seized upon, and tenaciously maintained, and reason labours in vain to counteract and remedy the mischief. The productions of such a soil are all strange, new, uncertain ; and the cultivator sees with astonish- ment a plant arise, entirely different from the usual result of the seed which has been sown, mocking his toil, and frustrating his expectations. 142 CLENARV01X CHAPTER XVIIL 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 unas- suming, so little ostentatious in itself, that words give an imperfect idea of it, who can say? 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 conso- lation ! Desolate is the heart which has broken the ties that bownd it there. Calantha was happy ; her home was GLENARVON. 143 bliessed ; and in Lord Avondale's societv 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 ut- terly enervated by it ; and when the cares of life first aroused Lord x\vondale, and called him from her, she found herself unfit for the new situation she was immediatey required to fill. When for a few hours he left her, she waited with trembbng anxiety for his return ; and though she murmured not at the necessary change, her days were spent in tears, and ner nights in restless agita- tion He more than shared in her dis- tress : 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, 14-4 GLENARVON. 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 mis- taken : — Lord Avondale was of too fine a character to trifle with the aflPections 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 lo be more happy i It was : and that blessing too, was granted. Lady Avondale became a mother : — She GLENAllVOX. 145 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 i\l Ian water, in the fine evenings of summer, they wandered out upon the mountains, and saw not in the countenance of the vil- l?igers half the tenderness and happiness they felt themselves. They uttered, there- fore, no exclamations upon the superior joy of honest industry: — -a cottage of- fered nothing to their view, which could excite either envy or regret : they gave to all, and were loved by ail; but in all resj)ects they felt themselves as innocent, anxl more happy than those who sur- rounded them. In truth, the greater refinement, the g^^dter polish the mind and manner receive, the more exquisite must be the enjoyment of which the heart is capable. VOL. 1, H 146 GLENARVON. 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 in union with guilt. If ever it does 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 w^as the case of Lord and Lady Avondale. From Allan water, Lord and Lady Avon- dale proceeded to Monteith, an estate of Lord Avondale's, where his aunt, Lady Mowbrey, and his only sister, Lady Eli- zabeth Mo wbrey resided . Sir Richard and Lady Mowbrey had never had any ciiil- dren, 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 GLENARVON. H7 chiefly prized and sought after, while a strong party spirit prevailed. Lady Mon- teithj a woman of an acute and penetrat- ing 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 inter- course with the world, and exposure to every temptation had not been able to destroy. Big'otted and prejudiced in opinions which early habit had conse- crated, she was sometimes too severe in her censures of others ; but her heart, too warm, too kind, repented even any mo- mentary severity she might have shewn. At Castle Delaval,the society was even too refined ; and a slight tinge of affec- tation might, by those who were inclined to censure, be imputed to it. Though H 2 148 GLENARVOX. 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 ; senti- ment, and all the romance ofvirtue, was encouraged. At Monteith, on the contrary, this over refinement was the constant topic of ri- dicule. Every thought was there uttered, and every feeling expressed: — there was neither shyness, nor reserve, nor affecta- tion. 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. Lady Avondaie heard and saw every thing with surprise ; and ti)ough she loved and admired the individuals, she CLENARVON. 149 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. 1 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 her defects were those which they most despised. The refinement, the romance, the sentiment she had imbibed, appeared in their eyes assumed and un- natural ; her strict opinions, perfectly ridiculous ; her enthusiasm, absolute in- sanity ; and the violence of her temper, if contradicted or opposed, the petiish- ness 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 consi- dered her : — they treated her as one not arrived at maturity of judgment. 1;50 GLENARVON. Her reason by degrees became con- vinced by the arguments which she con- tinually 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 immor- tal hopes seemed to be shaken by the unguarded jests of some who casually visited at Monteith, or whom she met with elsewhere : — she read till she con- founded truth and falsehood, nor knew any longer what to believe: she heard folly censured, till she took it to be cri- minal ; but crime she saw tolerated, if well concealed. The names she had set n her very heart as pure and spotless, she heard traduced and ridiculed: indig- nantly 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 GLENARVON. 151 less favourably of those who had unde« ceived her. The change in Calantha^s mind was constant, was daily ; it never ceased, it never paused; and none marked its pro- gress, or checked her career. In eman- cipating 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 Mowbrey, a strict adherent to all customs and etiquettes, saw with astonishment in Calantha a total disre- gard of them ; and her high temper could ill brook such defect. Accus- tomed 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 152 GLENARVON. 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 Mowbrey with the warmest affec- tion. Lord Avondale, in the mean time, solely devoted to his wife, blinded him- self 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 though t- lassness of youth; and, surrendering him- self 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, GLENARVOX. } 53 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. H 6 1^4 GLENARVON 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 posts were reinforced ; 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; tran- quillity was apparently restored; and the face of things resumed its former appear- ance; but the minds which had been aroused to action were not as easily qui- eted, and the charms of an active life were not as readily laid aside. Lord Avondale was still much abroad; much occupied ; and the time hanging heavy GLENARVON. 165 upon Calantha's hands, she was not sorry to hear that they were going to pass the ensuing winter in London. In the autumn, previous to their depar- ture for England, they passed a few weeks at Castle Delavai, 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 her mar- riage, 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 A^iviani 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 ven- geance!" she said, " is yet to come: — 156 r.LENARVON. save me from his love now ; and I will defend myself from the rest.*' Lord and Lady Dartford were, like- wise, at the castle. He appeared cold and careless. In his pretty inoffensive wife, he found not those attractions, those splendid talents which had en- thralled him for so long a period with Lady Margaret. He still pined for the tyranny of caprice, provided the load of re- sponsibility and exertion were removed : and the price of his slavery were that ex- emption 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 off. Lady Dartford, too innocent to see her danger, lamented the coldness of her husband, and loved him with even fond- er attachment, for the doubt she enter- tained of his affection. She was spoken GLENARVON. 157 of by all with pity and praise: her con- duct was considered as exemplary, 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 Yiviani 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 oppor- tunity of vengeance, which might, by its magnitude, 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 ea- 15S GLENARVON. gerly who he was. — '' A young musi- cian, a friend of Gondimar's, an Italian/' said Lady Margaret. " He has not an Italian countenance/' said Lord Dart- ford, 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 1" Cards, billiards and music, were the usual nightly occupations. Sir Everard St. Clare and the Count Gondimar en- tered into the most tedious and vehe- ment political disputes, an evil which Calantha endeavoured to avert as often as she could, by inducing the latter to sing, which he did in an agreeable, though not in an unaffected manner. At these times, Mrs. Seymour, with So- phia and Frances, heeding neither the noise nor the gaiety, eternally embroi- dered fancy muslins, or, with persevering industry, painted upon velvet. Calan- tha mocked at these innocent recreations. GLENARVOX. 1^9 " Unlike music, drawing and reading, which fill the niind/' she said ; — '' un- like even to dancing which, though ac- counted 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 fin- gers—that plebeian, 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 per- fectly 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 pat- terns of a new gown, and curiously noting every fold of a stranger's dress. Because a woman who, like a mechanic, 160 GLENARVON. 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 ex- tolled?" "It is not their occupation, but their character, you censure : — I fear, Calantha, it is their very virtue you de- spise.'* " Oh no '/' she replied indig- nantly : " when real virtue, struggling with temptations of which these sen^- less, passionless creatures have no con- ception, 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 admi- ration of every heart. Not so these spiritless immaculate prejudiced stick- lers for propriety. I do not love Sophia : no, tholigh 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 GLENARYOX. l6l there are some, far better than herself, noble ardent characters, unsullied by a taint of evil ; and I think, x\vondide, without flattery, you are in the list whom I would die to save ; whom 1 would bear every torture and ignominy, to support and render happy." — " Try then my Calantha, " said Lord Avon- dale, '' to render them so ; fbr, believe me, there is no agony so great as to re- member that we have caused one mo- ment'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 in- gratitude, 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 162 GLENARVO^. spoke, and her thoughts were gay, and all those around seemed to share in the happiness she ^elt. Lord Avondale one day reproved Ca- lantha for her excessive love of music. — *' You have censured work/' he said, " and 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 Glenaa 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. Clara'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 voi^e was GLENARVOK. l63 such as to shake every fibre of the heart, and might soon have betrayed to an ex- perienced observer the impassioned vio- lence of her real character. Sir Everard, who had one day accom- panied 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 Sybil ?" he said. — '' No,*' replied the girl ; *' but that which you are so proud of, makeg 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 speci- men 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 164 GLENARYCN. know." — Calantha embraced her, and returned from her visit more and more enchanted with her singular acquaint- aBce. GLENARVON. 1(3^ CHAPTER XX. As soon as Lord and Lady Avondale liad quitted Castle Delaval, they returned to Allanvvater, previous to their departure for England. Buchanan, as if to mark his still continued resentment against Calantha arrived at Castle Delaval, ac- companied by some of his London ac- quaintance^ almost as soon as she had quitted it. He soon distinguished him- self in that circle by his bold liljertine manners, his daring opinions, and his overbearing temper. He declared him- self 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 en- tered into every amusemeiit proposed ; 166 GLENARVON. he became more than u&iially conde- scending; and Alice Mac Allain, it was supposed, was the sole cause of his re- form. Alice was credulous; and when she was first told that she was 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, dimp- ling 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 GLENARVON. 167 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 AUain, had, with the Duke*s permission, pro- mised her hand in marriage to a young man in the neighbourhood, much es- teemed for his good character. Linden had long considered himself as an ap- proved 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 du- plicity, he listened to the charge with in- credulity, until the report of it was con- firmed from her own lips, by an avowal, that she thought herself no longer worthy of accepting his generous offer — that to \6S GLENARVON. be plain, she loved another, and wished never more to see iiiin, or to hear the re- proaches which she acknowledged were her due. "I will ofTcryou no reproaches,'* said Linden, in the only interview he had with her; ** but remember, Miss Mac Aliain, when I am far away, that if ever those, who, under the name of friends, have beguiled and misled you, should prove false and fail you — remem- ber, that, whilst Linden lives, there is one left who will gladly lay down his life to defend and preserve you ; and who, being forced to quit you, never will re- proach 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 respectfible family; and her future conduct will decide in what man- ner she will be disposed of hereafter.'* The old man bent to the ground in silent GLENARVON. 169 grief; for the sins of children rise up in judgment against their parents. " Oh let me not be sent from hence in dis- grace/* 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* pre- pared.'* It was to Sir Everard's house that Alice was conveyed. There w^ere many rea- sons which rendered this abode more convenient to Lady Margaret than any other. The Doctor was timid and sub- servient, and Count Gondimar was al- VOL. I. I 170 GLENARVON. ready a great favourite of the youngest daughter's, so that the whole family were, in some measure, in Lady Margaret's power. Her ladyship accordingly in- sisted upon conveying Alice, herself, to Lady St. Clare's house ; and having safely lodged her in her new apartment, re- turned 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 in- tensely, 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 af- fability addressed himself to all, except to his mother ; while a look of gratified vanity was observable whenever the ab- sence of Alice was alluded to. He had GLENARVON. 171 been pleased with being the cause of ruin to any wonman ; but his next dearest gra- tification 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. I 2 172 GLENARTON. CHAPTER XXr. Time, which passes swiftly and thought- lessly for the rich and the gay, treads ever with leaden foot, for those who are miserable and deserted. Bright pro- spects 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 regret and useless retrospections. No joyous morn now rose to break the slumbers of the once innocent and happy Alice: peace of mind vi^as 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 ad- vice, and unwise severity. *' I hate peo- ple in the clouds," cried the Doctor, as GLENARVON. 173 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 unex- pectedly 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, 1 cannot enter into arguments, or rather, shall not, for we do not always think proper to do what we can. Con- scious rectitude is certainly a valuable feeling, and I am anxious to preserve it now : therefore, as I have taken charge of you, Miss, uhirh is not what I am particularly fond of doing, I must exe- cute what I think my duty. Please, then. 174 GLENARVON. to give over weeping, as it is a thing in a w^oman which never excites commise- ration 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 re- collect, 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 L»ady 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 oqr 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 GLENARVOX. 175 sense — a very valuable commodity let me tell you, though your 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 vrhich he observed fast spreading, was constantly employed in writing pam- phlets 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 en- tering in haste, informed their father and mother that she was gone. " Gone T* cried Lady St. Clare — " the thing is im- possible.'* — " Gone !" cried Sir Everard — " and where ? apd how ?^' — The maids were called, and one Charley Wright, who served for footman, coachman, and every thing else upon occasion, was dis- 17^ GLENARVON. patched to seek her, while the doctor, without waiting to hear his wife's sur- mises or his daughter's lamentations, seized his hat and slick 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 ad- dressed himself to the Duke and Lady Margaret, and soon converted their smiles into fear rmd 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, with- out the least success. Mr. Buchanan had left Castle Delaval the week before, which confirmed the suspicions already entertained on his account. GLENARVON. 17^7 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 flnl in his attennpt : even n)isery 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 unfortw- nate girl to her suffering father, or at least to confide her to her care, that she might if possible protect and save her from farther misfortune. To her ex- treme astonishment, she received an an- I 5 178 GLENARVON. swer to this letter, with a positive assur- ance 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 Bucha- nan's statement, and assuned her that she had no reason to believe Buchanan con- cerned in this dark affair, as she had seen him several times and he utterly denied it. Lady Dartford was, however, too inno- cent 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 bit- ter experience the weakness of confiding ! GLENARVON. 179 CHAPTER XXII. The whole party at Castle Delaval now proceeded to London for the winter, where Lord and Lady Avondale were al- ready established in the Duke's mansioa 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 Gondi- mar was alnaost the only person who had been hitherto admitted to her pre- sence. He and Yiviani 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 180 GLENARVON. conversation took place respecting her between himself and the Count : '* You ren^ember her/' said Gondi- mar, " 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 hus- band 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 itselfmight exist in a creature whom purity and every modest feeling seem continually to surround/* Vivjani smiled in scorn. " Goridimar, 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 GLENARVON. 181 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 no- thing 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. 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 ani- mal spirits of youth. Now Miss Sey- 189 GLENARVON. mour dances ; but it is with modest dig- nity : her sister Frances dances also, and it is with much skill and grace, her side- long glance searching for admiration as she passes by; but Calantha sees not, thinks not, when she dances : her heart beats with joyous pleasure — her counte- nance 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 bow pure is this Calantha. She boasts, too, of the most unclouded hap- piness, you tell me, and of the most per- fect state of security and bliss ; but they who soar above others, on the wings of romance, will fall. Oh, surely they will fall! Let her continue in her present illusion only 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 mnn, may possess her affec- tions, nor boast greatly of the conquest. In one word, she is now in London.. GLEN A R VON. 183 Give but Viviani one opportunity of beholding her: it is all I ask/^ Gondimar listened to bis 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." 184 GLENARVON, CHAPTER XXIII. To that heartless mass of affectation, to that compound of every new and every old absurdity, to that subservient, spirit- less, world of fashion, Lady Avondal^ 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 '