CHAPTER LXXV.Before Glenarvon had met Elinor upon the cliff, he had conducted Lady Avondale to her father’s house. The first person who came forward to meet them was Sir Richard. “My dear child,” he said, “what could have induced you to take in such a serious manner what was meant in jest? There is your aunt dying in one room; and every one in fits or mad in different parts of the house. The whole thing will be known all over the country; and the worst of it is, when people talk, they never know what they say, and add, and add, till it makes a terrible story. But come in, do; for if the world speak ill of you, I will protect you: and as to my Lord Glenarvonthere, why it seems after all he is a very good sort of fellow; and had no mind to have you; which is what I hinted at before you set out, and might have saved you a long walk, if you would only have listened to reason. But come in, do; for all the people are staring at you, as if they had never seen a woman before. Not but what I must say, such a comical one, so hot and hasty, I never happened to meet with; which is my fault, and not yours. Therefore, come in; for I hate people to do any thing that excites observation. There now; did not I tell you so? Here are all your relations perfectly crazy: and we shall have a scene in the great hall, if you don’t make haste and get up stairs before they meet you.” “Where is she? where is she?” said Mrs. Seymour; and she wept at beholding her. But Calantha could not weep: her heart seemed like ice within her: she could neither weep nor speak. “My child, my Calantha,”said Mrs. Seymour, “welcome back.” Then turning to Glenarvon, whose tears flowed fast, “receive my prayers, my thanks for this,” she exclaimed. “God reward you for restoring my child to me.”“Take her,” said Lord Glenarvon, placing Calantha in Mrs. Seymour’s arms; “and be assured, I give to you what is dearer to me, far dearer than existence. I do for your sake what I would not for any other: I give up that which I sought, and won, and would have died to retain—that which would have made life dear, and which, being taken from me, leaves me again to a dull blank, and dreary void. Oh! feel for what I have resisted; and forgive the past.” “I cannot utter my thanks,” said Mrs. Seymour. “Generous Glenarvon! God reward you for it, and bless you.” She gave him her hand.Glenarvon received the applauses of all; and he parted with an agitation soviolent, and apparently so unfeigned, that even the duke, following, said, “We shall see you, perhaps, to-morrow: we shall ever, I’m sure, see you with delight.” Calantha alone shared not in these transports; for the agony of her soul was beyond endurance. Oh, that she too could have thought Glenarvon sincere and generous; that she too, in parting from him, could have said, a moment of passion and my own errors have misled him!—but he has a noble nature. Had he taken her by the hand, and said—Calantha, we both of us have erred; but it is time to pause and repent: stay with a husband who adores you: live to atone for the crime you have committed:—she had done so. But he reproached her for her weakness; scorned her for the contrition he said she only affected to feel; and exultingly enquired of her whether, in the presence of her husband, she should ever regret the lover she had lost.When we love, if that which we love is noble and superior, we contract a resemblance to the object of our passion; but if that to which we have bound ourselves is base, the contagion spreads swiftly, and the very soul becomes black with crime. Woe be to those who have ever loved Glenarvon! Lady Avondale’s heart was hardened; her mind utterly perverted; and that face of beauty, that voice of softness, all, alas! that yet could influence her. She was, indeed, insensible to every other consideration. When, therefore, he spoke of leaving her—of restoring her to her husband, she heard him not with belief; but she stood suspended, as if waiting for the explanation such expressions needed.—It came at length. “Have I acted it to the life?” he whispered, ere he quitted her. “’Tis but to keep them quiet. Calm yourself. I will see you again to-morrow.”That night Calantha slept not; but she watched for the approaching morrow.It came:—Glenarvon came, as he had promised: he asked permission to see her one moment alone: he was not denied. He entered, and chided her for her tears; then pressing her to his bosom, he inquired if she really thought that he would leave her: “What now—now that we are united by every tie; that every secret of my soul is yours? Look at me, thou dear one: look again upon your master, and never acknowledge another.” “God bless and protect you,” she answered. “Thanks, sweet, for your prayer; but the kiss I have snatched from your lips is sweeter far for me. Oh, for another, given thus warm from the heart! It has entranced—it has made me mad. What fire burns in your eye? What ecstasy is it thus to call you mine? Oh, tear from your mind every remaining scruple!—shrink not. The fatal plunge into guilt is taken: what matter how deep the fall. You weep, love; and for what? Once you were pure and spotless;and then, indeed, was the time for tears; but now that fierce passions have betrayed you—now that every principle is renounced, and every feeling perverted, let us enjoy the fruits of guilt.“They talk to us of parting:—we will not part. Though contempt may brand my name, I will return and tear thee from them when the time is fit; and you shall drink deep of the draught of joy, though death and ignominy may be mingled with it. Let them see you again—let the ties strengthen that I have broken. That which has strayed from the flock, will become even dearer than before; and when most dear, most prized: a second time I will return, and a second time break through every tie, every resolve. Dost shudder, sweet one? To whom are you united? Remember the oaths—the ring; and however estranged—whatever you may hear, remember that you belong to me, to me alone. And even,” continued he, smilingwith malicious triumph, “even though the gallant soldier, the once loved Avondale return, can he find again the heart he has lost? If he clasp thee thus, ’tis but a shadow he can attempt to bind. The heart, the soul, are mine. O! Calantha, you know not what you feel, nor half what you would feel, were I in reality to leave you. There’s a fire burns in thee, fierce as in myself: you are bound to me now; fear neither man nor God. I will return and claim you.”As he spoke, he placed around her neck a chain of gold, with a locket of diamonds, containing his hair; saying as he fastened it: “Remember the ring: this, too, is a marriage bond between us;” and, kneeling solemnly, “I call your God,” said he, “I call him now to witness, while that I breathe, I will consider you as my wife, my mistress; the friend of my best affections. Never, Calantha, will I abandon, or forget thee:—never,by Heaven! shalt thou regret thy attachment or my own.”“Glenarvon,” said Calantha, and she was much agitated, “I have no will but yours; but I am not so lost as to wish, or to expect you to remain faithful to one you must no longer see:—only, when you marry—” “May the wrath of Heaven blast me,” interrupted he, “if ever I call any woman mine but you, my adored, my sweetest friend. I will be faithful; but you—you must return to Avondale: and shall he teach you to forget me? No, Calantha, never shall you forget the lessons I have given: my triumph is secure. Think of me when I am away: dream of me in the night, as that dear cheek slumbers upon its pillow; and, when you wake, fancy yourself in Glenarvon’s arms. Ours has been but a short-tried friendship,” he said; “but the pupils of Glenarvon never can forget their master. Better they had lived for years in folly and vicewith thousands of common lovers, than one hour in the presence of such as I am. Do you repent, love? It is impossible. Look back to the time that is gone; count over the hours of solitude and social life; bear in your memory every picture of fancied bliss, and tell me truly if they can be compared to the transport, the ecstasy of being loved.“Oh! there is Heaven in the language of adoration; and one hour thus snatched from eternity is cheaply purchased by an age of woe. My love, my soul, look not thus. Now is the season of youth. Whilst fresh and balmy as the rose in summer, dead to remorse, and burning with hidden fires, dash all fear and all repentance from you; leave repinings to the weak and the old, and taste the consolation love alone can offer. What can heal its injuries? What remove its regrets? What shews you its vanity and illusion but itself? This hour we enjoyits transports, and to-morrow, sweet, we must live upon its remembrance.“Farewell, beloved. Upon thy burning lips receive a parting kiss; and never let or father, or husband, take it thence. Dissemble well, however; for they say the conquering hero returns—Avondale. Oh! if thou shouldst—but it is impossible—I feel that you dare not forget me. We must appear to give way: we have been too unguarded: we have betrayed ourselves: but, my life, my love is yours. Be true to me. You need not have one doubt of me: I never, never will forsake you. Heed not what I say to others: I do it but to keep all tranquil, and to quiet suspicion. Trust all to one who has never deceived thee. I might have assumed a character to you more worthy, more captivating. But have you not read the black secrets of my heart—aye, read, and shuddered, and yet forgiven me?”
Before Glenarvon had met Elinor upon the cliff, he had conducted Lady Avondale to her father’s house. The first person who came forward to meet them was Sir Richard. “My dear child,” he said, “what could have induced you to take in such a serious manner what was meant in jest? There is your aunt dying in one room; and every one in fits or mad in different parts of the house. The whole thing will be known all over the country; and the worst of it is, when people talk, they never know what they say, and add, and add, till it makes a terrible story. But come in, do; for if the world speak ill of you, I will protect you: and as to my Lord Glenarvonthere, why it seems after all he is a very good sort of fellow; and had no mind to have you; which is what I hinted at before you set out, and might have saved you a long walk, if you would only have listened to reason. But come in, do; for all the people are staring at you, as if they had never seen a woman before. Not but what I must say, such a comical one, so hot and hasty, I never happened to meet with; which is my fault, and not yours. Therefore, come in; for I hate people to do any thing that excites observation. There now; did not I tell you so? Here are all your relations perfectly crazy: and we shall have a scene in the great hall, if you don’t make haste and get up stairs before they meet you.” “Where is she? where is she?” said Mrs. Seymour; and she wept at beholding her. But Calantha could not weep: her heart seemed like ice within her: she could neither weep nor speak. “My child, my Calantha,”said Mrs. Seymour, “welcome back.” Then turning to Glenarvon, whose tears flowed fast, “receive my prayers, my thanks for this,” she exclaimed. “God reward you for restoring my child to me.”
“Take her,” said Lord Glenarvon, placing Calantha in Mrs. Seymour’s arms; “and be assured, I give to you what is dearer to me, far dearer than existence. I do for your sake what I would not for any other: I give up that which I sought, and won, and would have died to retain—that which would have made life dear, and which, being taken from me, leaves me again to a dull blank, and dreary void. Oh! feel for what I have resisted; and forgive the past.” “I cannot utter my thanks,” said Mrs. Seymour. “Generous Glenarvon! God reward you for it, and bless you.” She gave him her hand.
Glenarvon received the applauses of all; and he parted with an agitation soviolent, and apparently so unfeigned, that even the duke, following, said, “We shall see you, perhaps, to-morrow: we shall ever, I’m sure, see you with delight.” Calantha alone shared not in these transports; for the agony of her soul was beyond endurance. Oh, that she too could have thought Glenarvon sincere and generous; that she too, in parting from him, could have said, a moment of passion and my own errors have misled him!—but he has a noble nature. Had he taken her by the hand, and said—Calantha, we both of us have erred; but it is time to pause and repent: stay with a husband who adores you: live to atone for the crime you have committed:—she had done so. But he reproached her for her weakness; scorned her for the contrition he said she only affected to feel; and exultingly enquired of her whether, in the presence of her husband, she should ever regret the lover she had lost.
When we love, if that which we love is noble and superior, we contract a resemblance to the object of our passion; but if that to which we have bound ourselves is base, the contagion spreads swiftly, and the very soul becomes black with crime. Woe be to those who have ever loved Glenarvon! Lady Avondale’s heart was hardened; her mind utterly perverted; and that face of beauty, that voice of softness, all, alas! that yet could influence her. She was, indeed, insensible to every other consideration. When, therefore, he spoke of leaving her—of restoring her to her husband, she heard him not with belief; but she stood suspended, as if waiting for the explanation such expressions needed.—It came at length. “Have I acted it to the life?” he whispered, ere he quitted her. “’Tis but to keep them quiet. Calm yourself. I will see you again to-morrow.”
That night Calantha slept not; but she watched for the approaching morrow.It came:—Glenarvon came, as he had promised: he asked permission to see her one moment alone: he was not denied. He entered, and chided her for her tears; then pressing her to his bosom, he inquired if she really thought that he would leave her: “What now—now that we are united by every tie; that every secret of my soul is yours? Look at me, thou dear one: look again upon your master, and never acknowledge another.” “God bless and protect you,” she answered. “Thanks, sweet, for your prayer; but the kiss I have snatched from your lips is sweeter far for me. Oh, for another, given thus warm from the heart! It has entranced—it has made me mad. What fire burns in your eye? What ecstasy is it thus to call you mine? Oh, tear from your mind every remaining scruple!—shrink not. The fatal plunge into guilt is taken: what matter how deep the fall. You weep, love; and for what? Once you were pure and spotless;and then, indeed, was the time for tears; but now that fierce passions have betrayed you—now that every principle is renounced, and every feeling perverted, let us enjoy the fruits of guilt.
“They talk to us of parting:—we will not part. Though contempt may brand my name, I will return and tear thee from them when the time is fit; and you shall drink deep of the draught of joy, though death and ignominy may be mingled with it. Let them see you again—let the ties strengthen that I have broken. That which has strayed from the flock, will become even dearer than before; and when most dear, most prized: a second time I will return, and a second time break through every tie, every resolve. Dost shudder, sweet one? To whom are you united? Remember the oaths—the ring; and however estranged—whatever you may hear, remember that you belong to me, to me alone. And even,” continued he, smilingwith malicious triumph, “even though the gallant soldier, the once loved Avondale return, can he find again the heart he has lost? If he clasp thee thus, ’tis but a shadow he can attempt to bind. The heart, the soul, are mine. O! Calantha, you know not what you feel, nor half what you would feel, were I in reality to leave you. There’s a fire burns in thee, fierce as in myself: you are bound to me now; fear neither man nor God. I will return and claim you.”
As he spoke, he placed around her neck a chain of gold, with a locket of diamonds, containing his hair; saying as he fastened it: “Remember the ring: this, too, is a marriage bond between us;” and, kneeling solemnly, “I call your God,” said he, “I call him now to witness, while that I breathe, I will consider you as my wife, my mistress; the friend of my best affections. Never, Calantha, will I abandon, or forget thee:—never,by Heaven! shalt thou regret thy attachment or my own.”
“Glenarvon,” said Calantha, and she was much agitated, “I have no will but yours; but I am not so lost as to wish, or to expect you to remain faithful to one you must no longer see:—only, when you marry—” “May the wrath of Heaven blast me,” interrupted he, “if ever I call any woman mine but you, my adored, my sweetest friend. I will be faithful; but you—you must return to Avondale: and shall he teach you to forget me? No, Calantha, never shall you forget the lessons I have given: my triumph is secure. Think of me when I am away: dream of me in the night, as that dear cheek slumbers upon its pillow; and, when you wake, fancy yourself in Glenarvon’s arms. Ours has been but a short-tried friendship,” he said; “but the pupils of Glenarvon never can forget their master. Better they had lived for years in folly and vicewith thousands of common lovers, than one hour in the presence of such as I am. Do you repent, love? It is impossible. Look back to the time that is gone; count over the hours of solitude and social life; bear in your memory every picture of fancied bliss, and tell me truly if they can be compared to the transport, the ecstasy of being loved.
“Oh! there is Heaven in the language of adoration; and one hour thus snatched from eternity is cheaply purchased by an age of woe. My love, my soul, look not thus. Now is the season of youth. Whilst fresh and balmy as the rose in summer, dead to remorse, and burning with hidden fires, dash all fear and all repentance from you; leave repinings to the weak and the old, and taste the consolation love alone can offer. What can heal its injuries? What remove its regrets? What shews you its vanity and illusion but itself? This hour we enjoyits transports, and to-morrow, sweet, we must live upon its remembrance.
“Farewell, beloved. Upon thy burning lips receive a parting kiss; and never let or father, or husband, take it thence. Dissemble well, however; for they say the conquering hero returns—Avondale. Oh! if thou shouldst—but it is impossible—I feel that you dare not forget me. We must appear to give way: we have been too unguarded: we have betrayed ourselves: but, my life, my love is yours. Be true to me. You need not have one doubt of me: I never, never will forsake you. Heed not what I say to others: I do it but to keep all tranquil, and to quiet suspicion. Trust all to one who has never deceived thee. I might have assumed a character to you more worthy, more captivating. But have you not read the black secrets of my heart—aye, read, and shuddered, and yet forgiven me?”