As Calantha spoke, Lord Avondale approached, and joined them. The deep blush that crimsoned over her cheek was a truer answer to her friend’s accusation than the one she had just uttered.—“Heremon and Inis Tara have charms for both of you,” he said, smiling:—“you are always wandering either to or from thence.” “They are our own native mountains,” said Calantha, timidly;—“the landmarks we have been taught to reverence from our earliest youth.” “And could you not admire the black mountains of Morne as well,” he said, fixing his eyes on Calantha,—“my native mountains?”—“they are higher far than these, and soar above the clouds that would obscure them.” “They are too lofty and too rugged for such as we are,” said Calantha. “We may gaze at their height and wonder; but more would be dangerous.” “The roses and myrtles blossom under their shade,” said Lord Avondale, with a smile; “and Allanwater, to my mind, is as pleasant to dwell in as Castle Delaval.” “Shall you soon return there, my lord,” enquired Calantha. “Perhaps never,” he said, mournfully; and a tear filled his eye as he turned away, and sought to change the subject of conversation. Lady Margaret had spoken to Lord Avondale:—perhaps another had engaged his affections:—at all events, it seemed certain to Calantha that she was not the object of his hope or his grief. To have seen him—to have admired him, was enough for her: she wished not for more than that privilege; she felt that every affection of her heart was engaged, even though those affections were unreturned. CHAPTER XI. To suffer the pangs of unrequited love was not, in the present instance, the destiny of Calantha. That dark eye, the lustre of whose gaze she durst not meet, was, nevertheless, at all times fixed upon her; and the quick mantling blush and beaming smile, which lighted the countenance of Lord Avondale, whenever her name was pronounced before him, soon betrayed, to all but himself and Calantha, how much and how entirely his affections were engaged. He was of a nature not easily to be flattered into admiration of others—not readily attracted, or lightly won; but, once having fixed his affections, he was firm, confiding and incapable of change, through any change of fortune. He was, besides, of that affectionate and independent character, that as neither bribe nor power could have moved him to one act contrary to his principles of integrity, so neither danger, fatigue, nor any personal consideration could have deterred him from that which he considered as the business and duty of his life. He possessed a happy and cheerful disposition,—a frank and winning manner,—and that hilarity of heart and countenance which rendered him the charm and sunshine of every society.