Buchanan was now daily, nay even hourly expected:—Lady Margaret, awaited him with anxious hope; Calantha with increasing fear. Having one morning ridden out to divert her mind from the dreadful suspense under which she laboured, and meeting with Sir Everard, she enquired of him respecting her former favourite: “Miss Elinor,” said the doctor, “is still with her aunt, the abbess of Glanaa; and, her noviciate being over, she will soon, I fancy, take the veil. You cannot see her; but if your Ladyship will step from your horse, and enter into my humble abode, I will shew you a portrait of St. Clara, for so we now call her, she being indeed a saint; and sure you will admire it.” Calantha accompanied the doctor, and was struck with the singular beauty of the portrait. “Happy St. Clara, she said, and sighed:—your heart, dedicated thus early to Heaven, will escape the struggles and temptations to which mine is already exposed. Oh! that I too, might follow your example; and, far from a world for which I am not formed, pass my days in piety and peace.” That evening, as the Duke of Altamonte led his daughter through the crowded apartments, presenting her to every one previous to her marriage, she was suddenly informed that Buchanan was arrived. Her forced spirits, and assumed courage at once forsook her; she fled to her room; and there giving vent to her real feelings, wept bitterly.—“Yet why should I grieve thus?” she said:—“What though he be here to claim me? my hand is yet free:—I will not give it against the feelings of my heart.”—Mrs. Seymour had observed her precipitate flight, and following, insisted upon being admitted. She endeavoured to calm her; but it was too late. From that day, Calantha sickened:—the aid of the physician, and the care of her friends were vain:—an alarming illness seized upon her mind, and affected her whole frame. In the paroxysm of her fever, she called repeatedly upon Lord Avondale’s name, which confirmed those around her in the opinion they entertained, that her malady had been occasioned by the violent effort she had made, and the continual dread under which she had existed for some time past, of Buchanan’s return. Her father bitterly reproached himself for his conduct; watched by her bed in anxious suspense; and under the impression of the deepest alarm, wrote to his old friend the admiral, informing him of his daughter’s danger, and imploring him to urge Lord Avondale to forget what had passed and to hasten again to Castle Delaval.—He stated that, to satisfy his sister’s ambition, the greater part of his fortune should be settled upon Buchanan, to whom his title descended; and if, after this arrangement, Lord Avondale still continued the same as when he had parted from Calantha, he only requested his forgiveness of his former apparent harshness, and earnestly besought his return without a moment’s loss of time.