Oh! if there be a pang of heart too terrible to endure and to imagine, it would be the consideration that we have returned unexampled kindness, by ingratitude, and betrayed the generous noble confidence that trusted every thing to our honour and our love. Calantha had not, however, this heavy charge to answer for at the time in which she spoke, and her thoughts were gay, and all those around seemed to share in the happiness she felt. Lord Avondale one day reproved Calantha for her excessive love of music.—“You have censured work,” he said, “imputed to it every evil, the cold and the passionless can fall into:—I now retort your satire upon music.” Some may smile at this; but had not Lord Avondale’s observation more weight than at first it may appear. Lady Avondale often rode to Glanaa to hear Miss St. Clare sing. Gondimar sung not like her; and his love breathing ditties went not to the heart, like the hymns of the lovely recluse. But for the deep flushes which now and then overspread St. Clare’s cheeks, and the fire which at times animated her bright dark eye, some might have fancied her a being of a purer nature than our own—one incapable of feeling any of the fierce passions that disturb mankind; but her voice was such as to shake every fibre of the heart, and might soon have betrayed to an experienced observer the empassioned violence of her real character. Sir Everard, who had one day accompanied Calantha to the convent, asked his niece in a half serious, half jesting manner, concerning her gift of prophecy. “Have not all this praying and fasting, cured you of it, my little Sybel?” he said.—“No,” replied the girl; “but that which you are so proud of, makes me sad:—it is this alone which keeps me from the sports which delight my companions:—it is this which makes me weep when the sun shines bright in the clear heavens, and the bosom of the sea is calm.”—“Will you shew us a specimen of your art?” said Sir Everard, eagerly.—Miss St. Clare coloured, and smiling archly at him, “The inspiration is not on me now, uncle,” she said; “when it is, I will send and let you know.”—Calantha embraced her, and returned from her visit more and more enchanted with her singular acquaintance. CHAPTER XX.