Calantha’s servant entered at that moment, and told her that Lord Glenarvon was below—waiting for the answer. “Take these papers,” said Calantha, and with them she enclosed a ring which had been found upon Alice: “Give them yourself to Lord Glenarvon: I cannot see him.—You may betray me, if it is your inclination; I am in your power; but to save is not. Therefore, for God’s sake, do not attempt it....” The attendant had no difficult task in executing this errand. She met Lord Glenarvon himself, at the door of the library. Upon alighting from his horse, he had enquired for Lady Margaret Buchanan; before she was prepared to receive him, the papers were delivered into his hands; he gave them to O’Kelly; and after paying a shorter visit to Lady Margaret than at first he had intended, he returned to the inn at Belfont, to peruse them. First however he looked upon the broach, and taking up the ring, he pressed it to his lips and sighed, for he remembered it and her to whom it had been given. Upon this emerald ring, the words: “_Eterna fede_,” had been inscribed. He had placed it upon his little favourite’s hand, in token of his fidelity, when first he had told her of his love; time had worn off and defaced the first impression; and “_Eterno dolor_,” had been engraved by her in its place—thus telling in few words the whole history of love—the immensity of its promises—the cruelty of its disappointment. Calantha was preparing to answer Glenarvon’s letter: her whole soul was absorbed in grief, when Sophia entered and informed her that the Admiral was arrived. It was, she knew, his custom to come and go without much ceremony; but his sudden presence, and at such a moment, overpowered her. Perhaps too, her husband might be with him! she fell: Sophia called for assistance. “Good God! what is the matter?” she said, “You have just kilt my lady,” said the nurse; “but she’ll be better presently: let her take her way—let her take her way.” And before Calantha could compose herself, Sir Richard was in her room. She soon saw by his hearty open countenance, that he was perfectly ignorant of all that had occurred; and to keep him so, was now her earnest endeavour. But she was unused to deceit: all her attempts at it were forced: it was not in her nature; and pride alone, not better feeling prevented its existence. CHAPTER XXXVII.