“Calantha,” said Mrs. Seymour, advancing, “my child;” and she clasped her to her bosom. She would have turned from her, but she could not. “I am not come to speak to you on any unpleasant subject,” she said. “I cannot speak myself,” answered Calantha, hiding her face, not to behold her aunt: “all I ask of you is not to hate me; and God reward you for your kindness to me: I can say no more; but I feel much.” “You will not leave us, dear child?” “Never, never, unless I am driven from you—unless I am thought unworthy of remaining here.” “You will be kind to your husband, when he returns—you will not grieve him.” “Oh! no, no: I alone will suffer; I will never inflict it upon him; but I cannot see him again; he must not return: you must keep him from me. I never....” “Pause, my Calantha: make no rash resolves. I came here not to agitate, or to reproach. I ask but one promise, no other will I ever exact:—you will not leave us.” This change of manner in her aunt produced the deepest impression upon Lady Avondale. She looked, too, so like her mother, at the moment, that Calantha thought it had been her. She gave her her hand: she could not speak. “And did they tell me she was hardened?” said Mrs. Seymour. “I knew it could not be: my child, my own Calantha, will never act with cruelty towards those who love her. Say only the single words: “I will not leave you,” and I will trust you without one fear.” “I will not leave you!” said Calantha, weeping bitterly, and throwing herself upon her aunt’s bosom. “If it break my heart, I will never leave you, unless driven from these doors!” Little more was said by either of them. Mrs. Seymour was deeply affected, and so was Calantha. After she had quitted her, not an hour had elapsed, when Sir Richard, without preparation, entered. His presence stifled every good emotion—froze up every tear. Calantha stood before him with a look of contempt and defiance, he could not bear. Happily for her, he was called away, and she retired early to bed. “That wife of Avondale’s has the greatest share of impudence,” said the Admiral, addressing the company, at large, when he returned from her room, “that ever it was my fortune to meet. One would think, to see her, that she was the person injured; and that we were all the agressors. Why, she has the spirit of the very devil in her! but I will break it, I warrant you.” CHAPTER XXXVIII.