Gondimar suddenly left Lady Augusta, who was walking on the terrace. He had caught a glimpse of Calantha as she wandered slowly by the banks of Elle:—he hastened to the spot; he saw her; he penetrated her feelings; and he returned thoughtful and irritated to the Castle. Snatching a pen, he wrote for some time. Lady Trelawney and Lady Augusta, observing him, approached and insisted upon being made acquainted with his studies. “It is an ode you are inditing, I am certain,” said the latter, “I saw you struck by the God as you darted from me.” “You are right,” cried Gondimar, “I am composing a song.” “In English too, I perceive.” “What, if it be English? you know one of my talents, can write even in that d——d language: so criticise my rhapsody if you dare. At all events, Lady Avondale will admire it; for it is about a rose and love—most sentimental. And where is she? for till her return, I will not shew it you.” If that question, where is Lady Avondale? must be answered, it is with sorrow and regret that such answer will be made:—she was walking slowly, as Gondimar had seen her, by the banks of the river Elle: she was silent, too, and mournful; her spirits were gone; her air was that of one who is deeply interested in all she hears. She was not alone—Lord Glenarvon was by her side. It was their custom thus to walk: they met daily; they took every opportunity of meeting; and when in their morning and evening rambles she pointed out the beautiful views around, the ranging mountains, and the distant ocean,—he would describe, in glowing language, the far more magnificent and romantic scenery of the countries through which he had passed—countries teaming with rich fruits, vinyards and olive groves; luxuriant vales and mountains, soaring above the clouds, whose summits were white with snow, while a rich and ceaseless vegetation adorned the valleys beneath. He told her that he hated these cold northern climes, and the bottle green of the Atlantic;—that could she see the dark blue of the Mediterranean, whose clear wave reflected the cloudless sky, she would never be able to endure those scenes in which she now took such delight. And soon those scenes lost all their charms for Calantha; for that peace of mind which gave them charms was fast departing; and she sighed for that beautiful land to which his thoughts reverted, and those Italian climes, to which he said, he so soon must return. CHAPTER XVII.