No one had apparently observed Lady Avondale’s feigned indisposition that evening—feigned, indeed, it was not; no one soothed her during her sleepless night; and in the morning when she awoke, at an early hour, Lord Avondale asked her not the cause of her disquiet. She arose and descended upon the terrace:—her steps involuntarily led her to the banks of the Elle. The flowers, fresh with dew, sparkled in the sunshine, and scented the soft morning air. She hurried on, regardless of the distance. The rose he had given her was faded; but its leaves were preserved by her with fondest care. Whilst yet she walked, at a little distance she perceived Gondimar, and was in consequence preparing to return, when he abruptly accosted her; and with a manner too little respectful, rudely seized her hand. “Have you not slept?” he cried, “my charming, my adored young friend, that you are thus early in your walk; or did you imagine that others, beside myself would wander upon these banks, and await your fairy step? O suffer one who admires—who loves, to open his heart to you—to seize this opportunity.” ... “Leave me—approach me not. What have I done to deserve this from you?” she exclaimed. “Why seize my hand by force? Why press it—oh God! to those detested lips? Leave me, Count Gondimar: forget not the respect due to every woman.” “Of virtue!” he replied, with a scornful smile. “But tell me, has Lady Avondale never suffered such insults from some who have no better claim? Has she still a right to this amazing mockery of respect? Ah! trust me, we cannot command our love.” “Neither can we command our abhorrence—our disgust,” she exclaimed, breaking from his grasp and hastening away. As Calantha re-entered the Castle, she met Lady Margaret and Glenarvon, who appeared surprised and disconcerted at seeing her. “Has Count Gondimar been speaking to you upon any subject of importance?” said Lady Margaret in a whisper, trying to conceal a look of suspicion, and some embarrassment. Before Calantha could answer, he had joined them; and explaining fully that their meeting had been entirely accidental, they both walked off together apparently in earnest discourse, leaving Lord Glenarvon and Lady Avondale together. Calantha’s heart was full, she could not speak, she therefore left him in haste and when alone she wept. Had she not reason; for every indignity and grief was falling fast upon her. She could not tell what had occurred to Lord Avondale—he had a fierce and dangerous spirit; and to Glenarvon she would not, upon every account. Glenarvon awaited her return with anxiety. “I was surprised to see you with my aunt,” she said, “what could you be saying to her.” He evaded the question, and tenderly enquired of her the cause of her uneasiness and tears. He loved beyond a doubt—at least he convinced Calantha that he did so.