She turned to him, she saw that face whose every feature was engraved deep in her very heart—that smile of sweetness—that calm serenity, she had not power to speak—to think; and yet recovering from this strange enchantment,—“How could you betray me?” she said. “I judge you not, but I can never feel either interest, or friendship again.” “Yet,” said Glenarvon gravely, “I need both at this time, for I am miserable and ill too, only I do not wish to excite your compassion by these arts, and I had rather die unforgiven, than use any towards you.” “Wherefore did you betray me?” “Can you ask? I was deeply wounded. It is not enough for me that you love me, all must, and shall know it. I will make every sacrifice for you—run every risk: but every risk and every sacrifice must be shared.” “Whatever my feelings may be,” she answered coldly, “you shall never subdue me again. I may be infatuated, but I will never be criminal—You may torture me as you please, if you have the power over me which you imagine, but I can bear torture, and none ever yet subdued me.” “Calantha,” said Lord Glenarvon, taking her hand firmly, and smiling half scornfully, “you shall be my slave. I will mould you as I like; teach you to think but with my thoughts, to act but with my feelings, you shall wait nor murmur—suffer, nor dare complain—ask, and be rejected—and all this, I will do, and you know it, for your heart is already mine.” “If I forgive you,” she cried, “If you do not” he said, approaching nearer. “I never will.” “And ’till you do, though your whole family should enter, I will kneel here—here, even at your feet.” “You think to menace me.” “I know my empire. Take off those ornaments: replace what I have given you: this too you shall wear,” he said, throwing a chain around her, “Turn from me if you can: the heart that I have won, you cannot reclaim, and though the hand be thus denied me, this, this is mine.” Saying this, he pressed her lips to his, a strange feeling thrilled to her heart as she attempted vainly to hate him, or extricate herself from his embrace. “I love you to madness,” he said, and you distract me. “Trust yourself entirely to me, it is the only means of safety left. Yes, Calantha, I will do for you, what no man ever did before. If it destroy me, I will never lead you to guilt, only rely upon me, be guided by me.” “You ran the risk she said, of our being separated for ever, of making my aunt miserable. Of——.” “Nonsense child, I never risk any thing, it was necessary your aunt should know, and the fear of losing you entirely will make her readily consent to my seeing you more than ever,” “Oh God! what guilt. Think not that my attachment is such as to bear it.” “It shall bear all things,” said Glenarvon; “but if you sacrifice what I desire, I will conquer every wrong feeling for your sake? Our friendship will then be innocent.” “Not absolutely ... indeed I fear it; and if——” “Ah! leave these gloomy thoughts. If love should triumph—if you feel half for