The scene of the morning had caused considerable speculation. The count, though slightly indisposed—appeared at dinner: after which Lord Glenarvon took a hasty leave. It need not be said what Calantha’s feelings were. Gondimar and Lady Margaret talked much together, during the evening. Calantha wrote in anxiety to Glenarvon. None now was near to comfort her. As she retired slowly and sadly to her room in dreadful suspense, O’Kelly, Glenarvon’s servant, passed her on the stairs. The sight of his countenance was joy to her. “My lord waits to see you, at the back door on the terrace,” he said, as he affected to hasten away with a portmanteau on his shoulder. She heard and marked the words, and watching an opportunity hastened to the door. It was locked; but O’Kelly awaited her and opened it. To be in the power of this man was nothing: he was Glenarvon’s long tried and faithful servant; yet she felt confused when she met his eyes; and thought it an indignity that her secret had been betrayed to him. Glenarvon, however, had commanded her to trust him; and every command of his she too readily obeyed. “My lord is going,” said the man. “Where?” she cried; in the utmost agony. “From Ireland,” said O’Kelly. “But he waits for you by yonder tree,” she hastened forward. “Ah speak to me,” she said, upon seeing him: my heart is tortured; confide at least in me: let me have the comforts of believing that I contribute to the happiness of one human being upon earth; I who cause the misery of so many. Glenarvon turned from her to weep. “Tell me the cause of your distress.” “They will tear you from me,” he said. “Never, never,” she answered. “Look not on me, frail fading flowret,” he said, in a hollow mournful tone—“ah look not on me, nor thus waste thy sweets upon a whited sepulchre, full of depravity, and death. Could’st thou read my heart—see how it is seared, thou would’st tremble and start back with horror.” “I have bound myself to you,” she replied, “I am prepared for the worst: it cannot be worse than the crime of which I am guilty; grieve not then for me, I am calm, and happy—oh most happy, when I am thus with you.” There is a look of anguish, such as a slave might give when he betrays his master—such as a murderer in thought might shew previous to the commission of the bloody act, in presence of his victim:—such a look, so sad, so terrible, impressed a momentary gloom over the beautiful countenance of Glenarvon. Yes, when she said that she was happy, at that very time he shrunk from the joy she professed; for he knew that he had led her to that which would blast all peace in her heart for ever.