“Glenarvon,” said Calantha, and she was much agitated, “I have no will but yours; but I am not so lost as to wish, or to expect you to remain faithful to one you must no longer see:—only, when you marry—” “May the wrath of Heaven blast me,” interrupted he, “if ever I call any woman mine but you, my adored, my sweetest friend. I will be faithful; but you—you must return to Avondale: and shall he teach you to forget me? No, Calantha, never shall you forget the lessons I have given: my triumph is secure. Think of me when I am away: dream of me in the night, as that dear cheek slumbers upon its pillow; and, when you wake, fancy yourself in Glenarvon’s arms. Ours has been but a short-tried friendship,” he said; “but the pupils of Glenarvon never can forget their master. Better they had lived for years in folly and vice with thousands of common lovers, than one hour in the presence of such as I am. Do you repent, love? It is impossible. Look back to the time that is gone; count over the hours of solitude and social life; bear in your memory every picture of fancied bliss, and tell me truly if they can be compared to the transport, the ecstasy of being loved. “Oh! there is Heaven in the language of adoration; and one hour thus snatched from eternity is cheaply purchased by an age of woe. My love, my soul, look not thus. Now is the season of youth. Whilst fresh and balmy as the rose in summer, dead to remorse, and burning with hidden fires, dash all fear and all repentance from you; leave repinings to the weak and the old, and taste the consolation love alone can offer. What can heal its injuries? What remove its regrets? What shews you its vanity and illusion but itself? This hour we enjoy its transports, and to-morrow, sweet, we must live upon its remembrance. “Farewell, beloved. Upon thy burning lips receive a parting kiss; and never let or father, or husband, take it thence. Dissemble well, however; for they say the conquering hero returns—Avondale. Oh! if thou shouldst—but it is impossible—I feel that you dare not forget me. We must appear to give way: we have been too unguarded: we have betrayed ourselves: but, my life, my love is yours. Be true to me. You need not have one doubt of me: I never, never will forsake you. Heed not what I say to others: I do it but to keep all tranquil, and to quiet suspicion. Trust all to one who has never deceived thee. I might have assumed a character to you more worthy, more captivating. But have you not read the black secrets of my heart—aye, read, and shuddered, and yet forgiven me?” CHAPTER LXXVI.