One evening, as she wandered there, she met St. Clara, who passed her in haste, whilst a smile of exulting triumph lighted her countenance. Lady Avondale sighed, and seated herself upon the fragment of a rock; but took no other notice of her. There was a blaze of glorious light diffused over the calm scene, and the gloomy battlements of Belfont Priory yet shone with the departing ray. When Calantha arose to depart, she turned from the golden light which illuminated the west, and gazed in agony upon the spot where it was her custom to meet her lover. The vessels passed to and fro upon the dark blue sea; the sailors cheerfully followed their nightly work; and the peasants, returning from the mountains with their flocks, sung cheerfully as they approached their homes. Calantha had no home to return to; no approving eye to bid her welcome: her heart was desolate. She met with an aged man, whose white locks flowed, and whose air was that of deep distress. He looked upon her. He asked charity of her as he passed: he said that he was friendless, and alone in the world. His name she asked: he replied, “Camioli.” “If gold can give you peace, take this,” she said. He blessed her: he called her all goodness—all loveliness; and he prayed for her to his God. “Oh, God of mercy!” said Calantha, “hear the prayer of the petitioner: grant me the blessing he has asked for me. I never more can pray. He little knows the pang he gave. He calls me good: alas! that name and Calantha’s are parted for ever.” Poor wretch! who hast nothing to hope for in life, But the mercy of hearts long success has made hard. No parent hast thou, no fond children, no wife, Thine age from distress and misfortune to guard. Yet the trifle I gave, little worth thy possessing, Has call’d forth in thee, what I cannot repay: Thou hast ask’d of thy God for his favour and blessing; Thou hast pray’d for the sinner, who never must pray. Old man, if those locks, which are silver’d by time, Have ne’er been dishonor’d by guilt or excess; If when tempted to wrong, thou hast fled from the crime; By passion unmov’d, unappall’d by distress: If through life thou hast follow’d the course that is fair, And much hast perform’d, though of little possess’d; Then the God of thy fathers shall favour the prayer, And a blessing be sent to a heart now unblest. CHAPTER LXXIX.