Cormac O’Leary, and Carter, and Tyrone, now come down, and assisted in persuading her to alight. “Sing to us,” they cried. “What hand can strike the harp like thine? What master taught thee this heavenly harmony?” “Oh, had you heard his song who taught me, then had you wept in pity for my loss. What does life present that’s worth even a prayer? What can Heaven offer, having taken from me all that my soul adored? Why name Glenarvon? It is like raising a spirit from the grave; or giving life again to the heart that is dead: it is as if a ray of the sun’s glorious light shone upon these cold senseless rocks; or as if a garden of paradise were raised in the midst of a desert: birds of prey and sea-fowl alone inhabit here. They should be something like Glenarvon who dare to name him.” “Was he all this indeed?” said Niel Carter incredulously. “When he spoke, it was like the soft sound of music. The wild impassioned strains of his lyre awakened in the soul every emotion: it was with a master-hand that he struck the chords; and all the fire of genius and poetry accompanied the sound. When Heaven itself has shed its glory upon the favourite of his creation, shall mortal beings turn insensible from the splendid ray? You have maddened me: you have pronounced a name I consider sacred.” “This prodigy of Heaven, however,” said Cormac O’Leary, “behaves but scurvily to man. Glenarvon it seems has left his followers, as he has his mistress. Have you heard, that in consequence of his services, he is reinstated in his father’s possessions, a ship is given to him, and a fair and lovely lady has accepted his hand? Even now, he sails with the English admiral and Sir Richard Mowbrey.” The rich crimson glow faded from Elinor’s cheek. She smiled, but it was to conceal the bitterness of her heart. She knew the tale was true; but she cared not to repeat it. She mounted her horse, and desiring Cormac O’Leary, Niel Carter, and others, to meet her that night at Inis Tara, she rode away, with more appearance of gaiety than many a lighter heart. CHAPTER XCIV. Elinor rode not to the mountains; she appeared not again at Belfont; but turning her horse towards the convent of Glanaa, she entered there, and asked if her aunt the abbess were yet alive. “She is alive,” said one of those who remembered Miss St. Clare; “but she is much changed since she last beheld you. Grieving for you has brought her to this pass.” What the nun had said was true. The abbess was much changed in appearance; but through the decay, and wrinkles of age, the serenity and benevolence of a kind and pious heart remained. She started back at first, when she saw Miss St. Clare. That unfeminine attire inspired her with feelings of disgust: all she had heard too of her abandoned conduct chilled her interest; and that compassion which she had willingly extended to the creeping worm, she reluctantly afforded to an impenitent, proud, and hardened sinner.