Here Glenarvon was again interrupted by the loud and repeated bursts of applause. Elinor then springing forward, in a voice that pierced through the hearts of each, and was echoed back from cave to cave—“Heard ye the words of your leader?” she cried: “and is there one amongst you base enough to desert him?” “None, none.” “Then arm yourselves, my countrymen: arm yourselves by every means in your power: and rush like lions on your foes. Let every heart unite, as if struck at once by the same manly impulse; and Ireland shall itself arise to defend its independence; for in the cause of liberty, inaction is cowardice: and may every coward forfeit the property he has not the courage to protect! Heed not the glare of hired soldiery, or aristocratic yeomanry: they cannot stand the vigorous shock of freedom. Their trappings and their arms will soon be yours. Attack the tyrants in every direction, by day and by night.—To war—to war! Vengeance on the detested government of England! What faith shall you keep with them? What faith have they ever kept with you? Ireland can exist independent. O! let not the chain of slavery encompass us around.—Health to the Emerald isle! Glenarvon and Ireland for ever!” CHAPTER LXXIV. The cry of joy has ceased. Elinor and her companion have quitted the cavern. Before she parted for the night, she asked him respecting one he loved. “Where is Calantha?” she said. “In yon dreary prison,” he replied, pointing to Castle Delaval:—“like a rose torn from the parent stem, left to perish in all its sweetness—gathered by the hand of the spoiler, and then abandoned. I have left her.” “You look miserable, my Lord.” “My countenance is truer to my feelings than I could have supposed.” “Alice dead—Calantha discarded! I heard the tale, but it left no credit with me.—Can there be hearts so weak as thus to die for love? ’Tis but a month ago, I think, you said you never would leave her; that this was different from all other attachments; that you would bear her hence.” “I have changed my intention: is that sufficient?” “Will she die, think you?” “Your uncle will, if you continue thus,” replied Glenarvon. “I am sick at heart, Elinor, when I look on you.” “Old men, my Lord, will seek the grave; and death can strike young hearts, when vain men think it their doing. I must leave you.” “Wherefore in such haste?” “A younger and truer lover awaits my coming: I am his, to follow and obey him.” “Oh, Elinor, I tremble at the sight of so much cold depravity—so young and so abandoned. How changed from the hour in which I first met you at Glenaa! Can it be possible?” “Aye, my good Lord; so apt a scholar, for so great a master.”