Calantha could not speak one word during the evening; but while Miss
Emmets sung—indifferently, she listened and even wept at what never
before excited or interest, or melancholy. At night, when in sleep, one
image pursued her,—it was all lovely—all bright: it seemed to be clothed
in the white garments of an angel; it was too resplendent for eyes to
gaze on:—she awoke. Lord Avondale slept in the inner room; she arose and
looked upon him, whilst he reposed. How long, how fondly she had loved
those features—that form. What grace, what majesty, what beauty was
there! But when those eyes awake, she said, they will not look for me.
That heart is at peace, and thou canst sleep, Henry, and my sorrows are
not known or heeded by thee. Happy Avondale:—Miserable, guilty Calantha!
At an early hour the ensuing day, Captain Emmet proposed a drive to
Donallan Park, which he said was a fair domain, fully deserving the
attention of the Duke of Altamonte. Cassandra and Heloisa clamorously
seconded this proposal. In this energetic family, Mrs. Emmet alone gave
the eye and the ear a little repose. Stretched upon a couch in languid
listless inactivity, she gazed upon the bustling scene before her, as if
entirely unconnected with it; nor seemed to know of greater suffering
than when called from her reveries, by the acute voices of her family,
to the bustle and hurry of common life. To the question of whether she
would accompany them to Donallan Park, she answered faintly, that she
would not go. A fat and friendly lieutenant, who fondly hung over her,
urged her to relent, and with some difficulty, at length, persuaded her
to do so.
Every one appeared much pleased with their excursion, or possibly with
some incident during their drive, which had made any excursion agreeable.
Of Donallan Park, however, Calantha remembered little: this alone, she
noted, that as they walked through a shrubbery, Lord Glenarvon suddenly
disengaging himself from Miss Emmet, who had monopolized his arm, gathered
a rose—the only rose in bloom (it being early in the summer) and turning
back, offered it to Calantha. She felt confused—flattered perhaps; but
if she were flattered by his giving it to her, she had reason to be
mortified by the remark which accompanied the gift. “I offer it to you,”
he said, “because the rose at this season is rare, and all that is new
or rare has for a moment, I believe, some value in your estimation.”
She understood his meaning: her eye had been fixed upon him with more
than common interest; and all that others said and Miss Emmet affected,
he thought, perhaps, that she could feel. There was no proof she gave
of this, more unequivocal, than her silence. Her spirits were gone; a
strange fear of offending had come upon her; and when Lady Trelawney
rallied her for this change, “I am not well,” she said; “I wish I had
never come to Cork.”
On the ensuing morning, they returned to Castle Delaval. Previous to
their departure, Admiral Buchanan had a long interview with Lady Margaret,
during which time Lord Glenarvon walked along the beach with Calantha and
Sophia. “Shall you be at Belfont again this year?” said Miss Seymour. “I
shall be at Castle Delaval in a few days,” he answered, smiling rather
archly at Calantha, she knew not wherefore. But she turned coldly from
him, as if fearing to meet his eyes. Yet not so was it her custom to
behave towards those whom she sought to please, and what woman upon
earth exists, who had not wished to please Glenarvon? Possibly she felt
offended at what he had said when giving her the rose in Donallan’s
gardens; or it may be that her mind, hitherto so enthusiastic, so readily
attracted, was grown callous and indifferent, and felt not those charms
and the splendour of those talents which dazzled and misled every other
heart.
Yet is it unflattering to fly, to feel embarrassed, to scarcely dare
to look upon the person who addresses us? Is this so very marked a sign
of indifference? It is not probable that Lord Glenarvon thought so. He
appeared not to hate the being who was thus confused in his presence,
but to think that he felt what he inspired were presumption. With all
the wild eagerness of enthusiasm, her infatuated spirit felt what, with
all the art of well dissembled vanity, he feigned. She quitted him with
a strong feeling of interest. She, however, first heard him accept her
father’s invitation, and agree to accompany Sir George Buchanan in his
promised visit to Castle Delaval.