It was past three o’clock, when Calantha opened the cabinet where the
page’s clothes were formerly kept, and drew from thence his mantle and
plumed hat; and, thus disguised, prepared herself for the interview. She
slowly descended the stairs: the noisy revels of the servants might still
at intervals be heard: in a moment she glided through the apartments and
passages, till she found herself at the door which led to the terrace.
It opened heavily, and closed again with a loud noise. Alarmed, lest
she should be discovered, she flew with rapidity over the terrace and
lawn, till she approached the wood, and then she paused to take breath,
and to listen if all were silent.
Calantha walked fearfully onwards. The first night on which she had met
Glenarvon the moon was bright and full, and the whole scene was lighted
by its rays; but now, it was on the wane—the silver crescent shone alone,
and the clouds continually passing over it, cast fearful shadows upon
the grass. She found herself in the thickest part of the wood. She heard
a hollow murmur:—it was but the alders, waving in the wind, which made
a tremulous noise like voices whispering at a distance. She passed on,
and the recollection that it was to Glenarvon that she was hastening,
and that it was probably for the last time, made her indifferent to her
fate, and rendered her fearless. Besides, the desperate and the guilty
never fear: a deeper feeling renders them callous to all beside—a spirit
of defiance deadens in them the very edge of apprehension. She proceeded
to the appointed place. The sea dashed against the cliff below; and
the bleak wind whistled through the ruined chapel as it came in hollow
blasts over the heath.
Calantha perceived Glenarvon. He was leaning upon one of the broken rocks:
he viewed, unawed, the melancholy scene before him. No superstitious
terrors had power to shake his soul: misery had done its utmost to subdue
him. Nor ray of hope, nor prosperity, could afford him comfort, or remove
his dejection. In the first transports of joy at seeing him, she darted
towards him; but when she marked the paleness of his cheeks, and the
stillness of his attitude, she started back, and advanced slowly: for
she feared to disturb him.
The evening breeze had blown back his dark locks, and bared his pale
forehead, upon which the light of the moonbeam fell. She gazed upon
him; and while she contemplated the beautiful majesty of his figure,
his fixed and mournful eyes, his countenance so fraught with feeling,
she approached him. “My friend, my lover,” she said. “Ah! my little
trembling page, my Zerbellini, welcome to my heart,” he answered: “I
knew you would not fail; but I have waited for you till every bright
illusion of hope has been changed into visions of despondency and fear.
We meet now: but is it indeed to part no more! Glenarvon is yours, and
shall never be severed from you.”
“Ah! triumph over yourself and me,” she cried, clasping her hands in
agony. “Ask any sacrifice but this. Do not make me contemptible to you
and to myself.” “Calantha, the time for safety is past: it is too late
now. I have linked my soul to yours; I love you in defiance of myself;
I know it to be guilt, and to be death; but it must be. We follow but
the dark destiny that involves us: we cannot escape from fate. For you
alone I live:—be now but mine. They tell you of misery, of inconstancy,
of lovers’ perjuries, from the olden time; but you shall prove them
false. You leave much, it is true—rank, fame and friends, a home and the
dearest ties of a mother’s heart—children; but have you not embittered
all that you relinquish? Say that I yield you up and fly,—to what fate
shall I then consign you? to what endless repining, unjoyous solitary
hours—remorse, regret, the bitter taunt of friends, the insulting scorn
of strangers, and, worse than all—O! worse than all the recoiling heart
can endure, the unsuspicious confidence and caresses of an injured
husband, of him you have already betrayed. O Calantha, turn from these
to a lover’s bosom; seek for comfort here; and now, even now, accompany
me in my flight ..................................”
“I will leave all for you:—I love but you: be you my master.” Scarce
had she uttered the impious oath which bound her to him, when her heart,
convulsed with terror, ceased to beat. “Tis but in words—oh God! ’tis but
in words, that thy guilty servant has offended. No—even in the delirium
of passion, even in the transports of love, the fear of thy vengeance
spake terrors into her soul, and ingratitude for all thy favours was
not to be numbered with her sins.” But the oath which she had taken was
terrible. She considered herself as no longer under the protection of
her God. She trembled exceedingly; and fear for one moment overpowered
her. Lord Glenarvon looked upon her, mournfully, as if sorry for the sin
which he had cast upon her soul. “Now,” he said, “you will look back
upon these moments, and you will consider me with abhorrence. I have
led you with me to ruin and remorse.” “On me—on me, be the sin; let it
fall upon me alone,” she replied; “but if, after this, you forsake me,
then shall the vengeance of God be satisfied—the measure of my crime be
at its full. It is not in my power—I cannot forsake you now: I will go
with you, Glenarvon, if it were to certain death and ruin. I am yours
alone. But this night I must return home,” she said. “I will not leave
my father thus—I will not cause my aunt’s death.” “If you leave me now
I shall lose you.” “O Glenarvon, let me return; and after seeing them
once again, I will follow you firm until death.”
He placed a ring upon her finger. “It is a marriage bond,” he said;
“and if there be a God, let him now bear witness to my vows:—I here,
uncompelled by menace, unsolicited by entreaty, do bind myself through
life to you. No other, in word or thought, shall ever hold influence or
power over my heart. This is no lover’s oath—no profession which the
intoxication of passion may extort: it is the free and solemn purpose
of a soul conquered and enchained by you. Oh Calantha, beloved, adored,
look upon me, and say that you believe me. Lean not upon a lover’s bosom,
but upon a friend, a guardian and protector, a being wholly relying on
your mercy and kindness. My love, my soul, look yet once upon me.”
“Why fall our tears? Is it in terror of approaching evil, or in regret
for involuntary error? My bosom’s comfort, my soul’s idol, look not thus
coldly on me; for I deserve it not. Your will is mine: lead me as it
delights your fancy: I am a willing slave.” “If you abandon me,” said
Calantha, in tears. “May the curse of God burn my heart and consume me!
may every malediction and horror fall tenfold upon my head! may phrenzy
and madness come upon my senses! and tortures in this world and the next
be my portion, if ever I change my sentiments towards you!”
With words like these, Glenarvon silenced her as she returned to the
castle; and, strange as it may seem, untroubled sleep—such sleep as in
better days she once enjoyed, fell upon all her senses, quieted every
passion, and obliterated, for a few hours, the scenes of guilt which
tortured her with their remembrance.