alone. His voice faultered, his eyes were filled with tears. "Lady Avondale—Calantha," he said, approaching her, "forgive me.—I ask it of you, and more, if you require it, I will kneel—will sue for it. You can make me what you please—I am wholly in your power." "There is no need for this," she said coldly.
"I will not rise till you forgive me. If you knew all—if . . . but can you indeed believe me indifferent, or cold? Look at me once: raise your eyes and behold him, who lives but in you." "All this is useless, you have grieved me; but I do not mean to reproach, the idle complainings of a woman are ever useless. "To think that she suffers," said Glenarvon, "is enough. Look once—once only, look upon me." "Let us part in peace," she replied: "I have no complaint to make, I have nothing to forgive," "raise your eyes, and look—Calantha look once on me."
