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—*
