Lord Glenarvon took a last and faltering leave of Calantha. Twice he returned and paused: he knew not how to say farewell: it seemed as if his lips trembled beneath the meaning of that fearful word—as if he durst not utter a knell to so much love—a death to every long cherished hope. At length, in a slow and solemn voice, "Farewell, Calantha," he said. "God forgive us both, and bless you." Lady Avondale for one instant ventured to look upon him: it was but to impress upon her memory every feature, every lineament, and trace of that image, which had reigned so powerfully over her heart. Had thousands been present, she had seen but that one:—had every danger menaced him, he had not moved. Thus in the agony of regret they parted; but that regret was shared; and as he glanced his eye for the last time on her, he pointed to the chain which he wore with her resem-
