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 has passed."—"I know all."—"My aunt is ill." He smiled contemptuously. "Act as you think right," he said; "but do not be the dupe of these machinations."—"She is really ill: she is incapable of art."—"Go to her, then."—"And you—shall I see you no more?"—"Never."—"I shall come to-night."—"As you please."—"At all events, I shall be there, Glenarvon.—Oh look not thus on me. You know, you well know your power: do not lead me to infamy and ruin."

Glenarvon seized Calantha's hand, which he wrung with violence. Passion in him was very terrible: it forced no fierce words from his lips; no rush of blood suffused his cheeks and forehead; but the livid pale of suppressed rage spread itself over every feature: even his hands bore testimony to the convulsive effort which the blood receding to his heart occasioned. Thus pale, thus fierce, he gazed on Calantha with disdain.—"Weak, timid being, is it for this I have renounced so much?—Is it for such as you that