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 whither ride you, Lady, so fast?" said Calantha, courteously returning her salute. "To perdition," cried Elinor; "and they that wish to follow must ride apace." The hat and plume of sacred green, the emerald clasp, the gift of Glenarvon, were all but too well observed by Calantha. Deeply she blushed, as St. Clara, fixing her dark eyes upon her, asked her respecting him. "Is thy young lover well?" she said; "and wilt thou be one of us? He slept last night at Belfont: he could not rest: didst thou?" Saying which, she smiled, and rode away.

Oppressed with many bitter doubts, Calantha returned to the Castle; and what is strange, she felt coldly towards Glenarvon. On her return, she found letters from him far the most ardent, the most impassioned she had yet received. He spoke with grief of her unkindness: he urged her by every tie most dear, most sacred, to see him, and fly with him. Yet, that night, she went not to meet