Chapter 3

The cry of joy has ceased. Elinor and her companion have quitted the
cavern. Before she parted for the night, she asked him respecting one
he loved. “Where is Calantha?” she said. “In yon dreary prison,” he
replied, pointing to Castle Delaval:—“like a rose torn from the parent
stem, left to perish in all its sweetness—gathered by the hand of the
spoiler, and then abandoned. I have left her.” “You look miserable,
my Lord.” “My countenance is truer to my feelings than I could have
supposed.” “Alice dead—Calantha discarded! I heard the tale, but it
left no credit with me.—Can there be hearts so weak as thus to die
for love? ’Tis but a month ago, I think, you said you never would
leave her; that this was different from all other attachments; that
you would bear her hence.” “I have changed my intention: is that
sufficient?” “Will she die, think you?” “Your uncle will, if you
continue thus,” replied Glenarvon. “I am sick at heart, Elinor, when
I look on you.” “Old men, my Lord, will seek the grave; and death can
strike young hearts, when vain men think it their doing. I must leave
you.” “Wherefore in such haste?” “A younger and truer lover awaits
my coming: I am his, to follow and obey him.” “Oh, Elinor, I tremble
at the sight of so much cold depravity—so young and so abandoned.
How changed from the hour in which I first met you at Glenaa! Can it
be possible?” “Aye, my good Lord; so apt a scholar, for so great a
master.”

Glenarvon attempted to seize her hand. “Do you dare to detain me? Touch
me not. I fear you.” ... “Elinor, to what perdition are you hastening?
I adjure you by your former love, by Clare of Costoly, the boy for
whom you affect such fondness, who still remains the favorite of my
heart, return to your uncle. I will myself conduct you.” “Leave your
hold, Glenarvon: force me not to shriek for succour.—Now that you have
left me, I will speak calmly. Are you prepared to hear me?” “Speak.”
“Do you see those turrets which stand alone, as if defying future
storms? Do you behold that bleak and barren mountain, my own native
mountain, which gave me the high thoughts and feelings I possess;
which rears its head, hiding it only in the clouds? Look above: see
the pale moon, that moon which has often witnessed our mutual vows,
which has shone upon our parting tears, and which still appears to
light us on our guilty way: by these, by thyself, thy glorious self,
I swear I never will return to virtue:

“For the heart that has once been estrang’d,
With some newer affection may burn,
It may change, as it ever has chang’d,
But, oh! it can never return.

“By these eyes, which you have termed bright and dear; by these dark
shining locks, which your hands have oft entwined; by these lips,
which, prest by yours, have felt the rapturous fire and tenderness
of love—virtue and I are forsworn: and in me, whatever I may appear,
henceforward know that I am your enemy. Yes, Glenarvon, I am another’s
now.” “You can never love another as you have loved me: you will
find no other like me.” “He is as fair and dear, therefore detain
me not. I would rather toil for bread, or beg from strangers, than
ever more owe to you one single, one solitary favour. Farewell—How I
have adored, you know: how I have been requited, think—when sorrows
as acute as those you have inflicted visit you. Alice, it is said,
blest you with her dying breath. Calantha is of the same soft mould;
but there are deeds of horror, and hearts of fire:—the tygress has
been known to devour her young; and lions, having tasted blood, have
fed upon the bowels of their masters.”

St. Clare, as she spoke, stood upon the edge of the high cliff to
which they had ascended. The moon shone brightly on her light figure,
which seemed to spring from the earth, as if impelled forward by the
strength of passion. The belt of gold which surrounded her slender
waist burst, as if unable longer to contain the proud swelling of
her heart: she threw the mantle from her shoulders; and raising the
hat and plume from her head, waved it high in the air: then darting
forward, she fled hastily from the grasp of Glenarvon, who watched her
lessening form till it appeared like a single speck in the distance,
scarce visible to the eye.