ABSTRACT
The cry of joya 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.’7 ‘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.’
