ABSTRACT
Calantha could not speak one word during the evening; but while Miss Emmets sung – indifferently, she listened and even wept at what never before excited or interest, or melancholy. At night, when in sleep, one image pursued her, – it was all lovely – all bright: it seemed to be clothed in the white garments of an angel; it was too resplendent for eyes to gaze on; – she awoke. Lord Avon-dale slept in the inner room; she arose and looked upon him, whilst he reposed. How long, how fondly she had loved those features – that form. What grace, what majesty, what beauty was there! But when those eyes awake, she said, they will not look for me. That heart is at peace, and thou canst sleep, Henry, and my sorrows are not known / or heeded by thee. Happy Avondale: – Miserable, guilty Calantha!a
