ABSTRACT
One night, as she retired to her room, Gondimar met her in the passage, leading from Mrs. Seymour’s apartment. ‘Lost woman,’ he cried, fiercely seizing her, ‘you know not what you love; – look to his hand, there is blood on it!’ …. That night was a horrid night to Calantha; she slept, and the dream that oppressed her, left her feeble and disordered. The ensuing day she walked by the shores of the sea: she bared her forehead to the balmy gales. She looked upon every cheerful countenance in hopes of imbibing happiness from the smile that brightened their’s,a but it was vain.
