what I feel; and the world, ever apt to judge by circumstances imperfectly related, will imagine". . . . "At such a moment," said Calantha, impatiently, "it is of little importance what is thought. When the heart suffers keenly, not all the sayings of others are of weight. Let them think the worst, and utter what they think. When we fall, as I have done, we are far beyond their power: the venomed shaft of malice cannot wound; for the blow under which we sink is alone heeded. I feel now but this, that I am going to part from you."
Glenarvon looked at her, and the tears filled his eyes. "Thy love," he said, "was the last light of Heaven, that beamed upon my weary pilgrimage: thy presence recalled me from error: thy soft voice stilled every furious passion. It is all past now—I care not what becomes of me." As he spoke, they approached the boat, and entering it, sailed with a gentle breeze across the bay. Not a
