"East, west—alas! I care not whither,So thou art safe, and I with thee!"
"East, west—alas! I care not whither,So thou art safe, and I with thee!"
exclaimed Captain Ponsonby, turning towards Christobelle, with a smile.
Lord Farnborough became silent and sullen. A deep gloom spread over his handsome face, and its bland expression faded. Lord Farnborough wore a countenance, which Christobelle could never have recognised as the agreeable set of features which first pleased her at Lochleven. His lordship turned with indignant pride from his friend, and gave his attention to the Miss Quintins.
"Bell!" whispered Lady Wetheral, as Captain Ponsonby again stooped forward, to adjust his cloak, "you will lose him."
"Lose him!" thought Christobelle—"yes, I have lost him—for is he not uttering 'sugared sentences' to Fanny Ponsonby?—and is he not regardless of his old acquaintance? How easyit is to sit in happy, careless tranquillity, when no cloud veils our hopes! How happy was I, till the Clanmoray party broke through the seclusion of Fairlee, and brought a Fanny Ponsonby between me and my peace! How happy was I in my freedom, roving amid the groves of Fairlee, before Sir John Spottiswoode arrived, to teach me the glow of friendship, and then to withdraw its light!" Ill, unhappy, and indifferent to the scenery, which was her former object of devotion, Christobelle heeded not the sullen silence of Lord Farnborough, or the fears of her mother. The little attention she could spare from the conjurations of her wretched fancy, Christobelle gave to the gay and kind-hearted Ponsonby.
"Miss Wetheral," said Captain Ponsonby, "when I quitted Clanmoray, six years ago, I never dreamed of a fair neighbour at Fairlee."
"Six years ago I was nursing a doll, Captain Ponsonby."
"Even so. You tease your dolls in youth, and tease our hearts in age. Like a falling star, you have shot from your sphere, upon the banks of this lake, and where shall you make your rest?"
"You have been some time in Ireland, Captain Ponsonby, and have caught the true hyperbole."
"I had no practice there, Miss Wetheral. If I told a lady she was charming, it was 'ah now, you're joking'—and if I advanced with classical allusions, or sparkling metaphor, it was 'ah now, Captain Ponsonby, you're so droll!'"
"The Irish ladies possibly guessed your character, Captain Ponsonby, as it appears to have been a general answer. They knew you were either in jest, or sarcastic."
"Upon my honour, you are wrong. I am sincere in word and deed. I am neither fair nor false, the motto of some of my neighbours. Don't look this way, Farnborough."
"Miss Wetheral," said his lordship, "do not believe half you hear from Ponsonby's lips."
"It hit my lord hard, you perceive, Miss Wetheral."
"My friend Ponsonby is a rover—sans eyes, sans heart, sans every thing, Miss Wetheral."
"Excellent—ha, ha!" laughed Captain Ponsonby. "I can disprove the charge, Miss Wetheral. I was in love three whole days, once, at Castlebar."
"And why so speedy a cure?" Christobelle demanded.
"The lady kept silence three days," he replied, "but, on the fourth morning, the charm dissolved, for she spoke."
"What could she have spoken, to break a spell so powerful, Captain Ponsonby?"
"I met the lady in a pouring rain, and, though I had not been introduced to her, wehad met often, and were acquainted by name and sight. I offered her my escort and my umbrella. 'Ah, now, Captain Ponsonby, there's rason in what you say, and I'll be obleeged to you'—was her good-humoured reply. I could bear the brogue tolerably, Miss Wetheral, for six months' residence had enured me to its twang; but I could not away with the perfect nonchalance with which she exhibited a pair of enormous ancles, and appealed to me upon their use. 'Ah now, Captain Ponsonby, if I've got no understanding above, there's plenty below, and I'll be charged for two pair of legs through the penny turnpikes.' Farewell the glowing complexion and bright eyes of my love!—I never more gazed upon Miss M'Nab."
"Was that youronlyenlargement of heart, Captain Ponsonby?"
"Some few relapses there might have been, but none of any consideration. Miss M'Nab was the most serious love."
"You are difficult to please."
"No, I think not; but I desire to find a sufficiently lovely woman, with sweetness of temper, and delicacy of manners, to love with constancy. If I ever love sincerely, it will be my life-strings—the very breath of my life."
"Then be very cautious, Captain Ponsonby," said Christobelle, with a feeling of painful interest. She felt how sorrowful were the disappointments of friendship. What would the pangs of unrequited affection be?
"Will you be my guardian angel, and watch over me, Miss Wetheral?"
"I cannot undertake such a momentous charge," she replied. Lord Farnborough watched the conversation in gloomy silence, and conversed no more with Miss Quintin. Lady Wetheral was gratified by the expression of jealousy which darkened his lordship's fine face, for, during the little bustle of debarkation, she smiled, and hastily whispered—"Christobelle, very well managed, my love; a little jealousy is useful, but beware of givingoffence."
"Mamma, you are quite mistaken, indeed you are."
"Nonsense, Bell; I am keenly watching and deciding." Lord Farnborough offered his hand to assist her transit at that moment, and the subject was of course dropped. Captain Ponsonby offered his hand to Miss Wetheral, and they followed in succession: he placed her arm within his own, as they touched the shore of thelittle island. "Mind, you belong to me, Miss Wetheral; I shall not relinquish you now."
Lord Farnborough consigned Lady Wetheral to his father's care, and immediately returned. His lordship appeared offended at the disposition of things.
"Miss Wetheral, I am deputed by Lady Wetheral to bring you to her: allow me—" Lord Farnborough put forth his arm. Captain Ponsonby interfered.
"No one takes my guardian angel from me. I will take charge of Miss Wetheral with equal care. Miss Wetheral is mine."
"My claim began earlier, Ponsonby," remarked his lordship, with a look of fierceness.
"I will fight for every inch of mine. My good fellow, the Quintins are unattended."
"My delegated place is by the side of Miss Wetheral." Lord Farnborough threw a look of defiance at her companion, which terrified Christobelle. "Oh, pray take me to my father, Captain Ponsonby," she cried; "pray let me walk with my father."
"You shall be obeyed." Captain Ponsonby drew her among the group, who were deciding the plan of refreshment, or arranging their dress, and gave her into her father's care; but Christobellestill dreaded the looks of Lord Farnborough. She did not withdraw her arm from Captain Ponsonby's support: he smiled.
"Youaremy guardian angel, after all. I see your fears, and, while they operate to my advantage, I hope they will continue. How delightful it is to be the object of a woman's tender care! every thing is so kindly and silently done."
"I do not like Lord Farnborough's looks, Captain Ponsonby."
"Nor I, at all. I am very much alarmed, and I beg you will keep near me." Christobelle laughed.
"What are you laughing at?"
Lady Wetheral approached, leaning on the arm of his Grace; and Lord Farnborough also came up. Captain Ponsonby affected to tremble, and assured Christobelle, if she quitted his protection, he should be a lifeless corpse. He could not bear the lightning of Lord Farnborough's eye, or the thunder of his angry voice, at being deprived of his prey. He thought they had better contemplate the ruins of the little chapel, while the party were quarrelling about the dinner-tables. Sir John Wetheral was willing to move, and Christobelle also was anxious to leave the spot where Sir John Spottiswoode stoodpertinaciously by the side of Fanny Ponsonby. Sickness of heart came over her, and she turned from the scene.
Lochleven crowded all its beauties into the panorama viewed from St. Mungo's Isle, but Christobelle gazed upon them with vacancy: her eye could not distinguish, and her mind would not relish them. She sat upon a low, ruined wall, in utter listlessness; and, in silence, listened to Captain Ponsonby's statement of the scenes which had taken place on the spot where they rested, when it had been the sepulchre of the clans of Glencoe and Lochaber. Christobelle's adoration of ancient legends was sunk in apathy. She dared not turn her head, lest the fearful forms of Fanny Ponsonby and her companion should startle her sight. She gazed on the heights, without perceiving their beautiful outline. She listened to Captain Ponsonby, without the power of retaining his words. A summons to the rural dinner alone roused her spirits and energy.
"Bell, my love, I have preserved a seat for you, nearme," said Lady Wetheral, holding out her hand—"Come to me, my love; you have played truant."
Captain Ponsonby seated Christobelle, andprepared to take possession of an empty chair on her left hand, but Lady Wetheral smilingly interfered—
"My dear Captain Ponsonby, I believe your seat belongs to another, but probably we can make room for you. Ah! the benches interfere so; but where will you find a seat? Spottiswoode, is there not a vacant seat near you?"
"Do not disturb yourself, Lady Wetheral. I am perfectly satisfied with my present quarters; and when a turn out is beaten, I shall take a sentinel's place."
Captain Ponsonby accordingly seated himself, and devoted his time and attention to the wants of Christobelle, till Lord Farnborough joined them, with a cold fowl upon his silver fork.
"I have been my rounds for a supply, and can only gain one recruit, Lady Wetheral, a fowl screened from observation by a bed of parsley. Ponsonby, you'll excuse my resumption of a seat which is mine by right of conquest."
"I only held it in fear and trembling, Farnborough. I relinquish my seat with regret; but if I must, I must. Miss Wetheral, pity my sorrow, and admire my resolution." CaptainPonsonby rose, and stationed himself behind her chair.
"My dear fellow, there are two seats at the bottom of the table for you," said Lord Farnborough.
"I am very happy in my present situation," replied Captain Ponsonby; "I am attending upon Miss Wetheral."
"But the Greys are quite by themselves, Ponsonby; do go down, and offer your services there."
"Miss Wetheral, you are wishing for a slice of cold turkey; I saw you contemplating it," observed Captain Ponsonby, who took no notice of his friend's speech. "I fly for it."
"I wish Ponsonby would attend to the Greys," said his lordship, as Captain Ponsonby quitted his station. "I shall be most happy to attend upon you and Miss Quintin."
The eyes of Christobelle were riveted in the direction of the turkey, as Captain Ponsonby remarked; for there sat Sir John Spottiswoode, and Fanny Ponsonby was at his side: she tried to withdraw her eyes, but they were fixed by leaden weights, and she gazed on. She saw Sir John Spottiswoode turn to ask Captain Ponsonby whom he should assist to a slice of thebreast; and when Miss Wetheral's name was mentioned, he did not look towards her; he turned and spoke to Fanny Ponsonby. Christobelle would not allow the tears to rush from their fountains, or a sigh to escape from her heart, however pained were her feelings. She only resolved never again to walk as she had done with Sir John Spottiswoode, never again to feel for him those kind and friendly sentiments which he knew not how to appreciate. Captain Ponsonby returned laughing from his mission.
"I wish you could hear Fanny and your handsome friend, Miss Wetheral. They are trying which shall make the most glaring compliment to each other. I left your friend talking about the heart of a lover, which made Fanny grave. Do look at her, now." Christobelle glanced towards his sister; her sprightly countenance had faded into deep attention, as Sir John Spottiswoode spoke earnestly; her glowing complexion had changed its bloom, and was become pale. Christobelle would have given worlds to have been acquainted with their subject.
"Ponsonby, you are devilish rude; no one has taken wine with the Greys," exclaimed LordFarnborough, as his friend resumed his station behind the chair of Christobelle.
"Ponsonby," cried Mr. Grey, "are you under orders there, that you stand sentinel over Miss Wetheral?"
"I wish the guard was relieved, Grey," said Lord Farnborough. "Beg your sisters to send a deputation to Ponsonby."
"They would prefer your lordship," answered Mr. Grey. "I speak in their names, because they decline the publicity of confession."
Lord Farnborough's countenance again became gloomy, but he made no reply to Mr. Grey. His lordship turned to Christobelle.
"Miss Wetheral, allow me the pleasure of drinking wine with you."
Christobelle was happy to do so, and by that action she gratified her mother, who sat by her, proudly happy to witness his lordship's vexation at the conduct of Captain Ponsonby. Every one appeared happy but Christobelle: she saw every face decked with smiles, and each person appeared contented with the merriment of the scene. She alone sat ill at ease, and received no satisfaction in the attentions of Lord Farnborough and his friend. She wished to be silent and alone: she wished to think over theevents of the morning, and reckon with her heart. She wished to ascertain if her disquietude arose from unrequited friendship, or whether she indeed loved Sir John Spottiswoode. The noble friendships which Christobelle had contemplated in history, teemed with grand and inspiring actions, but she read not of eyes turned away from the object, or misery created through jealous misgivings. If she loved Sir John Spottiswoode, what would become of her, should another engross his attention and his heart? While she was lingering with him among the cliffs of the Lochleven, all was so tranquil, so happy, so calmly and fearlessly happy! Why was it not so with her in this gay group?
Christobelle was lost to all sound, till a general move was made. The tables were abandoned to the attendants, and the party retired to the extremity of the little island, to amuse themselves till the boats were again loaded with the spoil of the entertainment. Christobelle was attended by Lord Farnborough and Captain Ponsonby, who appeared tacitly determined to struggle for her attention, and annoy each other.
"Miss Wetheral," said his lordship, "you will honour me by accepting my armnow."
"Miss Wetheral cannot desert her old companion,"remarked Captain Ponsonby, again stepping forward and taking her hand; but Christobelle withdrew it.
"I should like to understand your claims to Miss Wetheral's notice, Ponsonby."
"Never mind, my good fellow. A lady possesses her own right to select and approve."
"Am I to understand, Miss Wetheral, that Captain Ponsonby is selected by you?"
Lord Farnborough spoke with a bitter sneer, and stood before Christobelle with a raised complexion, awaiting her answer. She was fearful of unpleasant scenes; she wished to avoid notice: she could only decide not to receive assistance from either gentlemen. They however walked on either side of her, and the trio silently mixed among the retiring group. Sir John Wetheral relieved his daughter's perilous situation by his approach. Lord Farnborough might conceal much beneath the restraint of polished society; but his temper was strongly irritable; it glistened in his eye, and fired his countenance, whenever Captain Ponsonby addressed Christobelle. The company formed into little parties, on a green bank which swelled towards the water's edge; and, by some unseen chance, Christobelle was grouped in thelittle knot which contained Sir John Spottiswoode. Their eyes had not met since they quitted Clanmoray. Captain Ponsonby and his guest were crouched at her feet, her father sat beside her, and Mr. Grey, with the Miss Ponsonbys, completed the number. The rest of the party sat only a few paces apart, but they were engaged in different subjects of conversation, and did not unite with them.
Captain Ponsonby requested his sister Fanny to enlighten the company upon the interesting conversation which had taken place between herself and her companion at dinner.
"It is vain to say," he continued, "that the subject is forgotten, for I left you discoursing upon a lover's heart; and your face, Fanny, was so full of interest, I was obliged to bespeak Miss Wetheral's attention."
Fanny Ponsonby coloured, but disclaimed any peculiar interest in the subject. Her eyes sought the ground, and Christobelle fancied they filled with tears. Her sister begged to be heard a few moments upon the subject. She was rather inspired by the dinner, the party, and the beautiful scenery, and she ventured to think she could define a lover's heart, if her audience were inclined to listen.
"Silence in the court!" exclaimed Lord Farnborough. "The deponent speaks."
"A lover's heart," resumed Miss Ponsonby, waving her hand, "is ennobled by affection, grand in its conceptions—"
"There you are out, Mary," cried her brother; "on the very threshold you have stumbled. What is a more jealous, narrowed, dull, complaining concern than love, and a lover's heart? Can any thing be more disturbing, distrustful, and moody, or more capricious?"
"Speak on, Arthur; I know very little about the matter, I believe, while your long absence has doubtless taught you knowledge," cried Miss Ponsonby.
"Does not love create suspicion?"—Christobelle cast her eyes involuntarily towards Sir John Spottiswoode, and met his fixed, melancholy look. His eye was instantly withdrawn.
"Does not love create melancholy?" continued Captain Ponsonby, turning to Christobelle, "does it not produce the desire to please, while it restrains the ability, Farnborough? Does it not bow down the head, and make pale the cheek, Fanny?"
Fanny Ponsonby started at her brother's address, but she smiled good-humouredly at thequestion. Her head had bent forward, and her attention was earnestly given to the definition of the lover's heart. Her attitude had attracted the notice of her lively brother, and drawn down his remark, but its purport was received as gently, as its intention to give offence was innocent. Not so Lord Farnborough. He rose proudly from the humble position he had assumed, and retired to the group detached from his party. Captain Ponsonby continued his remarks, while a satisfied smile played on his lips.
"Altogether, love deforms and beautifies; it makes the humble and silent man talkative; and it causes the violent man to throw off the mask which veils his fiery spirit. The less we know of the subtle deity, the happier we are in freedom of heart and spirit; but once receive him to your bosom, and adieu for ever to the calm pleasures of life."
"I thought, Arthur, 'love was heaven, and heaven was love;' at least, that is my idea of the passion."
"Mary!" exclaimed her brother, "presume not to touch upon ground where your foot has never yet trod. Be wise, and remain in your ignorance, uninteresting, and uninformed. Therecan be no heaven in the dire suspense, the conscious feeling, the fear of scorn, the unrequited pang, the jealous agony of heart, the sighs of uncertainty."
Fanny Ponsonby rose hastily from her verdant seat, and Sir John Spottiswoode accompanied her, but they moved in different directions, when they reached the site of the chapel which once stood in this island, a place of worship for the living, and an asylum for the dead. Fanny Ponsonby appeared to seek refuge in solitary contemplation; for she sought the most distant spot, and stood gazing upon the lake. Sir John Spottiswoode remained among the relics of the dead, and seated himself on the low wall where Christobelle had listened to Captain Ponsonby's legendary tales in listless indifference.
"In general," said Captain Ponsonby, "an orator draws an audience by his powers of speaking, but I have chased mine into every corner of this little earth. Either I have said too little or too much. Mary and Mortimer are my best supporters. Sir John Wetheral, you are considered a veteran. Come, Miss Wetheral, let us follow the multitude; it is vain to waste my talent in empty space, so I dissolve the meeting."
Captain Ponsonby sprang to his feet, and the little group gradually dispersed. Miss Ponsonby declared her brother should have been educated for the bar in lieu of the army, he held forth so fluently upon unintelligible subjects; and she challenged Mortimer Grey to assist her in discovering the lost victims to Arthur's oratory. They set forth in the direction of the spot where Fanny Ponsonby still stood absorbed, and alone. Captain Ponsonby walked chatting by Christobelle, who leaned upon her father's arm, and all bent their steps towards the little ruined chapel.
"Who would have supposed so many graves, heraldic devices, and rude sculpture, to lie forgotten and deserted here?" said Captain Ponsonby, pointing to the various relics of other times which lay half buried in the earth around. "How many stirring events have filled this soil with mouldering bones, and caused the tears to flow from maidens' eyes!"
"How many fearful feuds have made these mountains echo with shouts and cries of blood!" remarked Sir John Wetheral.
"Ay, but picture to your mind's eye the funereal procession of the clans, slowly winding down those bold cliffs in silent sorrow, while thepibroch screamed its wild notes to wail the dead." Captain Ponsonby's countenance assumed a graver expression as he spoke, and Christobelle thought it infinitely became the cast of his features. It passed away quickly, as they advanced towards Sir John Spottiswoode, and he resumed his playful mood.
"Sir John Spottiswoode, Miss Wetheral likens you to a lover bewailing his mistress."
"Pray, Captain Ponsonby, do not say so," exclaimed Christobelle, in alarm.
"You looked as if you thought so, Miss Wetheral. Why is your eye so expressive?"
Christobelle felt distressed beyond measure at Captain Ponsonby's thoughtless speech, which elicited a cold smile from Sir John Spottiswoode. How could he smile so coldly upon her?
Christobelle had no spirits to reply to the cheerful remarks of Captain Ponsonby, who continued chatting with enviable ease of heart, upon every subject which offered itself to his notice. She was listening to a conversation infinitely more attractive between her father and Sir John Spottiswoode; but Captain Ponsonby's vivacity perpetually interrupted her attention, and called forth an unwilling and absent reply.There is no annoyance so galling as the society of the happy, when a heart is struggling with grief, which seeks silence and solitude.
"Miss Wetheral, I bespeak your attention to those masses of clouds rising in the west; are they not beautiful? Did you ever fancy forms in the clouds? I do, often. See, Miss Wetheral, I can outline a lion rampant perfectly in that fleecy cloud—can you see it?"
Christobelle was disturbed: Sir John Spottiswoode had spoken about Alverton, and she wished to catch his words as they became indistinct. She answered Captain Ponsonby hastily, "No, indeed."
"I will point it out more distinctly. Fix your eye upon the third dark cloud, and by the side of that cloud stands the lion rampant. Now do you see what I mean?"
"Yes," replied Christobelle, almost peevishly, "I think I see what you mean." She trusted the subject was now ended.
"Well, can you distinguish a chariot and pair, Miss Wetheral? I see them distinctly, and in excellent proportions."
"It pains my sight, Captain Ponsonby, to fix my eyes upon the heavens."
"I will shade the light with my hat," saidCaptain Ponsonby; "there, now your eyes are safe: the sun is behind my hat."
Christobelle was obliged to give her attention to the indefatigable Captain Ponsonby, and she lost all hope of Sir John Spottiswoode's remarks. Her spirits were powerfully depressed; happily, as the morning had opened upon her cheerful expectations, every pleasant prospect was clouded now. Sir John Spottiswoode had been gay and playful in conversation, till they alighted at Clanmoray, and from that moment her evil genius had pursued her. Why was the companion of her walks so changed, and why was he so cold and silent to his friend?
It appeared to Christobelle that Sir John Spottiswoode suffered under an equally potent spell. The tone of his voice as he spoke to her father was low and melancholy, and there was an expression in his withdrawn eyes, which particularly affected her. It was not of anger, he was too kind to feel angry; it was not of irritability, such as she had seen flashing and dull by turns, in her mother's countenance. There was an expression, touching and attractive in his disquietude, which went at once to her heart, and occupied its thoughts. She could ill endure the rapid remarks and conversation of Captain Ponsonby: how she wished to be again atFairlee, free from observation, and at liberty to think upon all that had occurred, in the solitude of her own apartment! Oh, that she had never seen Fanny Ponsonby! It was Fanny Ponsonby who pointed the arrow of jealousy at her heart, and tore the veil from her eyes. It was Fanny Ponsonby who taught her that friendship was but a cloak for deeper feelings, and that the pain she inflicted betrayed a heart prostrate before that Deity whose arrows, under a borrowed name, enter unsuspiciously into the soul of his victim.
"But, Miss Wetheral, you are meditating too gravely," resumed Captain Ponsonby, after a pause of some minutes, "the tombs of a thousand souls cause your eye to grow heavy. Let us sing away care upon these swelling earths. Where are the mirthful ones, and where are the singing-men, and the singing-women? The Greys are all musical."
The vivacious Captain Ponsonby called the party round him, and they seated themselves on the mounds which were scattered thickly round the chapel. The Greys formed the centre of the groupe, and their full voices wafted along the waters that beautiful glee of Calcot's, "Desolate is the dwelling of Morna." The effectwas truly delicious. Desolate, indeed, was the ground upon which they sat; and silent, indeed, were the sounds which in former times burst from the shores of Lochleven. The harmony and its wildly poetic words accorded well with the scene before and around them. "Yet, a few years, and the blast of the desert comes," fell upon Christobelle's ear, and roused a thousand emotions.
It seemed to describe in one short sentence the tale of life; and it too truly illustrated her own wretched position. She could not repress the tears which flowed at the thought, that even in her early youth, care was beginning to do its work. She turned involuntarily to look upon Fanny Ponsonby, the author of her wretchedness. She was seated a little apart, and her head had sunk upon her breast, as though the harmonious sounds had lulled her into deep repose; but Christobelle saw the heavings of her bosom, and knew she wept.
The Greys concluded their song, and Captain Ponsonby was called upon to lend his talents towards the harmony of the scene. The young officer was nothing loth: with inexpressible softness, and in excellent taste, he sung:
"There's something in that bonny face,I never saw before, lassie;Your actions a' have sic a grace,I gaze and I adore, lassie."
"There's something in that bonny face,I never saw before, lassie;Your actions a' have sic a grace,I gaze and I adore, lassie."
Captain Ponsonby turned towards Christobelle, as he concluded the last line of the first stanza, and he pressed his hand gallantly upon his heart, as he gave the last verses:
"Sweet is the spring, and sweet the rose,When moistened by the shower, lassie;Bright on the thorn the dew-drop glows,At morns refulgent hour, lassie:But brighter, purer far than theseThou art, and charm'st me more, lassie,Than tongue can tell; I wondering gaze,I gaze and I adore, lassie."
"Sweet is the spring, and sweet the rose,When moistened by the shower, lassie;Bright on the thorn the dew-drop glows,At morns refulgent hour, lassie:But brighter, purer far than theseThou art, and charm'st me more, lassie,Than tongue can tell; I wondering gaze,I gaze and I adore, lassie."
Christobelle blushed deeply at the general notice which Captain Ponsonby's manner attracted towards her, and Lady Wetheral thought it prudent to break up the party, lest the offended countenance of Lord Farnborough should deepen, and produce results in his conduct, which would overthrow her dearest plans. She turned to Miss Ponsonby.
"My dear Miss Ponsonby, are not those clouds threatening? I have observed them some minutes with fearful forebodings: my dear Bell, fold your plaid round you, the air is becoming fresh."
The attention of the party was turned anxiously to the west, and General Ponsonby advised an immediate return to the oppositethe boatmen to their oars, and Lord Farnborough took his vacant place by the side of Christobelle. His lordship spoke with much vehemence of manner.
"You have been bored with your neighbour, Miss Wetheral, yet you have preferred him to me."
"Captain Ponsonby did not weary me, my lord."
"I hate those talking fellows, yet ladies love to be attended by them. I can't think why all ladies like Ponsonby to run after them."
Christobelle was offended by Lord Farnborough's expressions. When his lordship attended her from Lochleven Castle to Fairlee Cove, all was courtesy and gallant bearing—but his lordship had become overbearing, and, if she might so express it, he was actually offensive in St. Mungo's Isle. She made no reply.
"Allow me to take charge of you to the shore, Miss Wetheral," continued his lordship.
Christobelle hesitated. "Captain Ponsonby, I believe—I rather think...."
"Of course I must give way," replied his lordship, drily, "of course every thing must give way to Captain Ponsonby."
Captain Ponsonby came up, to announce all was in readiness; and the party rose to prepare for departure. Lady Wetheral approached her daughter.
"Bell, you are devoting yourself very publicly to Captain Ponsonby. I intreat you to be cautious, and accept Lord Farnborough's offer of attendance."
"Mamma, I am offended with Lord Farnborough."
"Do not be silly, Miss Wetheral; this is not the moment to exhibit offended feelings. I wish you to walk with my lord, and return under his charge."
Lady Anna Herbert passed, leaning on Mr. Grey's arm. "Be quick, fair ladies, for there is every chance of rain," she exclaimed; "the boatmen prognosticate weather before we reach the main land."
There was much bustle in hurrying into the boats, and the wind rose suddenly, sweeping in gusts over the lake, ere the party left the island. Christobelle was hurried rapidly into the little vessel, between Lord Farnborough and Captain Ponsonby, and the rain began to descend in torrents, as they placed her, in the confusion, betweenSir John Spottiswoode and Fanny Ponsonby.
"On, on, for your lives!" cried Captain Ponsonby, addressing the boatmen, and the party were launched upon the waters of Lochleven.
Christobelle was by the side of Sir John Spottiswoode, and her mind was tranquil as they rowed rapidly towards Clanmoray. He held an umbrella over her head; and endeavoured to guard her from the storm, by spreading his cloak round her feet and knees. She felt distressed and uncomfortable at the thought of his own exposure to the rain and wind. She intreated him to suffer her to return the cloak, without which he must be cold and comfortless.
"No," he replied gravely, "I do not consider my own feelings, I wish to secure your comfort."
"But I havenocomfort in depriving you of warmth and shelter: you will catch a severe cold."
"Never mind, Miss Wetheral; my mother and Sophia will nurse me well at Alverton."
"At Alverton!" exclaimed Christobelle, in astonishment, "at Alverton!"
"Why not, Miss Wetheral?" he asked in lowtones, and his fine dark eyes were fixed upon her with such deep expression!
"Oh, no, if you are ill, I will nurse you; and Fairlee shall be your——."
Christobelle stopped: her heart beat thickly—she could not speak the conclusion of her sentence—a weight, as of iron, bore down her eyelids, and she remained silent.
"You have been happy to-day, my pupil?" said Sir John Spottiswoode, after a moment's pause.
Christobelle waved her hand silently. She could not trust her voice; but Fanny Ponsonby was talking to Lord Farnborough, and she was wretched at the allusion to Alverton. Curiosity, anxiety, and the horrors of suspense, gave her courage to address her companion again; and she asked, in the recklessness of despair, why he contemplated returning so soon into Shropshire.
"Because," he said, "Lochleven is now a fever spot upon my heart."
Christobelle wept silently. Captain Ponsonby sat in the stern of the boat without speaking, as though even his gay spirit could not resist the heavy rain, and every one appeared to be cold, weary, and dispirited. Except Fanny Ponsonby'svoice, which sung, in low tones, a plaintive air, not a sound escaped the party till they reached the shore; and then commenced another disagreeable contention between Lord Farnborough and Captain Ponsonby.
"Miss Wetheral, I claim youthistime," said his lordship, hastily passing Fanny Ponsonby, and offering his hand.
"My good fellow," cried Captain Ponsonby, "I am before you half a minute, and have won the prize."
"I cannot understand why you persevere so pertinaciously in appropriating Miss Wetheral, Ponsonby."
"Can you, indeed, be ignorant upon such a point, Farnborough? Take care, Miss Wetheral—step firmly, and hold my hand."
"I must observe that you are needlessly officious, Ponsonby."
"Tell me so elsewhere, Farnborough; at present, I am attending upon Miss Wetheral."
Christobelle looked imploringly at Sir John Spottiswoode, but he was uncloaking Fanny Ponsonby, and she had taken his arm, to share with him the shelter of his umbrella. Christobelle cared not, then, who became her escort. Captain Ponsonby would not understand Lord Farnborough'sanger, or reply to his observations; he chatted gaily, as he unclasped the heavy boat-cloak, which shrouded and encumbered Miss Wetheral's figure.
"In spite of the storm, Miss Wetheral, you spring brightly from your nest, untouched by the raindrops; how do you manage to be so unlike the rest of the world? We will not wait for the other boat, which would detain us some time. Let me get you safely to Clanmoray. Take my arm fearlessly, and I will guide and support you up the pathway. Farnborough will be kind enough to escort the Miss Greys."
Lord Farnborough threw a haughty look at Captain Ponsonby, but he made no answer. His lordship folded his cloak round his tall, slight figure, and ascended the pathway in silence, and without a companion. The Miss Greys remained unattended on the shore of Lochleven.
"Farnborough is offended in earnest," observed Captain Ponsonby, "and the gentle syrens are to suffer. Miss Wetheral, you have put a feud between me and my noble guest."
"I am sorry, Captain Ponsonby, if any thing unpleasant should arise between you and my lord. It is altogether innocently done on my part."
"Oh! yes, you look so dove-like and so guileless, and yet you wield such warfare."
"Lord Farnborough appears easily irritated."
"Farnborough has been used to such easy conquests, that he resents the appearance of indifference. You have piqued him, Miss Wetheral; nevertheless, I am concerned to see the Miss Greys climbing the path alone in this rain. This is an unexpected termination to our agreeable day. It has been a really delightful day to me."
"Lochleven can never disappoint its visitors, Captain Ponsonby; even in this rain how beautiful it is!"
"Lochleven would, though, if certain persons and things did not combine to please me. I have enjoyed myself to-day—but you were my companion; I was with you at dinner—on the wall of the ruin—every where; and I have spent an extremely captivating day. I wonder what kind of day Farnborough will represent it?"
"As very agreeable, no doubt."
"I differ with you, Miss Wetheral. Fanny and your friend have seven league boots on, I fancy—how they are bounding on! I admire your friend, Miss Wetheral—fine, handsome fellow, only he looks melancholy."
"Does he?"
"Yes; his eyes were fixed upon your hand a full half hour at dinner—an hour, as we sat talking, and all the voyage; yet, like Lady Macbeth, his eyes were open, but their sense was closed. He has a lady-love in the south."
Christobelle started at Captain Ponsonby's suggestion. Impossible! she would not believe it! She never heard such a thing alluded to. If Sir John Spottiswoode loved in the south, Mrs. Pynsent would have named it. How came Captain Ponsonby to imagine such folly! The very supposition of Sir John's attachment, however, created pain, and chilled her into silence. Captain Ponsonby's conversation soon became wearisome, and she was glad when they reached Clanmoray.
It was a relief to find Lord Farnborough absent, and still more a relief to perceive the second party approaching in the distance. She wanted to be at Fairlee, to enjoy rest, and silence, and free communion with her thoughts. Captain Ponsonby's spirits were oppressive, and his polite anxiety amounted to absolute annoyance. Christobelle was ill, and restless, and eager to return home.
The carriage was ordered as soon as LadyWetheral arrived, and the Fairlee party were supplied by Miss Ponsonby with comfortable refreshment in the article of stockings and shoes. Every other apparel had been spared, by the thoughtful cares of Mrs. Ponsonby, who had wisely ordered adepôtof cloaks and umbrellas on board. Lord Farnborough did not appear during their short rest at Clanmoray, and Captain Ponsonby led Christobelle to the carriage, after the ceremonies of leave-taking had concluded. Miss Ponsonby hoped to enjoy Miss Wetheral's society a little more exclusively at a future time; but she seemed to be the entire property of Arthur and Lord Farnborough at St. Mungo's Isle. There was policy in allowing novelty to exhaust its powers of pleasing; and she would reserve her society till it would fill up a chasm, formed by the secession of an admirer. "Depend upon it, all this cannot last, fair Christobelle, and, like me, you will some day search in vain for a Télémaque."
"Ishall not live to see the day, Miss Wetheral," said her brother, as he led Christobelle forward.
"Don't attach the smallest credit to Arthur's compliments," cried Miss Ponsonby, kissing her hand.
"Mary is very incorrect in her statements, Miss Wetheral," said Captain Ponsonby, as they passed through the hall. "You will receive me with a smile, if I call at Fairlee to-morrow?"
"With many smiles, Captain Ponsonby."
"No, one little particular welcome smile is my hope—give your many smiles to Farnborough. Fare you well!"
Christobelle entered the carriage, and Sir John Spottiswoode followed; but he seated himself by Lady Wetheral's side. Captain Ponsonby waved his hand, and stood in the rain, till the trees concealed him from sight.
Lady Wetheral spoke of the morning's entertainment with perfect approbation, as they drove home. "Every thing was so agreeably arranged—every body was so inclined to be amused, which constituted the charm of a partyal fresco. Lord Farnborough, perhaps, was less disposed to consider himself at ease than the rest of the group; but circumstances did go a little 'à tort et à travers' with poor Lord Farnborough. Some people were in the wrong place, assuredly, which might create a little uneasiness; but, considering the difficulty of selecting and arranging a large morning party, it had been admirably conducted. There was a little too much vivacity in Captain Ponsonby's manner: he was rather tooempressé—but Lord Farnborough displayed the man of fashion in every movement." Christobelle did not argue against her mother's opinions, andSir John Spottiswoode sat, determined to be silent.
"Lord Farnborough," continued Lady Wetheral, "tells me he intends wandering round Lochleven some weeks longer."
"At Clanmoray?" asked Christobelle.
"No, my love, he thinks of building at Kinross." Christobelle sank back into her former position, quite indifferent to the whereabout of Lord Farnborough. Her ladyship resumed:—"Sir John, what a lovely creature is Fanny Ponsonby! I think I never beheld more beautiful eyes!"
"Miss Ponsonby is a beautiful woman!" replied Sir John Spottiswoode.
"I mean Fanny Ponsonby, the lady you monopolized, my dear Spottiswoode."
"I mean the same lady; but I was guilty of no monopoly, Lady Wetheral."
"She is most lovely indeed. My dear Bell, what an agreeable companion Miss Fanny Ponsonby would be to share in your lake diversions!"
"No, mamma, pray don't ask Fanny Ponsonby—pray think of no companion for me. I am a solitary being. I love to be alone."
"My dear girl, you are jealous!"
"I am not jealous of any one, I hope. I admireMiss Fanny Ponsonby—I think her very lovely—but I require no companion."
"Would you live quite alone, my love? It is not the wish of a young lady in general."
"When I feel particularly dull, mamma, I will ask for Miss Fanny Ponsonby."
Christobelle could not clearly define her fear of Miss Fanny Ponsonby's society, but her name would evermore be coupled with painful feelings. The first emotion of jealousy towards another had been elicited by her, and perhaps the recollection of that suffering inclined her to shun the innocent cause of the subtle intruder. Christobelle became restless at the mention of such a visitor at Fairlee; and though she endeavoured to reason away her alarm, the internal struggle increased. What could her mother mean?
The clouds broke away towards the evening, and the rain ceased; the terrace was soon dry, though the raindrops hung upon every leaf, and the bright lake lay tranquil after the storm. Lochleven was beautiful in its freshness, and the green tints of its wooded sides stood out in deeper and brighter light and shade from the heavy showers. Yet Sir John Spottiswoode did not ask Christobelle to walk with him; he did not ask her to admire with him the setting sun,or to look with him upon the deepening shades of evening. He sat profoundly attentive over "Bacon's Essays," and not once did his eye or lip address her. She also endeavoured to read, but her thoughts wandered over the incidents of the morning. Her eyes fixed themselves upon the lake, and not upon the page of history, as she considered the disappointments of the day, and mused upon the changed manner of Sir John Spottiswoode. She wished they had never joined the party to St. Mungo's Isle—she wished she had persevered in her solitary habits, and never accepted the invitation to Clanmoray.
Captain Ponsonby had wearied her, and Lord Farnborough's manner had offended her. Were these things an equivalent to the estranged manner of her friend? She wished she had been Fanny Ponsonby, for then Sir John Spottiswoode would have sought her. She wished she had been Fanny Ponsonby, for then the gentlemen would have avoided her. She had no pleasure in being so publicly attended by Captain Ponsonby and his guest. She would have given worlds to have been silent and free from remark.
Lady Wetheral took her seat by Christobelle'sside, as she gazed vacantly upon the sparkling waters.
"Your thoughts are far away, my love, and yet I can guess their flight. They are at this moment at Clanmoray, and you are thinking of Fanny Ponsonby."
The truth of the remark startled Christobelle. It brought the colour into her face and forehead.
"Never mind Fanny Ponsonby, Bell. You have no rival there!"
"Do you think so, mamma?" she exclaimed. "How can you possibly tell his feelings?"
"His attention was exclusively given to you, Bell, though I confess you coquetted rather rashly."
"With whom did I coquette, mamma? I cannot endure that expression, it sounds so frivolous and vain."
"My love, strangers would remark you flirted too much with Captain Ponsonby, thoughIcould comprehend your intentions, and I was amused with your littletracasseries."
"But how can you judge of his feelings towards Miss Fanny Ponsonby, mamma?"
"Because her attachment to him could not be concealed; it was apparent in her looks, andin the pain she discovered during his attentions to you."
"We hardly exchanged words, mamma," remarked Christobelle, in great surprise; "and then only in the boat returning from the island."
"I am ignorant of what took place during your return, my love; but I saw enough to convince me that Lord Farnborough does not return the love of poor Fanny Ponsonby."
Lord Farnborough!—and her thoughts were with Sir John Spottiswoode! Her eyes fell upon the Lake in bitter disappointment. "I thoughthehad watched me—I thoughthehad not cared for Fanny Ponsonby!" were her silent reflections.
"I see," continued Lady Wetheral, in tones of triumph, "his lordship is jealous of Captain Ponsonby; and there you acted with great tact. I am sure it will lead to a proposal. He will be afraid of Arthur Ponsonby, and it will lead him to take a hasty step, but that step will exalt you into the future Duchess of Forfar. I fancied his Grace asthmatic this morning; he certainly wheezed very painfully as we walked up the pathway. This will raise you far above your sisters, my love; far more exalted than Julia. Lord Farnborough has proved my physician; hehas entirely chased away my nervous complaints."
Christobelle could not answer. She quitted the room in haste, and took shelter in her own apartments. There she prostrated herself, and prayed for a tranquil spirit. She knew her mother's temper, and was aware of her ambitious spirit; but she did not like Lord Farnborough, and never would she sell herself to be his wife. She would not confess that she loved Sir John Spottiswoode, or that she had given her affections to one who did not value the gift; but she would surely and perseveringly decline Lord Farnborough, if indeed that hasty step was ever taken which was to proceed from anger towards his friend, Captain Ponsonby.
Christobelle had witnessed Clara's misery, and suspected that Julia was not happy in her grandeur, therefore, she would not become the third prey to her mother's overweening ambition. She might suffer reproaches and harsh conduct, but she would not marry for wealth, and pine away in silent misery, a beacon to the thoughtless and the avaricious. If Sir John Spottiswoode quitted Fairlee, and if Lochleven was a fever-spot upon his heart, Christobelle felt she must endure sorrow: it could not bemore despairing than the feelings of Fanny Ponsonby, to whom her heart now clung in sympathy, and without pain. Fanny Ponsonby would be now a companion most grateful to her taste; all jealous fears were ended, and they could walk and weep together in fellowship. Poor Fanny Ponsonby! Christobelle wept for her and for herself. She remembered her abstracted look, and the haste with which she fled from her brother's remarks upon love. She remembered the downcast eye when Sir John Spottiswoode addressed her upon the subject of a lover's heart, and she saw her weep during the singing of "Desolate is the dwelling of Morna." How her heart yearned now to be near her!
Christobelle felt too unwell to return again into the drawing-room. The struggle of her thoughts brought on severe headache, and she tried to forget her disquietude in sleep. Lady Wetheral visited her daughter, before she retired for the night, and smiled as she spoke of her hasty retreat.
"Did Sir John Spottiswoode miss me?" Christobelle asked in some perturbation, as she rose from an unrefreshing doze, to listen to her remarks.
"No, my love, I believe not. He expressedvery polite regrets at your indisposition, but he has been reading the whole evening. He mentioned his return into Shropshire the end of this week."
Christobelle sank back in silence upon her pillow.
"Good night, my love, I will not keep you awake; but I trust your headache will be slept away. Take sal-volatile, and those nervous-drops, they always did me good, and we shall see what to-morrow will bring forth."
"So soon does he go, mamma?"
"Yes, my love. I think it would be advisable to ask Lord Farnborough to Fairlee, to superintend his intended little sporting-box at Kinross. I shall sound your father. Good night Bell."
Lady Wetheral retired, and left Christobelle again in silence and in darkness. She could not sleep. The night passedsoslowly, as she lay revolving all these things in her mind! When she was happy, her nights flew by, and she rose refreshed; but now the hours lagged heavily, and her waking thoughts were upon the departure of Sir John Spottiswoode, and the introduction of Lord Farnborough in his place. She did not rise refreshed. She was tired andunhappy when she descended into the breakfast-room. Sir John Spottiswoode was there alone; and, as he paid the compliments of the morning, his voice was thick, and sounded hoarse. Christobelle was sure he had caught cold upon the water, and it was to protect her that he exposed himself to wet, and had thrown off his cloak. She was overcome by the recollection, and, though she approached him timidly, she was in anxious fear lest he should suffer by his attention. His hand was heated as it touched hers in salutation, and she held it in alarm.
"Oh, you are feverish and ill, and you have caught cold by giving me your cloak! What can I do for you?"
"I have a little headache and sore throat," he replied, smiling; "but it will pass away, I hope, in the course of the day."
"It was that cloak," replied Christobelle, quite absorbed with fear, and totally forgetful that her hand was still held by him—"it was that cloak which you took off so suddenly, against my wishes. I was sure you would be ill!"
"I am not ill," he answered, feelingly: "your kind sympathy has cured me; but let me observeyourpale cheeks in return, and let memourn overthem." Sir John Spottiswoode led her to the window, and looked so kindly at her, that tears sprang into her eyes. "Here are tokens of a restless night," he said—"here are signs of sleepless hours, and heavy thoughts, my dear pupil. Would I could calm your gentle heart!"
"Then stay at Fairlee!" she exclaimed, as she wept without control, and cared not for the consequences of her indiscreet words—"stay at Fairlee, and be as kind as you used to be!" Christobelle felt the arm of her companion drawn round her, and she was pressed to his heart, as he replied.—
"Iwillremain, dearest pupil, Iwillremain at Fairlee, whatever pain it may cost me! I will do whatever you bid me do, to give you pleasure. God forbidIshould ever give you a moment's sorrow! I would sooner suffer a thousand pangs, than see you weep one moment. Why do you weep, and distress my heart?"
Christobelle could not help it. Was it, indeed, painful to remain at Fairlee? Captain Ponsonby was right, then, in his suggestion—therewasa lady in the south! She could not reply; a suffocating sensation precluded all speech.
"Why are you here so early?" continued Sir John Spottiswoode, in gentle accents, as Christobelle still leaned against him; "and why are your spirits so agitated, and your rest broken? If such is your present state, what will your affectionate heart endure hereafter? Your delicate frame is unequal to contend with such deep emotions!"
Christobelle made a strong effort to check her weeping fit, and she became more tranquil. Sir John Spottiswoode's arm still surrounded and supported her; but she felt that, when its dear support should be withdrawn, she would be cast upon the wide world for ever.
"Your friends are round you," resumed her companion, "and you shall be the arbitress ofmymovements. I will not quit Lochleven while I can be of use to its dear inmate. Oh, my dear Christobelle! how the schoolmaster will guard his pupil! But when," he added, hesitatingly, drawing her closer to him, and even clasping her to his heart—"when will he be here again?"
"Whom do you speak of? Captain Ponsonby?" she exclaimed; "he wearies me, and every body wearies me!"
"I do not speak of him. I do not speak ofCaptain Ponsonby," replied Sir John Spottiswoode, withdrawing his arm hastily, and moving a few paces. "I mean another and happier man. You know whom I would name." He advanced again to the window, where Christobelle remained rooted. "You know whom I allude to, Miss Wetheral."
"Lord Farnborough?" she articulated, with difficulty.
Sir John would not meet her eye.
"I did mean that person. Will he not visit Fairlee, Miss Wetheral? Will he not? no, he is not worthy of such a heart—of such powerful affection!" He walked from the window to the door, and again he turned, and approached Christobelle. "It is a severe trial to have waited and loved as I have done, and yet suffer disappointment. It was a strange fancy—was it not, my pupil?—to wait so long, and hope so perseveringly? But I will not quit Fairlee, since you bid me not."
Christobelle could not comprehend Sir John Spottiswoode's emotion. She could not divine his allusions; she only grasped at his promise to remain, and even that was balm to her heart.
"Oh, yes," she repeated, "stay, and take my part, for I know I shall appeal to papa and you, if I am reproached."
"Who dares presume to reproach you? Who dares to offer a harsh word to you? By the heavens above, if I heard his false lips utter one syllable of unkindness to a creature too gentle and excellent for his worthless mind, I would strike him dead!" Sir John Spottiswoode's eyes struck fire, and his tall figure became still more erect.
"Of whom are you talking?—whose lips are false?" asked Christobelle, in stupid amazement.
"I know him!" continued Sir John Spottiswoode, kindling as he spoke; "but I will follow him through the world, if he gives one pang to such a heart as your's, dearest and loveliest pupil, creature of my fancy and my heart! He is not worthy of you, Christobelle." He stopped, and fixed his eyes upon her with an expression so wretched, that she took his hand in terror: he snatched it from her.
"Do not break my heart, Christobelle; and do not touch me, if you have mercy. Withdraw your wish, and let me quit Fairlee for ever!"
"Oh, no, no," she cried, clasping her hands, and sinking into a chair; "if you go, who will stand between me and my mother?"
"Your mother!" Sir John Spottiswoode gazedupon Christobelle with astonishment. "Your mother!" he repeated.
"I cannot, will not marry Lord Farnborough," exclaimed Christobelle, almost bending in agonized feelings; "and who will save me from her anger!"
"Christobelle!" burst from her companion. She heeded not.
"I will not be driven into misery to minister to ambition. It is so cruel—so very cruel."
"Christobelle!" again ejaculated Sir John Spottiswoode, "look at me!"
Christobelle could not look up—she could not shake off her weight of misery. She sat with her hands pressed tightly upon her heart. "If you leave me, who will assist my father in warding off my reproaches? Who will soften her heart, and soothe my poor spirit? Who will plead for me, and save me?"
Sir John Spottiswoode knelt by her side, and took her cold hands in his. "Christobelle," he said, "I will plead for you, and save you. Will you recompense me in return? Willyoulove and cherish the heart which adores and blesses you?—which would suffer all evils, all indignities, for your dear sake?"
Christobelle sat transfixed. She dared notbreathe, lest the vision should vanish from her sight.
"Shall I tell you, Christobelle, how I have waited for you, and lived upon the hope of making you love me, when I was far away? Shall I tell you how I watched over you, and lingered till I could ask for you?"
Christobelle could only smile a reply to her lover's questions, and she was again folded in his arms. Oh, happy, thrice happy moment!
"Shall I tell you," demanded her companion, "how your mother deceived me, yesterday morning, when I spoke of you upon the terrace? No, I will not allude to it now, since all my horrible fears are ended."
"Tell me nothing now," she replied, "but let me return to my room, to think—to assure myself this is not a vision—to consider all things over." Miss Wetheral rose.
"Will you go with me to our rocky seat, after breakfast," he asked, "if I resign you now? I am loth to lose you from my sight; stay a few moments longer, dearest."
"Not now; but I will walk with you to our old place of refuge. The bell will ring, and I am too agitated to meet my mother. I could meet no one at this moment."
"But, my Chrystal, one—one more embrace!" and Christobelle was encircled again in the arms of the best and dearest of human beings. She flew from his embrace to the sanctuary of her own apartment, and her first movement was prayer. She prayed for humility; she prayed for strength to bear her load of happiness; and she prayed that she might not love the creature beyond the Creator. When Christobelle rose from her knees, she sat down to think upon all these things.
Sir John and Lady Wetheral were at the breakfast-table, when Christobelle descended the second time. She did not once meet her lover's eye, for she could not endure its brightness; but her bosom had cast its load of sorrow, and her thoughts danced in the beams of a new happiness. Lady Wetheral was pleased by her appearance.
"My dear Bell, that little headache was atour de jongleto get rid of us all. Your dreams were pleasant, for your eyes sparkle, and you look most amusingly demure."
Christobelle cast her eyes upon the ground; a deep and most distressing suffusion crimsoned her face.
"Perhaps," continued her ladyship, "yourgay dreams may have prognosticated good. I have also my dream. I am dreaming that friends from Clanmoray will call to-day."
Christobelle was silent. She knew her mother dreamt not of the blow which awaited her. She knew her ladyship did not dream of her attachment to Sir John Spottiswoode. She could not awaken her at that moment to the fallacy of her hopes, neither could she lend herself to deception. She was aware her mother's ambitious wishes believed her young heart unable to contend against a dukedom, and that her fear of Sir John Spottiswoode had ceased from the morning of Lord Farnborough's visit. She had then chatted to his lordship, in the full flow of happy spirits, and her mother's ambition had "o'ertopped" its meaning. She could not lead her into deeper error.
Christobelle's appetite was gone, and she scarcely touched the small French roll which lay upon her plate. She had eaten and drank in sorrow, though the meal did not afford nourishment; but, in joy, the very sight of food became loathsome. It appeared to Christobelle's mind, that Sir John Spottiswoode's love—his expressed love—was intellectual food, sufficient for many days; that her spirit would renewunder its blessed influence, and that creature-comforts suited only the labourer and the hireling. It was impossible to remain long at the breakfast-table. She felt the triumphant glance of her lover was upon her, and her heart longed for solitude, to question itself again upon its sudden happiness. She wanted to ask herself, over and over, if it was really true that she was loved by Sir John Spottiswoode—if it was really true that her affections were returned, and that she was happy?
Christobelle quitted the breakfast-room as early as politeness would admit, for the desultory conversation of her companions was painful to her thoughts, and disturbed her train of mental reasonings. Sir John Spottiswoode watched her retreat, but she could not meet his imploring look. She knew its purport, and she would surely keep her promise of walking with him to the rocky seat; but shemustbe alone for some time. She required a short season of solitude, to task her thoughts and collect her scattered energies; and, above all, she wished to see her father. Before Christobelle could surrender herself to the floating visions of joy which crowded on her brain, she must see her father!
Christobelle remained an hour walking up anddown her dressing-room, ere she could quell the emotions of her soul, and then she descended into her father's study. He was reading; and, for some moments, an indefinable sensation of shame kept her silent. At last, Christobelle gained courage to address her kind and indulgent parent. "Papa, if you are not engaged, I wish to speak to you, if you please."
Sir John Wetheral laid down his book, and assured his child his attention was ever alive to his Chrystal's summons: but she became agitated and confused as she approached the subject. "Papa," she stammered forth, "I came to say something, and I don't know how to say it."
Sir John Wetheral smiled, and drew her to him. "Well, my love, which is it—my Lord Farnborough, or the humble Captain? It must be a novel subject which confuses my poor little companion, and itmustbe a love affair. Which of them is intending to deprive me of your society, Chrystal?"
"Neither, papa." Christobelle became still more distressed and confused at his mistake.
"Well, then, it must be the old duke, or that young man with the whip. I cannot approve of either, my love."
Christobelle threw her arms round his neck. "No, no, papa; think again."
"Ah, I have it, Chrystal. It is that young wanderer upon the terrace, who is watching the windows of your apartments so eagerly." Christobelle's head fell upon his shoulder. "Be not alarmed, my child. If there is a heart as kind as Boscawen's, and as affectionate as Pynsent's, it is the heart of Spottiswoode. Now go, and tell him what I say."
Christobelle was too confused and too joyful to speak her gratitude, but her heart was known to the parent who had loved and watched over her from the hour of her birth. He led her to the door. "Go, my best love, and tell your friend, and my friend, that he has set at rest all my hopes and fears for your welfare. Tell him it is only into his hands I would relinquish my child. There, fly to the poor puzzled youth, for he is lingering under your windows." Sir John Wetheral closed the door, and his daughter was alone in the hall, almost stunned by the rapidity of the morning's eventful incidents. She would have proceeded to the terrace, but her mother's voice called her to the sitting-room.
"Bell, is that you?"
Christobelle found her ladyship seated in alounging chair, employed with her knotting. She looked up.
"I thought I recognized your step, my love; the fairy step, as Lord Farnborough calls it. I wish you to remain entirely in the grounds, Bell; indeed, I wish you not to quit the house this morning. Stay with me, and wind these silks; they plague and impede my work."