"I am only going to the cliff, mamma: if any body comes, you will be so good as to send for me, perhaps."
"My love, I cannot send the whole establishment in different directions for you, upon all occasions. Your walks become a serious evil."
"I will remain on the terrace, then, mamma: I have promised to join Sir John Spottiswoode."
"I do not approve of such daily walks, Bell—such wild roaming over the hills. I wish you to wind these obdurate skeins for me: you forget caution and propriety. I insist upon your avoidance of Sir John Spottiswoode this morning. Lord Farnborough must not always find you appropriated."
Sir John Spottiswoode appeared at the window which opened upon the terrace at this moment. Lady Wetheral kissed her hand to him, and he entered.
"My dear Spottiswoode, assist me to persuade my restive daughter that so much exercise is hurtful. I wish her to remain with me this morning."
"The day is so beautiful, Lady Wetheral, and the air so reviving!" he observed. "I am sure this fresh breeze will exhilarate her, and bring the roses into her cheeks."
Her ladyship raised her glass to her eye, and slightly examined her daughter's countenance.
"Bell, my love, your bloom is less vivid, but I think I prefer the delicacy of its present tone. I have very essential reasons for wishing you to remain with me this morning. I feel languid and unwell—very languid after the fatigues of yesterday." Lady Wetheral's voice grew fainter as she uttered the last sentence: and she sank back in her chair, in an attitude of languor. "My love, pray wind those skeins for me. I am a poor creature, you see."
It was useless to contend: Christobelle's destined walk must give way to her mother's quiet determination that she should not become conspicuous with Sir John Spottiswoode, and it was her duty to yield to her wishes. Christobelle relinquished, therefore, all hopes of atête-à-têtewith her lover, and prepared to obeysilks. She had not courage to meet the disappointed eye of her companion, nor indeed did she wish him to discover, by the expression of her own orbs, how severely she suffered by her obedience.
Sir John Spottiswoode was silent under the existing order of things, and forbore to offer an opinion upon its unfitness; but he quietly assisted Christobelle's operations, and held the skeins for her better convenience in winding them. The whole affair arranged itself in such perfect pantomime, that she could not resist a smile and glance at her assistant, which amply repaid her self-control. An expression of gratified happiness played upon his manly countenance, and lighted up his eyes, which communicated itself to Christobelle's heart, and caused intense gratitude for the blessing conferred upon her in the gift of his affections. She felt that she could meet her mother's opposition, her irony, her bitterness, with patience, since she had won all that seemed valuable upon earth—all that was excellent, and affectionate, and kind—the heart of Sir John Spottiswoode. She had received the blessing too, at the very moment when her fears believed him indifferent to herelicited by Fanny Ponsonby, and continued by the surmise of Captain Ponsonby; yet it was a change so suddenly effected, that she could scarcely believe in its reality. Her lover knelt before her, holding the extended skein, yet she could not place faith in the certainty that all was not a dream: she heard her mother speak, and yet it appeared a vision, from which, she trusted, she might never wake.
"My dear Spottiswoode, you are Hercules with the distaff."
"I have made my choice too, like Hercules, Lady Wetheral. I have selected virtue, and I find I have also gained pleasure, for they are seldom separate, after all. Pleasure does not include virtue always: but virtue rarely moves without pleasure; I find it so now. I am virtuously employed, and it is my greatest pleasure. I have great pleasure in assisting your labours, Lady Wetheral."
"You appear to great advantage, Spottiswoode; but I hope you are not making a pain of pleasure. Bell has already broken her thread twice."
"Miss Wetheral is all kindness; she bearsI am very trying to her patience. Another thread broken! My dear Miss Wetheral, be calm."
"I believe I must relinquish it, for a few moments," Christobelle observed; "my hands are so tremulous."
"I am going to lecture you, Miss Wetheral, to spare your mamma the trouble of pronouncing an exhortation in her languid state. Pray, make another trial, and hold your hand steadily—so." Sir John Spottiswoode pressed her hand affectionately, and held it as he continued—"Now, my dear pupil, you must try to feel tranquil, and be assured all efforts succeed, if they are made with perseverance."
"Very well," said Christobelle, laughingly; "my next effort shall be boldly made."
"But, stay," he added, detaining the hand she would have withdrawn, "stay one moment, while I examine this entanglement." Sir John Spottiswoode bent forward to conceal his movement and Christobelle's confusion from Lady Wetheral's notice. "This is rather a puzzling affair at this moment, Miss Wetheral, but we must succeed in time by mutual perseverance—ifyou are calm, and I am near you, to offer counsel. Do you perfectly understand me?"
"I believe I do. I am to be calm, and try to unravel this puzzling work in patience. I quite understand you, and I will try to do so."
"When did my pupil ever misunderstand my words?" he replied, with energy; and, forgetful of his own cautions and Lady Wetheral's presence, he caught Christobelle's hand to his lips. She was terrified at the action, but her mother had little time to express her indignation, for the door was suddenly thrown open, and the servant announced Lord Farnborough.
His lordship entered with a heated and raised complexion, and he attentively surveyed the apartment, as he spoke.
"So I am before him at last. I thought I should find the fox in his earth, for he was off an hour ago: this is capital."
"My dear lord, you are most welcome. This is really a neighbourly action." Lady Wetheral rose promptly from her languid repose, and received her visitor with bright smiles of pleasure. Lord Farnborough recollected himself, and recovered his self-possession, as he paid hisdevoirsto the party.
"I fear I came in rather hastily, Lady Wetheral;but you will excuse my eager manner, when you learn its motive. I thought Ponsonby had been before me. We have had a race for it, I assure you."
"Captain Ponsonby has not called, I believe," replied Lady Wetheral, in tones of mingled triumph and hope, "unless he is closeted with my husband."
"Ha!" exclaimed his lordship, "then he has preceded me? Lady Wetheral, allow me an immediate conference, if you please."
"Certainly, my lord; we will retire into my own sitting-room."
"Here, if you please, for time is very precious. Will you allow me to lead you upon the terrace, Lady Wetheral? You must excuse my impetuosity."
Lady Wetheral accepted Lord Farnborough's offered arm, and she was hurried upon the terrace; but not a glance or movement on her part betokened fatigue, or a remnant of her past languor. Her step was firm, and her eyes beamed with expected triumph.
"Chrystal, my own Chrystal," cried Sir John Spottiswoode, as the receding figures were lost to sight, "if ever I loved and admired you more truly and fondly than I fancied I could do, itwas at the moment you renounced your plans to obey a parent, with a smile on your lip, and regret in your dear heart."
"But my real misery is yet to come," exclaimed Christobelle, though she felt herself pressed to the warm heart of her lover, and there was blessedness in the pressure.
"But why so?" he asked tenderly; "what has Chrystal to fear?"
"Lord Farnborough's visit is connected withmyself; I know it as surely as if I heard the words spoken. I know I have so much to endure from my mother!"
"But you are mine, Chrystal; and who can take you from me now? Are you not my own, my very own?"
"I know it: I feel secure ofyou; but my mother will say such harsh things!"
"Fear not, my beloved. If we are true to each other, surely we can endure a little trial of patience."
Yes, he spoke truly. Christobelle could endure a long, long trial forhislove. She could suffer a protracted misery, to deserve a heart so excellent. She had, too, a dear hope to sustain her, for her father approved her sentiments, and he would shelter her from the harsh reproachesmeet her lover's entreaty to be patient with smiles. She told him she would endure all things with firmness—that she would not anticipate evil. She called upon him to rejoice with her in her father's approval, and she told him of her interview and confession. How swiftly did their shorttête-à-têteglide by! and how delightedly did Christobelle listen to his fears respecting Lord Farnborough!
"But why did you not tellmeall this? Why did you suppose such incredible things in silence—to leave me in such cruel and useless suspense? Oh, Spottiswoode,oneword yesterday morning, and all this had been spared us!"
"No, I was silenced by your mother for ever, in our morning lounge upon the terrace. Had you not disclaimed all idea of Lord Farnborough this morning, and had not hope rushed into my heart unbidden, by the confession of your misery, I had never dared to breathe a word of my sentiments. I believed you loved Lord Farnborough."
"She could not tell youthat! Surely my mother did not tell you so—oh! she never told you I cared forhim!" Christobelle shuddered at the thought; but the encircling arms of herlover restrained the movement which impelled her to start from her chair.
"I was assured your heart was on the point of acknowledging Lord Farnborough's power, Chrystal—and your mother spoke in terms of proud approval."
"Oh, my mother, my mother!" exclaimed Christobelle, weeping at the thought of her cruel policy; "I might have been sacrificed for ever to your ambitious wishes! I should have been given in utter wretchedness to a man I did not love, and consigned to hopeless misery!"
"Weep not, dearest," said her companion, "and I will tell you how your presence shall brighten and bless the scenes of my solitary wanderings at Alverton—how it shall illumine my future life, and reward me for my patient waiting. Did you but know, my love, how I feared you would be appropriated, ere I could claim an interest in your heart, and, yet, how firmly I resolved to leave you to the working of its own resolves, you would pity and love me for my resolution."
"Idolove you!" Christobelle concealed her face upon his shoulder. They were silent for some moments, but his lips were pressed upon her forehead, and she was in his arms—both too engrossed, with the certainty of being at lasthappy, to break the deep silence. Christobelle forgot her mother—she forgot Lord Farnborough; she thought not of his errand, or her future anger. She was in a trance:—she thought all reproach—all suffering—all unkindness, had no further power to wound, for she belonged to her lover, and he would shelter her, as he did at that moment, in his beloved embrace. The world without might struggle with deep and mighty commotion—it might drink deeply of the elements of strife, and do battle with the stirring natures of mortality—butshewas safe from strife and suffering now. She had given herself, heart and soul, to the man she loved dearer than herself, or aught in creation besides. She was the promised bride of Sir John Spottiswoode!
Lord Farnborough's mission was speedily developed to Lady Wetheral, as they paced the terrace together. His lordship at once opened the subject, which lay so closely upon his mind's peace, and at once laid his dukedom at Christobelle's feet.
"Upon my honour, Lady Wetheral, my respect for your daughter is excessive, and I wish to make known my sentiments at such an early period, because I see I have rivals. Ponsonby is over head and ears in love, and there's no knowing how many more will become so; for her beauty is really something extraordinary. Miss Wetheral is the loveliest creature I have ever seen."
"My daughter is flattered by such remarks, my dear lord, and her mother feels proud of such an encomium. She is a treasure to me, in everysense of the word, as she will prove to the man who wins her."
"I can offer much more than Ponsonby," continued Lord Farnborough; "and I think, at this very early stage of our acquaintance, an earl's coronet in possession, and a duke's strawberry-leaves in prospect, may perhaps entitle me to her notice beyond the claims of humbler men."
"Lord Farnborough may claim a lady's preference upon still higher grounds than mere rank or fortune," said her ladyship, with smiling approbation, and gently pressing his lordship's arm. Lord Farnborough was gratified by the compliment.
"It is very soothing, Lady Wetheral, to my feelings, to be assured that my suit is not displeasing to her parents. May I hope Miss Wetheral's affections are disengaged?"
"I can answer for my daughter's free heart, my lord. I am sure—indeed, I know her affections are untouched."
"You think Ponsonby has not got before me into her good opinion?"
"I have authority to say, Captain Ponsonby has notyetsucceeded, my dear lord."
"Ponsonby has been very successful with the female heart, and I know he was attentive yesterday—buthe has nothing to offer. I think Sir John Spottiswoode fluttered round Fanny Ponsonby—nothingthere, you think, Lady Wetheral?"
"My daughter's affections are not so lightly won, my lord; and my interest is not with Sir John Spottiswoode."
"It would be a great feather in my cap, to win Miss Wetheral from all competitors. She would be a star in town, and cause a great sensation. She shall be the best-dressed woman in St. James's, if she appears there as Lady Farnborough. She would have the most splendid jewels in the drawing-room."
"My dear child's tastes are simple and unexpensive, Lord Farnborough. She does not court notoriety. Her heart is happiest in her own home."
"That is a lady's throne," observed his lordship, "and man is happy, who marries a creature devoted to his comforts."
"Is the duke aware of your present application, my lord?"
"I believe he surmises what I am about, Lady Wetheral, for your daughter's charms almost led to a quarrel this morning with Ponsonby. It decided me at once to announce my wishes here,or he would be laying siege to Miss Wetheral. I saw that pretty clearly. However, if you stand my friend, Lady Wetheral, I am safe."
"My lord, Ithinkmy wishes will point my daughter's affections; I believe I possess her entire confidence, and the control of her judgment; and the very proper way in which you announce your wish of an alliance with our family, prompts me to exert my influence in your favour. I admire your high-spirited address, my lord, in consultingmebefore you applied to the lady."
"I wish to do every thing in order," replied his lordship, "and I know Ponsonby has serious intentions, which gave me some alarm. When may I pay my respects to Miss Wetheral? Will she allow me an interview soon, Lady Wetheral? You may conceive my impatience to be received as one of your family."
"I will summon my daughter, my lord, and leave you together: I am sure of my child's ingenuous heart; and she will scorn to allow any man to remain in suspense, when his full intentions and hopes are disclosed."
Lady Wetheral's appearance at the sitting-room window unfolded her thoughts and expectations to Christobelle's mind in one glance. Thesubdued look of triumph, the forced calmness of manner, contrasted with the glowing expression of every feature, left her daughter not an instant in ignorance of what had taken place. She felt that her hour of trial was already arrived—that she must collect her thoughts, and meet, with patient firmness, all the crosses in her path—that she must redeem her promise of patience to her lover. Christobelle had little leisure for mental reflection, for Lady Wetheral entered the room, and compelled attention.
"My dear love, Lord Farnborough requests the honour of your attention for a few moments: I have promised that you will join his lordship on the terrace. Your instant acquiescence will oblige me, Bell." Sir John Spottiswoode quitted the room. She continued—"It is a relief to lose sight of one's friends for a few minutes; I wish Spottiswoode had found amusement elsewhere. Hasten, my dear girl, and meet me after your little consultation in my room. I won't say a word till you rejoin me; but, my dear child, this is the very happiest hour in my existence—a happier hour than when my Julia told me she had won Ennismore. My wish, Bell, has been gloriously fulfilled; every thinghas crowned that wish, without an effort. I am a proud and happy mother!"
"Oh, mamma," cried Christobelle, kneeling before her, "do not misunderstand me, and do not hope against hope. I cannot marry Lord Farnborough!"
"Do not rouse me into anger, Bell, as you hope for peace in this world; and do not let me find you a mean-minded creature, content to live in insignificance. Go instantly, and meet Lord Farnborough."
"I cannot go, mamma; I have no affections to bestow upon Lord Farnborough—do not let me meet him! Tell him, I deplore his disappointment, if it proves such—but I cannot see him!"
Lady Wetheral's face turned pale as marble, as she caught Christobelle's hand, and dragged her forward.
"Tell me only that you are thinking of Captain Ponsonby, to break my heart at once, Bell!"
"Oh, no, not Ponsonby—I care not for Captain Ponsonby, mamma: but do not look so pale and angry—you terrify me!"
"So you have led me into error—deceived my hopes—and destroyed me, while you soughtthe love of Spottiswoode! Is that truly so? Is it Spottiswoode you love?"
Christobelle shrank from her grasp in terror. Lady Wetheral's face and manner became fearfully changed; she caught the back of a chair to support herself.
"Bell, I have answered for your dutiful submission to my wishes. I have promised for you—I have told Lord Farnborough you are free. Go to him, and say that I spoke in truth. A dukedom, Bell!—a dukedom!—my last, my only child, a dukedom is offered you!"
Christobelle sat in terrified silence: she could not endure to see her mother suffer, but she had no consolation to offer. Lady Wetheral approached her, and took her cold hands in hers.
"Bell, a child never yet prospered that gave pain to her parent, and now you can raise me into happiness by your obedience. To see my daughter a duchess—a duchess, moving in stately magnificence, is the dearest wish of my heart. It has been my hope, ever since your first introduction to Lord Farnborough—my dearest project by day and by night, my earthly contemplation for many days! Go to him, Bell, for I have answered for you, and youwillgo; think better of it, think of your future regrets, whenrepentance will come too late! Go to Lord Farnborough, I command you, Bell."
A mother's commands had never been disputed by Christobelle, and it was, perhaps, better to meet his lordship. By an open declaration of engaged affection, which would end all further hopes on his side, Christobelle's disquietudes would cease; and her mother would reconcile herself to a step which must be unavoidable, by every honourable and upright principle of justice. Christobelle had no doubts to solve, no inquiries to make with her own heart. Every feeling of her soul was given to Sir John Spottiswoode, and Lord Farnborough had not deserved to endure suspense. She obeyed her mother's command, therefore, to meet his lordship upon the terrace. Her steps were slow, and her mind was torn with contending feelings, but she went forward.
"Bell," said Lady Wetheral, as she passed through the open window, "do not be rash."
Lord Farnborough approached with respectful pleasure. Christobelle returned his greeting with a silent bow, but she could not command words, and she stood in silence before him. His lordship hesitated.
"Miss Wetheral is aware, I presume, of myhopes?"
"My mother has informed me, my lord, of your wishes—of the honour done me, but...."
"Will you do me the honour to walk up the terrace, Miss Wetheral, while I explain my feelings and motives." His lordship offered his arm; Christobelle declined it silently. "I trust you will not misinterpret my action, Miss Wetheral. I am not a confident man, or one who presumes upon a parent's interest in my behalf—it was done in all respect, Miss Wetheral."
"I am sure it was so, my lord—my only motive for declining your assistance, is the fear of giving a hope, where none is intended."
His lordship appeared startled and annoyed.
"When I have explained my wishes, Miss Wetheral, to you, and when I state my hope that you will allow me to visit you at present, simply as a friend, till you can give me a dearer title, I trust you will listen calmly to what I am further anxious to say."
"Lord Farnborough," replied Christobelle, with trepidation of voice and manner, "I will not deceive you for one moment. Pray do not think of me, for it is useless. I—I—cannotlove you, or even give you hope that I ever shall love you. Pray do not think of me."
Lord Farnborough bowed with great stiffness. "I beg your pardon, Miss Wetheral, for this annoyance, but, allow me to say, I was assured you were disengaged."
"My lord, I was——, I am——." The words died upon Christobelle's tongue; she could not utter them.
"Ponsonby has made an impression upon your heart, Miss Wetheral! I thought—I wassureof it yesterday! That fellow is born to be my misery."
Christobelle laid her hand upon his lordship's arm, and endeavoured to speak distinctly, but she could only articulate, "No, no, no!"
"Do not fear me, Miss Wetheral," replied his lordship, with offensive hauteur, "I am not intending to wreak vengeance upon a man you approve, but this is the second time he has traversed me!"
"Captain Ponsonby is nothing tome, my lord; Captain Ponsonby can never be any thing to me!" Christobelle exclaimed, "but pray excuse me if I drop the subject for ever. I am honoured—I am flattered—but it never can be, Lord Farnborough."
His lordship gazed eagerly in her face. "Repeat those words again, Miss Wetheral! Assure me again that Ponsonby is, and will be, nothing to you!"
"I do repeat it, my lord."
"Then, Miss Wetheral, I am content. I will believe your assertion, and it gives me hope. Do not be in haste to reply. Allow me your attention for a few moments."
"I cannot listen, my lord. I have spoken the truth, and I beg to be allowed to say this subject must end for ever. I have no affections to bestow upon yourself, or upon Captain Ponsonby."
"I beseech you to listen one moment—one moment, Miss Wetheral! I do not ask for your affections yet. I could not presume to hope even for a preference, upon our short acquaintance. I only pray for leave to visit you—to try and interest your heart, by my attentions and my love. Lady Wetheral gives me hope, Christobelle!"
"No one can give hope for another, my lord."
"Lady Wetheral assures me your heart is free."
Christobelle hesitated. Why did she feelashamed to utter the truth, and end at once the displeasing subject? Why hesitate? She suffered many struggles between shame and timidity, but at last the victory was gained, and she spoke with resolution.
"My lord, I love another—I have given my affections to another person—excuse me."
His lordship bowed low, with peculiar frigidity of manner. "I wish you good morning, Miss Wetheral. I regret my intrusion: I am answered."
Christobelle curtseyed with equal hauteur.
"I am sorry my words have produced dissatisfaction, my lord. It was but just that my sentiments should not be misunderstood, and I do not reproach myself for having withheld an ungenerous and delusive hope. Good morning, my lord."
They parted with a second silent and distant salutation, and Lord Farnborough quitted the terrace.
Christobelle stood some moments, vainly endeavouring to gain fortitude to meet her mother—but now the deed was done, and his lordship had departed, the terror of Lady Wetheral's anger fell upon her heart, and she flew to her father for protection. Sir John Wetheral wasin his study conversing with Spottiswoode, when Christobelle appeared, and both gentlemen rose, smiling at her entrance; but she threw herself into her father's arms with hurried steps, and besought him to save her from her mother's reproaches. She felt it was impossible to meet her alone, or bear the indignant flashes of her eye. She implored her father to be the bearer of her refusal, and to endeavour to soften her mother's anger, when she learned that Lord Farnborough was returning to Clanmoray, a rejected and offended suitor.
Sir John Wetheral soothed his daughter's fears with kind approval of her conduct. He spoke affectionately of her attachment to his friend, and commended the propriety of her sincere avowal to Lord Farnborough. He would leave her now under the soothing care of Spottiswoode, who was destined, he hoped, to be her future guide through life. He would give his Christobelle to his care, to listen to his reasonings and his affection, while he himself sought the presence of his lady. He bade his daughter fear nothing. He would shield her from all the storms of life, till he relinquished her into a husband's care. And, while she continued to act with honourable and high principles, untouchedby sordid temptations, and the miseries of an insatiable ambition, she must be free from self-reproach, and would be patient under trials which could not greatly affect her peace of mind. Sir John Wetheral then placed his daughter's hand within the warm grasp of Spottiswoode, and left them together.
Lovers' happiness is composed of a million nothings, and every indescribable rapture, which in after days provoke the laughter and ridicule of its votaries. All those who have loved understand it well—and to those who have never known a sincere attachment, it is a sealed book. Christobelle utterly forgot all mundane concerns, as she listened to the fond effusions of her lover's heart, and owned an affection deep and imperious as his own. Christobelle almost forgot there was a drop of bitter yet left, in her cup of joy.
Sir John Wetheral passed on to his lady's apartment, little aware of the scene which awaited his peaceful nature, produced by defeated ambition, in an ardent spirit. Lady Wetheral was suffering severe nervous excitation as he entered her sitting-room, for Christobelle's protracted absence boded evil to her hopes. Shelooked earnestly in her husband's face, to read its import.
"You have seen Bell, you have seen Bell—tell me at once, if I am to be the mother of Lady Farnborough."
"Gertrude," replied her husband, calmly, "do not destroy your health by these nervous excitements."
"Sir John, my nerves are excited by the conduct of my children. Am I the mother of the future Duchess of Forfar? Am I to be the proud mother of a child raised to the very pinnacle of worldly grandeur?"
"You will be the mother of a child truly happy in her worldly prospects, if your mind will but look rationally upon its promises, my dear Gertrude."
"Am I to be the mother of Lady Farnborough?" repeated the excited parent.
"Our daughter has not committed the base folly of accepting one man, when her heart belonged to another, Gertrude."
"DidInot do so before her, Sir John? I never repentedmymarriage!"
"It might be so, my love, but Chrystal never possessed your ambition, to soar over affection and honour, through its cold dictates."
"Am I to understand Bell has refused Lord Farnborough, Sir John? Is that the reading of your words? Pray speak it in intelligible words."
"Christobelle has declined his lordship, Gertrude. Her heart preferred Spottiswoode, and my concurrence went with it."
"Perhaps you will convey a message from me to the future Lady Spottiswoode of Alverton, among the flat meadows of Worcestershire, Sir John," replied his lady, in the calm tones of suppressed anger. "Tell my Lady Spottiswoode it is my request she never presumes to appear before me during the days of her singlehood."
"Gertrude, Gertrude," exclaimed her husband, "is this request a fit message from a mother to her child?"
"I had always a dislike to scenes," observed her ladyship, "therefore, I shall not reproach Miss Wetheral with her deceptive conduct in allowing attentions from a quarter which I never countenanced, and after my express commands to avoid them. I ever deprecated scenes before Lady Kerrison—but her violent spirit scorned restraint. She gave me deep pain; and LadyEnnismore's banishment has caused me pain—but this stroke lies far deeper in my heart!"
Lady Wetheral became all nerve: her whole person was in a nervous trembling. Her husband failed in every effort to tranquillize her spirit.
"You may dilate upon the supreme excellence of your favourite Spottiswoode, my love, and you may assure me your daughter is an enviable and a happy being; but I know she has cast aside a ducal coronet, to wed the poor baronet of Alverton! I will see her no more. I will never see her again."
"My dear Gertrude, be tranquil, and be rational." Sir John Wetheral never could be persuaded to lose his temper.
"I am perfectly tranquil and calm, Sir John. I am perfectly tranquil, and very rational in my commands, when I persist in banishing my unnatural child from my sight. Miss Wetheral has taken her measures, and I assert mine. We do not meet again."
"This is wrong, a wicked wrong, towards an innocent child, Gertrude!"
"She is very innocent," retorted Lady Wetheral, with bitterness. "Her innocence has caused her to oppose my wishes, and to darethat which her sisters never presumed to do. They never contravened my views, nor thwarted my wishes in their establishment, and they married well!"
"Was itwellwith Clara?" demanded her husband, with earnestness of manner as startling as it was novel—"was itwellwith Clara? Did she not quit her home clandestinely, to become the wife of Kerrison?—miserable in her short career, and sudden in her death, was she happy? Is Clara to be held forth as an evidence of maternal care, in such a momentous concern?"
"Forbear, Sir John, forbear!" cried his lady.
"Nay, but Gertrude, has it been well with Julia, whom you taught to fly at quarry so distasteful? Wedded to imbecility—banished from her home and country, unseen and unheard of—is she, too, an evidence of your talent in contriving establishments?"
"I tell you," exclaimed her ladyship, "Julia is an earl's wife; and Clara's position was high and grandly placed, but her own hand plucked her down. Who can reproachme?"
"I will not reproach you, Gertrude, but I counsel you to spare this last poor child. Remember only your fatal mistakes, and do notadd a third victim. I will not allow Christobelle to be sacrificed to your ambition."
"Ring for Bevan, I am very ill—ring for Bevan, but let no one else come near me. I amnothard-hearted! Clara called me hard-hearted: I am not hard-hearted! I am a disappointed, deceived mother. Where is Bevan?"
Mrs. Bevan appeared with the remedies, which time had taught her to dispense as judiciously as her predecessor, Mrs. Daniel Higgins, had done; but Lady Wetheral's attack threatened a longer continuance than usual. She would fain have retired to her own room, but Sir John perceived her inability to move without assistance: her ladyship trembled excessively. He bore her in his arms to her bed-side, and Mrs. Bevan, after assisting her lady to repose, proceeded to close the shutters, and exclude the bright sunbeams. Lady Wetheral became still more nervous.
"Bevan, let me have light—let me have light! If I cannot see the sun, it will be darkness of body and mind. Don't leave me, Bevan. Sir John, where are you?"
Sir John stood near, in a state of offended alarm: his mind was discomposed—it never became angry.
"Sir John, I cannot remain at Fairlee: take me back to Wetheral. Bell has destroyed my health. I was quite well till this wretched match, which has destroyed all my plans, and thrown down all my hopes! It has made me ill—worse than ever!"
It was not in the power of reason, much less in Sir John Wetheral's power, to check the indignant feelings which affected his lady's mind upon the subject of Lord Farnborough's refusal. Each attempt to argue away their violence did but increase the evil. Nothing could induce her ladyship to receive Christobelle at her bed-side, or hear a word pleaded in her defence. Christobelle's attachment to Sir John Spottiswoode, and her subsequent refusal to accept Lord Farnborough's proposal, appeared to destroy the ties of affection which had never been closely woven together, for his ladyship declared her daughter's presence would kill her upon the spot. The sad event which occasioned her flight from England, faded under the shock of Lord Farnborough's dismissal. Scotland would be to her sickened heart a remembrance of misery. Either Christobelle or herself must quit the shores of the now desolate and cold Lochleven, upon whose bosom she had onceenjoyed such bright anticipations. All was ended, and joy had closed her brilliant wings for ever. This was an irrecoverable stroke.
Sir John Wetheral did not conceal from Christobelle the mandate which banished her from her mother's presence; and the consolation of Spottiswoode's presence was indeed necessary to soothe her distress of heart. Christobelle would cheerfully have contributed to her parent's comfort, had her wishes extended to less than the sacrifice of all happiness; but surely it was not reprehensible to withhold a shadow of hope, when her heart was not with Lord Farnborough! Surely it was not right to turn from the man she loved, when her affections were his beyond the power of recal, and when the voice of ambition alone demanded it! True, Julia and Clara's views were moulded by her mother's spirit, but then their hearts were untouched, and their unshackled affections might submit to her dictation. Ambition also impelled them to meet her wishes, and no private feeling struggled within their soul to deaden its influence; but Christobelle was another's!—she might suffer, but she could not change!
Sir John Spottiswoode believed that time would soften Lady Wetheral's displeasure, butChristobelle knew too well the bitterness of the disappointment, to lay such unction to her soul. Had she ever been a favourite with her ladyship—had her youth been pleasant in her sight, she might have hoped to obtain an influence through the operation of time, sufficient to effect a reconciliation in favour of her present attachment. But that had never been the case. Her birth was considered out of time—her sex displeased her—her education was uninteresting to her mother's mind. It was only at intervals, and under particular circumstances, that Christobelle received any commendation, and it expired with the cause which elicited its birth. Christobelle felt assured her mother would never forgive the wound inflicted upon her ambition. She felt assured her mother would never forgive the dismissal of Lord Farnborough.
Sir John Wetheral decided upon quitting Fairlee as soon as his lady felt equal to undertake the fatigue of a journey; and he also expressed a wish that a twelvemonth should elapse ere Christobelle became the wife of Spottiswoode. "His daughter," he said, "was young, and a twelvemonth might effect a change in her mother's feelings. It was Christobelle's dutyto make some concessions to an offended parent, and twelvemonths would operate as a fair trial of the constancy of her own nature."
Christobelle submitted most willingly to this arrangement. The least wish of her father had ever been her rule of conduct, and his indulgence would have won obedience, had his wishes extended the period of the engagement. But Sir John required no painful sacrifices, no useless trials. Spottiswoode might visit Christobelle whenever his avocations enabled him to become a guest at Lidham, and he trusted time would soften Lady Wetheral's disappointed views. He dared not pronounce upon its certainty, but they had a right to hope the best.
The continued mortification which embittered Christobelle's repose, by Lady Wetheral's harsh mandate, at last induced Sir John to resolve upon his daughter quitting Fairlee. It was a painful and perpetual grievance to Christobelle, to know that her mother was ill, and confined to her apartments, yet thatshewas not suffered to alleviate her confinement, or attend her. It was a grief which the affectionate attentions of her lover could not control, and which her father's soothing presence did not lessen. Her appetite declined and her spirits fled. Spottiswoodealso became dispirited and uneasy in witnessing her regrets, and Sir John Wetheral, alarmed at his daughter's increasing depression, wrote to Mr. Boscawen to meet them at Edinburgh, and conduct Christobelle to his own home for a season.
It was judged, that absence from a scene so painful, and the society of Isabel, would cheer her spirits, and soften her present sorrow; while, under the protection of Mr. Boscawen, she might receive the visits of Sir John Spottiswoode, and move among the friends she loved, and whom she had not seen for some years. Spottiswoode would remain some time longer at Fairlee, and it might be, that his lengthened sojourn in the north would produce a favourable effect upon the invalid's mind. It might be, that the knowledge of her daughter's withdrawal would rouse her, and if any human being could amuse and soften a harsh determination in Lady Wetheral's soul, that being was the good and kind Spottiswoode.
Christobelle wandered each day with her lover through the scenes of their early walks, and if the exercise failed to bring the bloom into her cheek, yet she was happy while leaning on his arm, and listening to his hopes. Theyspoke of Alverton in the rocky bower which she was so soon to quit. Christobelle looked upon the water, and she thought of the years of careless freedom in which she had wandered among those beautiful scenes with Janet for her sole companion. She thought of the Douglas Isle, where she had first seen Lord Farnborough, and the spot from whence she had waved her plaid at their parting. Christobelle thought of her gradually increasing passion for Spottiswoode—the hopes and fears of St. Mungo's Isle—the pangs of jealous feelings which she endured when Fanny Ponsonby engrossed the attention of him she loved:—she thought, too, of her present situation, the betrothed of Spottiswoode, yet the banished one from her mother's side. Would that mother, indeed, continue to drive her child from her presence, or might she yet receive her smile and hear her welcome? Should she be indeed the happy wife of Spottiswoode, and become, as he fondly styled her, the bright star of Alverton? Christobelle wept. Spottiswoode pressed her to his heart.
"My own Chrystal, this silent grief destroys me, for it is through me you suffer. Would to Heaven you were safe at Brierly with your friends, and that I was with you! I shall soonfollow you, for here I cannot remain without you. I should hear you sigh, and see your weeping figure in every spot where we have been together. I shall look like the ghost of departed Pleasure. You will leave me on Friday, my Chrystal."
"For a few days only, Spottiswoode."
"I shall know you are in kind protection, dearest. You will be with the best of men in Boscawen's company, and you love him as well as Isabel. Her children will amuse you. You will see the Pynsents. You will hardly have time to think ofme, Chrystal."
"I will try to forget you sometimes; I wonder if I shall succeed."
"You have nephews and nieces to engross your attention; you will be joked by Mrs. Pynsent, Chrystal, for fancying your poor lover. Every body will crowd round you, to admire your loveliness, and wonder at your graceful figure; and yet I must not be there to witness it. What shallIdo without you?"
The tears sprung to Chrystal's eyes; she endeavoured to disperse them, but they fell unbidden. Her mind was weakened by recent events. She clasped her hands, and exclaimed,—
"Oh, do not say you will suffer, Spottiswoode, by my absence."
"No, no, my love," he replied, with fond endearments, "I will not think of our little trial. You will go from me on Friday; but are you not my own betrothed bride, and are we not one in heart and hand? You will rejoice your friends, and be rejoiced in meeting them. I shall also rejoice, in the knowledge of your happiness. Our thoughts will meet often and often in our absence; and then, my Chrystal, we shall meet again in peace. I cannot and will not remain a week absent from you."
Christobelle smiled again to think their separation was not eternal. How many attached hearts had been torn asunder, while they were mourning over the parting of a few short days! How many hearts had bid a long farewell, while they should meet again and be in peace! Again she leaned against her lover's shoulder, and her thoughts were of grateful thanks. She was not called to severe affliction—she was not beloved by a man whose birth or character was repugnant to her friends, and to whom her happiness was a source of discomfort and disgust. Even her mother had not deprecated Spottiswoode: his offence in her eyes arose from having won herdaughter from Lord Farnborough. Her father loved him, and approved her attachment. Yes, Christobelle had reason to be thankful to the hand which ministered so wisely for her happiness. Her mother would not always be harsh; surely she might in time be summoned into her presence! She would never be forgiven; she neverhadbeen loved; and the slight cord of affection was broken for ever between them: but they might meet without pain, she hoped, on her mother's part; and she herself would exert unceasing efforts to win her into complacency. Her mothermustlove Spottiswoode, when time should soften her remembrance of Lord Farnborough's attentions.
Christobelle spoke of Fanny Ponsonby to her companion, now that her heart was at rest; and alluded to her emotions in St. Mungo's Isle. Spottiswoode had, from the first hour of their introduction, discovered her predilection for Lord Farnborough.
"I could trace it, Chrystal, in the agitated and close attention she bestowed upon yourself, and in her anxiety to remove from your vicinity. I saw the distressed feelings of her heart, as she watched the engrossed attention of Farnborough at dinner: and I felt for her sufferings duringthe singing. I felt for her and for myself at that moment, Chrystal, for I also fancied you approved his lordship."
"How could you think so, Spottiswoode?"
"Lady Wetheral's words were in my ears, Chrystal, and I had relinquished all hope for myself."
"What a day of misery it was to me!" Christobelle exclaimed, as she thought of all she had endured. "Fanny Ponsonby's feelings were all echoed by my own."
"It was a painful day to many, Chrystal; but to us it has proved a blessing, for it confessed our sentiments at once, and prepared the way for our mutual understanding. Had you not expressed disapprobation of Lord Farnborough, I had not dared to tell my feelings. Was it not a blessing, my love?"
"But poor Fanny Ponsonby, what will beherdestiny?" Christobelle asked, as she returned the pressure of Spottiswoode's hand. "What will be her fate in her attachment?"
"Miss Ponsonby has sown her seed among thorns," he replied, with feeling, "and her heart must wrestle with its feelings, unless she becomes his wife. Lord Farnborough may turn to Miss Ponsonby, since you have rejected him, and shemay become the envied Lady Farnborough; but she will only sink into a neglected wife. He cannot make a woman happy."
"Oh! if I had seen him with my mother's eyes, and fallen a sacrifice!" observed Christobelle, with a shudder.
"I should have quitted England, Chrystal. I would not have witnessed your misery, or remained within hearing of your gradual decay. You could not long live under his harsh treatment, and I could not have borne to hear the world remark upon your pale cheek and faded form."
"How grateful I am! how happy I ought to be, Spottiswoode! When you come to see me at Brierly, and I do not suffer daily under my mother's angry prohibition, you will find me so changed and happy! When I think of Lord Farnborough, I turn to you with such grateful delight! Yes, Spottiswoode, Iwillbe happy!"
And Christobelle exerted herself to be happy, even the few days which intervened between her expressed gratitude and her long farewell to Fairlee. She sat hour after hour upon the terrace, with her father and Spottiswoode, looking with deep interest upon the lake, the scene of all her pleasures, while she was happy in ignorance of a deep affection, and the scene of sufferingduring the stirring incidents which had awakened her heart to the strife of worldly sorrow. Lochleven was endeared to Christobelle by a thousand recollections, by the enjoyments of her young age, and by the happy hours passed by the side of Spottiswoode. She was going to the south, to a new scene that would be changed in its aspect; gayer, full of friends, and still blest by the society of him she loved. But would it be to her like the grand Lochleven?—that shelter from the world's cares? that spot where she had enjoyed such long tranquillity? Adieu for a long, long time, the cloud-capped mountains, the heather hills, the placid waters! farewell the islands on its bosom—the groves, the far Cona! Farewell the stirring breeze, the lonely Eilan na Corak—the repose, the grandeur of the shores of Lochleven!
Christobelle endured much, ere she set forth with her father from Fairlee. She bore her parting interview with Spottiswoode with great intrepidity; but she wept at her mother's obdurate determination not to see her before she quitted the parental roof. Sir John Wetheral soothed her as she gazed upon the lake, till it vanished from her aching sight: and he prophesied that her trial would not be lengthenedbeyond her power to endure it. He spoke kindly and well to her overpowered spirit, of the sorrows which must accompany a progress through life, and of the consolation which attended a patient and praying spirit. He did not consider it right to allow Spottiswoode to accompany them, as her mother evinced such decided repugnance to the match; but at Brierly, Christobelle might enjoy her lover's society in peace; and he would accompany his lady to Wetheral as soon as she expressed a wish to set forth on the long journey. New scenes, new faces, and a new set of ideas would, he hoped, drive gloomy fancies from her mind, and bring comfort to all parties. She was on her road to Isabel, and with her and Boscawen she must enjoy the calm pleasures of domestic happiness. They would lead her to agreeable thoughts, and Spottiswoode would speedily add his society to the enjoyments of Brierly.
Such was Sir John Wetheral's reasoning, and its effects were apparent upon Christobelle's spirits. She gradually recovered cheerfulness under his indulgent soothings, and she could even admire the changing scenery which varied their route to Edinburgh. Mr. Boscawen was true to his appointment; they found him at theplace of rendezvous, ready to conduct Christobelle to the county of her birth, and induct her once more into the domicile which had sheltered her so kindly years before.
Mr. Boscawen was surprised at her growth, and wondered at the girl who had glided into womanhood so rapidly. He thought her features bore a strong resemblance to her unfortunate sister Clara; but he politely assured her, her manner was entirely her own. She was no longer, he said, "the gay little half-grown girl, who had delighted to nurse her nephew under the mulberry tree at Brierly. She must be looked upon in a very different phase; and he feared the quiet haunts of Brierly would ring with the charms of the beautiful Miss Wetheral. He was pleased to think she possessed a protector whose claims would at once put an end to the fearful contention of furious rivals." Christobelle's blushes were the only answers she could give to the agreeable remarks of Mr. Boscawen.
Sir John Wetheral's absence would not be of long continuance, therefore Christobelle did not sorrow much as she bade him adieu. She prayed him to speak of her to her mother, and to express her deepest regret at having incurred her displeasure. She prayed for her pardon, and thatthey might meet again in reconciliation. She looked to her forgiveness with anxious desire, with a fervent and unceasing hope. She embraced her dear father, and bade him remember her kindly, affectionately, to the friend she had left at Fairlee, and then she gave her hand to Mr. Boscawen.
How delightedly did the eye of Christobelle rest upon the matronly form of Isabel! She was clasped in her arms, as she descended the steps of the chaise at Brierly.
"Well, I never saw such a beautiful creature in my life! My dear Christobelle, who would have thought you would turn out so very pretty? My dear Mr. Boscawen, were you not surprised at Christobelle's beauty, when you first saw her?"
"I was not so overcome at your sister's handsome face, as I am astonished at Isabel's neglect of her long-absent husband," replied Mr. Boscawen, smiling. Isabel flew towards him.
"I can't think how I came to be so wicked; but, indeed, it was the sight of my sister's face. My dear Boscawen, I have so longed for your return, and so have the children! I was obliged to tell the dear things papa was gone a long way off, for some cakes and their pretty aunt, or theywould not have been comforted. I did not know what hour you would arrive, therefore I was wise enough not to say a word to them about it."
"They shall be summoned after dinner, Isabel. We are hungry travellers now, and a meal will be most gratefully welcomed."
"My love, ring the bell, and order it in now, if you please, while I escort my sister to her room. Follow me, dear Christobelle. Well, I declare I never saw such a change in a human being! You are tall and handsome, and have such beautiful ringlets! I shall certainly have ringlets too. I can't fancy you are the little, jumping Chrystal, who was dressed out so fine at my wedding, five or six years ago. Well—and don't you thinkIam changed?"
Isabel was changed. Her sylph-like figure had swelled into a stout form: her waist had increased materially in breadth, and her dress was rather disordered.
"The children are so playful, Chrystal, that my collars have always a ragged appearance; and corsets of any kind are so very painful, because I am getting large, that I never wear them. Boscawen, though, does not mind my appearance: he is not particular. He allows me to do just what I like, and I am so happy! Ah! doyou remember my geography days, Chrystal? How I detested that dreadful map of the world! I am determined my little Bell shall be happy and ignorant, as I was before her. She is called Bell after you, dear—not your long name, but simply Bell. I hope she will be as pretty as you; but what does it signify? Who can be happier than I am, with my broad waist and rumpled collars?"
The moment the servants had withdrawn, after dessert was placed upon the table, Isabel continued her happy prattle.
"I have so much to tell you, of one kind or the other, dear Bell, that I don't know where to begin. What shall I tell first, my dear Boscawen? Oh! Bell, such things are whispered of Julia!—I don't believe a word of them—not one word. However, you will find Anna Maria more French than ever, for the Count de Nolis has been staying every Christmas at Hatton, and Félicé does lay on the rouge terribly. It's quite amusing to hear Tom Pynsent boast of his wife's bloom, when it's rouge all the time. I think I wrote you word, that odd Mrs. Hancock had a paralytic stroke some time ago?"
"No, indeed, Isabel, I never heard of it."
"Didn't you? Oh! it's the case, I assureyou—her mouth is all on one side. Poor Miss Tabitha is not dead yet, Bell: I don't think she means to die at all; and Mrs. Ward writes word, she finds fault with every thing, poor soul, that is said or done. Shall I ring for the darlings, my dear Boscawen? I am sure Chrystal is dying to see her little boy, whom she nursed so carefully. Ring the bell twice, my love, and the little wild things will soon rush in."
"Do not give Tom wine, Isabel; I have a dislike to children taking wine so early in life."
"No, my dear Boscawen, certainly not. I think, with you, that wine is very improper for children—but little Tom has such a winning way of coaxing his poor mother!"
The children soon burst into the room, and ran bounding round the table. Isabel was all triumphant pleasure. "Now, Charles—my dear Charles, go quietly to papa, and ask him how he does, and whether the cakes are come from merry Scotland. Ah, ha, Charley goes for his cakes. Tom, my beauty, come to mamma; and Bell, go to your aunt—your new aunt, and admire her pretty hair."
Christobelle endeavoured to attract her little fat niece to her side, but she hid her face in Isabel's lap.
"Oh, Bell, I'm ashamed of you!—your pretty aunt, too—oh, fie! My dear Tommy, don't touch mamma's glass. No, no wine, Tommy—papa says no. A few strawberries, my dear little boy, and a biscuit, but no wine."
Tommy, however, advanced his mother's wineglass to his lips, watching her countenance with a cunning glance.
"Now, my little, good Tommy, mamma will be angry, very angry, if you do what she tells you not to do. Bell, my love, go to your aunt, like a good girl."
Isabel took some pains to persuade her little girl to raise her head, but her appeals were useless. In the mean time, Tommy had silently quaffed the remainder of the contents of her glass. Mr. Boscawen rose, and took him from Isabel's knee.
"My dear Boscawen, what are you going to do with Tommy? he is very good with me, my love."
"I am going to banish him, Isabel, for disobedience."
"Oh, my dear Boscawen, it was the least little drop of wine in the world! it was scarcely a teaspoonful—pray don't punish Tommy for that little drop, my love."
"The disobedience was the same in the action, Isabel. I shall send him into the nursery. I shall take him there myself."
Isabel's eyes suffused, as Mr. Boscawen left the dining-room with the crying recreant Tommy. She turned to her sister.
"Oh! Chrystal, was it not severe to carry away that dear child, for one drop of wine only?"
"Boscawen was quite right, my dear Isabel."
"Do you really think so? Do you really think he was right to banish the darling child, when it was such a pretty, coaxing trick? Did you see his little, cunning, dear eyes?"
"Boscawen justly thinks, Isabel, that cunning habits and disobedience will increase, if it is not checked."
"Oh! I hope it won't increase—dear child—I should be sorry to see him grow sly." Mr. Boscawen returned. "My love, did Tommy cry? Was he very much hurt—poor dear? Did you leave him crying?"
"My dear Isabel, you have brought this upon him, by not checking disobedience in the first instance. You have allowed the child twice to steal your wine."
"My dear Boscawen—steal! indeed, that sounds dreadful! I hope my children will neversteal! It was indeed my fault! Poor, dear child!—I dare say he is crying dreadfully now. Let me beg for my child, Boscawen."
"Let him remain where he is, Isabel: he has been very naughty."
"But I have taught him to steal, and I ought to suffer for him, dear Boscawen. Let me go to my child, my love!" The tears stood in Isabel's eyes, and Boscawen was still under their influence. He soothed his lady as fondly as when in earlier days she wept for the drooping ostrich feather.
"My dear Isabel, when we retire into the drawing-room, your child shall come down again. Don't weep, my love. I cannot wonder at your fondness, but he was very naughty. Wait a few moments, Isabel, and the child shall join us in the drawing-room. Don't let me see you weep—stay, I will bring him down to you."
Isabel smiled, and little Tommy was restored to her arms, as he entered the drawing-room. Mr. Boscawen felt he had acted unwisely by his child; but how could he resist Isabel in tears? Things were totally changed at Brierly. A tear from the bright blue eye of Isabel melted Boscawen's best resolves, and operated against the excellence of his own system of education.Isabel held the reins of government in her hands. She never argued with her husband—she never offered a word of opposition to his wishes—but she ruled by submission, and won his acquiescence by her tears and gentle self-upbraidings. Fortunately, her children possessed her own sweet disposition, which defied indulgence, or they might have suffered through Isabel's inability to check their budding faults. As it was, they loved her too well to persist in offending a parent so devoted; and it must have proved a very serious offence, ere the light-hearted Isabel could lament conduct which was ever palliated by her affectionate heart. She was indeed the happiest of wives and mothers.
Mr. Boscawen and Christobelle resumed their occupations instinctively, as if years had not intervened since they last walked and read together at Brierly. Isabel was delighted.
"Ah, there you go again!—read, read, talk, talk, all day long. I like to hear you argue, when I have time to devote to you both; but the children require so much attention, and the dear little things love to be with me so often, that dear Boscawen has been a great deal alone, haven't you, Boscawen? It is such a pleasure to haveyou here, Chrystal—my poor, dear husband won't have to endure my ignorance."
"Who says my Isabel is ignorant?" said Mr. Boscawen, patting his lady's shoulder affectionately.
"Yes, dear Boscawen, I am very ignorant, and very unfit for you; but I do very well to play with the darlings, and superintend every thing but their education—thatyou will do, except for poor little Bell: let her be happy and ignorant, Boscawen. If she is half as happy as her mother, she will not require knowledge—only her husband and children. I never wish for any thing beyond you and them." Isabel cast an upward and affectionate look at Boscawen, who bent his long figure to kiss his laughing wife.
Mr. Boscawen told Christobelle he had engaged to take her for a day or two to Hatton. The Pynsents were very anxious to see her, and Mrs. Pynsent had made it a point with him to bring the "tall, gawky, good-looking girl" to her, as soon as she had rested a few days at Brierly. The Charles Spottiswoodes, also, were wishing to see her again, to contemplate the improvement which five years must have effected in her appearance. The name of Spottiswoode brought blushes into the face of Christobelle.
"My dear Bell," exclaimed Isabel, with laughing delight, "how droll it is to think you have a lover; when I saw you last, you were such a bit of a girl! Sir John Spottiswoode is just the man I would have chosen for you—just the very person I should have singled out—is he not, Boscawen?—just the sort of man, with curling dark hair and high forehead, that you ought to like, dear Chrystal!"
"Ihad not dark curling hair, Isabel?" said Boscawen, smiling—"I had not a high forehead, had I?"
"My dear Boscawen, your hair was always dreadfully wiry, and I thought you very plain, but I liked you for all that, you know."
"Then whyoughtChrystal to choose and love such things, my Isabel?"
"Ah! I dare say I am talking nonsense again," cried the humble Isabel, "for I should really recommend no one who does not resemble you, dear Boscawen. I should advise every woman to wait till they could find a kind, dear man, like yourself, and then they would not care about wiry hair, or...." Isabel hesitated and coloured.
"Say on, Isabel." Mr. Boscawen looked amused.
"I was going to say, they would not mindgreat long legs. Don't be angry, my love, with me."
Mr. Boscawen laughed. "You see, Isabel, the triumph of good sense over mere personal advantages. You cannot be ignorant, since you chose me in spite of my deficiencies. I hope all your young acquaintance may exhibit your indifference to mere good looks. Miss Wetheral, when shall we visit Hatton? Isabel, will you join the party?"
"I wish I could drive over with you, my love; but Charly is cutting a double-tooth, and I think little Bell is not quite well. I think I cannot leave my little ones two days, Boscawen!"
"Then Chrystal and myself will depart to-morrow for Hatton," said Boscawen, smiling, with gratified feelings, at his wife's love of her home and her little ones.
"Yes, Bell will amuse you, dear Boscawen, and you will not missme. You can talk away upon history and the arts and sciences, and enjoy the novelty of a clever companion, for once. I am only fit to nurse my children."
"You are only fit to be a very excellent creature, and to be my dear little roundabout wife," exclaimed Boscawen; and Isabel looked so happy! It was delightful to witness the joyous expressionwhich revelled in her looks, whenever she spoke with her husband and children. It was such a contrast to the Isabel whom Christobelle remembered, low-spirited, in her dressing-room at Wetheral, pining over "Burnet's Reformation!" It was such a contrast to the Isabel who watched in alarm the fond, but searching, glance of her excellent, elderly husband!—Christobelle told her so, when they were alone. She laughed.
"I remember, Bell, how frightened I used to be, and there was no cause for it! Boscawen was always kind, only I was so unwilling to receive improvement, and then I fancied his anxiety was annoying. When Miss Tabitha left Brierly, every thing was comfortable to me; for then, you know, there was no one to point out my faults. But, Chrystal, tell me now all about John Spottiswoode. Boscawen told me not to be curious, but I amverycurious. I want to know how it all began, and why mamma is so foolish about Lord Farnborough."
Christobelle recapitulated her story to Isabel, who wondered, and was pleased, and wept, by turns, as her sister recounted all her sufferings. She clasped her arms round Christobelle.
"Never mind, Chrystal, never mind; and every thing will end as it should do. Everybody knows mamma's matches have turned out shockingly; and John Spottiswoode is so loved by all his relations, so good to his mother and sister, that you are fortunate in attracting him; but you are so very handsome, dear Chrystal, you would attract every one, high and low. People are now scandalizing poor Julia, and pointing at her and Colonel Neville; but I will never believe that Julia would do wrong, though I dare say she is very unhappy, poor dear girl."
"What does Boscawen think, Isabel?"
"Oh, Boscawen never thoughtthatmatch would answer. He did not like the Dowager's manners and character; and he said to me, at Julia's wedding, that if my sister fell from her high estate, the two mothers would answer for it hereafter. He said, too, that Julia was the victim of two machinating Machiavels. Of course, he meant mamma and the Dowager. Lord Selgrave was always disliked as a cruel, disagreeable boy, I hear; so he would have made you a sad husband, in spite of being Earl of Farnborough, and a trumpery Duke in expectancy."
Isabel's remarks only corroborated the observations of Spottiswoode, and Christobelle believed herself indeed saved from ruin, thoughshe paid a severe penalty for her escape, in the angry prohibition of her mother's disappointed views. Her present pain, she felt assured, was far more bearable than the misery of an unhappy matrimony; and she was grateful beyond expression to know that she was given to a man, so loved and so well appreciated as Spottiswoode was, among her nearest friends. Their approbation must be balm to her heart; and, when her mother heard how all lips concurred to praise him, would she continue her ungenerous dislike to her presence? Would she persist in holding back her consent, and still pertinaciously revenge upon her head her dismissal of a man so little respected as Lord Farnborough? Christobelle hoped not in fear and trembling; shewouldhope. As her dear father observed, she had a right to hope that her prayers would be heard and answered, if she persevered in the path of principle.