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THE
MANŒUVRING MOTHER.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE HISTORY OF A FLIRT."
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1842.
LONDON:
F. SHOBERL, JUN., 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET,
PRINTER TO H. R. H. PRINCE ALBERT.
THE MANŒUVRING MOTHER.
CHAPTER XXII.
Four years passed rapidly and tranquilly at Fairlee. The waters of
Lochleven flowed at the foot of its undulating grounds, and the
mountains of Glencoe terminated the grandly-beautiful and distant
prospect which Christobelle gazed upon with untired delight, from the
different points where she loved to sit in meditation, or employed
herself in painting its glowing and ever-changing tints. Often did the
forms of Anna Maria and Isabel appear before her, as she lingered upon
the mountain-tops which overhung the lake, and watched the golden sun
sink below the horizon.
Often did the woods and smiling lands of Wetheral appear to her mental
view; and though its scenery, so flatly tame, sank into insignificance
before the cloud-capped Cona, and the hills of many names which
surrounded the rich and beautiful Lochleven--still, _there_ was the
remembrance of her first attachments; there were the forms she loved,
and the hearts which loved her, fondly. There was the scene of her
infancy, and there she had parted from her kind companion and friend,
Sir John Spottiswoode.
Anna Maria's heart and eyes were given exclusively to her excellent
husband, and Isabel was devoted to her child; but Sir John Spottiswoode
had been for weeks her instructor, her only attendant, and the
depository of her thoughts. She felt the loss of his society for
months; and when she gazed upon the calm lake, or mused upon the rocky
heights, each and all threw back her thoughts to Sir John Spottiswoode.
Oh! what would he, the travelled one, the lover of grand scenery--what
would _he_ say to the bold and graceful scenery? What would he say to
the combination of wood, and rock, and pleasant glens; the mountains,
the water, and all the glorious views which decorated Lochleven? Surely
he would love its repose, its agitations, its sublimity; surely he
would love its groves, its islands, and its storms. He would roam
with her through the lovely glens; they would together visit the falls
of Kinlochmore: they would meditate together on Eilan na Corak, and
climb the highest points to watch the setting sun, and think upon
absent ones. Why had she not a brother to accompany her in her pleasant
rambles, and why was he not Sir John Spottiswoode?
Lady Wetheral's health did not recover the shock of Lady Kerrison's
death. She sank gradually into an invalid: and, though she rarely
visited the beauteous scenes around her, and never admired their
grandeur, yet her thoughts rested no longer upon England. She was
content to remain at Fairlee, exhausted in body, and depressed in
mind. Her temper lost every trace of its former playfulness, and she
dwelt constantly and bitterly upon the idea of Clara's ingratitude in
not seeing her at the time of her decease. She told Christobelle the
voice of Clara came to her in the dead of the night, and thundered
in the wind which roared from the mountains. She saw Clara in her
dreams ever pointing towards her, and exclaiming, "Oh! hard-hearted
mother!" She declared to Christobelle that if her death should prove
the consequence of such distressing visitations, she died by the hand
of Lady Kerrison, and her ungrateful conduct would have been the means
of destroying the author of her existence, and the contriver of her
high and enviable establishment. She had indeed heard of ungrateful
children; but little could she imagine she was herself to fall a victim
to the daughters whom she had reared so carefully. Clara had died, and
she expected Julia would be equally undutiful. Not once had she been
invited to Bedinfield, nor was she even apprized of their flight abroad!
Such were Lady Wetheral's feelings; and her irritable and disappointed
mind vented its bitterness upon the innocent Christobelle. The
leading thought of her heart and the aim of her actions had ever been
the establishment of her children, and upon her youngest daughter,
now in the midst of suffering and solitude, did her anxiety rest.
Christobelle was to beware of the sun and of the dew. It was ruinous to
the complexion to sit staring for hours in a hot sun upon nonsensical
views, and still worse, to roam about with a plaid round her shoulders,
and a hat swinging to her arm, like a low-lived Scotch girl. Lochleven
produced much gaiety in the autumn, as many families thronged to
visit lake scenery; she would therefore feel obliged by Miss Chrystal
paying a little more attention to her person, that she might not be
recognized as Lady Wetheral's very vulgar daughter, or give occasion of
remark to General Ponsonby's family. General Ponsonby, as a man of high
connections, might probably have people staying at Clanmoray of some
consideration; and she insisted upon her careful attention to dress and
manners. She might meet gentlemen unexpectedly, and a young lady should
be upon her guard. No man could be struck with a girl whose tanned
complexion gave her the appearance of having tended sheep and goats
upon the hill-tops.
In spite of Lady Wetheral's precautions, Christobelle met no gentleman
"unexpectedly," nor were her studies interrupted by any people of
consideration from Clanmoray. Letters from England told of Mrs. Tom
Pynsent's increasing family; and Isabel's visit was deferred, year
after year, by the expected death of Miss Tabitha, whose illness had
proved long and suffering. She could not bear to hear or think of her
brother's departure from Shropshire while she still lingered, and
Mr. Boscawen had promised to close her eyes ere he quitted Brierly.
Isabel's visit, therefore, must remain uncertain: she was the mother
of three children, and her anxiety was very great to exhibit them all
at Fairlee, and listen to the roar of the cataracts with Christobelle.
There was also news of Julia. The party had returned to Bedinfield, and
Colonel Neville was still in the suite of the Countess-dowager; but few
ever penetrated into the mysteries of Bedinfield. The Ennismores saw
little company, and it was reported the establishment consisted chiefly
of foreigners selected by the Countess mother. Colonel Neville remained
desperately attached to Julia, and Lord Ennismore rarely quitted his
apartments; his lordship was becoming extremely invalided, and Dr.
Anstruther was superseded by a Florence physician.
Mrs. Pynsent wrote frequently to Christobelle, and from her chatty
pen, Miss Wetheral received the home news of the south. "Every one,"
she wrote, "was pretty well except 'Bobby,' who looked very like a
turkey with the pip, for his head was sinking between his shoulders,
and his poor back got round. However, he played with the eldest boy,
and left every thing to Tom, who--God bless him!--grew handsomer every
day, and rattled over business much better than his poor moonshine
father. Sally Hancock sat with him now and then, and her company was
getting rather amusing to him: altogether, they were tolerably well at
Hatton. Sophy Spottiswoode was married, and they talked of visiting
Scotland with Sir John Spottiswoode; perhaps they would visit Lochleven
and Fairlee, and see what was acting there and thereabouts. Sir Jacky
seemed to wish to peep about Lochleven, for reasons best known to
himself." Mrs. Pynsent ended by hoping Christobelle was not obliged to
be in love with some red-headed Scotchman, because he was rich.
Sir John Wetheral twice visited Shropshire during his seclusion at
Fairlee, but his daughter could not accompany him. Lady Wetheral's
health detained her; and, during his absence, the magnificence of the
country, its quiet grandeur, and its beautiful variety, could not
recompense her for the misery she endured under continual and unabated
reproaches, or the language of useless complaint, unceasingly uttered
in doleful tones. Her ladyship considered her daughter's singlehood at
seventeen years of age a severe blow upon her matronly cares. Up to the
moment of her seventeenth birthday, Christobelle had never received an
offer of marriage, or heard a comment upon her beauty, save in the
somewhat coarse approbation which was bestowed by Mrs. Pynsent upon her
growth at Hatton.
Christobelle had never listened to adulation, nor had she ever, in
her walks, met a look or observation which could be construed into
admiration, or even commendation. She bounded in health and freedom of
heart over the mountains, and sailed on the lake with her attendant
Janet, without a thought of care, or a wish to shine as her sisters had
done, before her entrance into society. She wished her father alone to
share in her rambles; if her fancy ever strayed beyond his presence, it
was in a sigh to think how greatly she should enjoy the surprise and
pleasure which Sir John Spottiswoode must feel, if he ever beheld the
scenery of Lochleven. But it was not so with Lady Wetheral.
Every year brought newly-awakened annoyance to Christobelle, in the
ironical tone of her mother's birthday congratulation: and it brought
equal affliction to her ladyship, that she must still endure the
society of a daughter unsought, and very probably destined to remain
single. Her father was in England when she received congratulations
upon attaining her seventeenth year. Sir John promised to reach
Fairlee, if possible, in time to spend that day with his daughter at
the falls of Kinlochmore; but it was not to be so, and she entered
the breakfast-room that morning depressed and without appetite. Lady
Wetheral commenced her attack.
"I believe, Bell, you are now seventeen. I beg to offer my
congratulations upon the effect you have created at Lochleven. Clara
and Isabel were married at your age, and I am expecting every day to
be consulted upon some affair of your own. You appear to have made no
impression upon young Ponsonby, after all your walks and sails upon the
water."
"Young Ponsonby, mamma!"
"Some people never care to understand what they do not wish to know,"
replied her mother. "In the precincts of Lochleven your want of power
to please may pass unobserved, but I should have been pointed at in
England, as a mother hopeless of her daughter's establishment."
"But young Ponsonby never walks and sails with _me_, mamma. I am only
accompanied by Janet."
"I am perfectly aware that Janet is your only companion," replied her
mother, drily.
"I never wished to be with Mr. Ponsonby, mamma. I declined Miss
Ponsonby's invitation to join her party at Ballahuish."
"You did very unwisely. I wish you to join the Ponsonby parties. Have I
not told you repeatedly that wish?"
"I thought you would be alone, mamma."
"I should be much obliged by your thinking to more purpose, Bell. I
never wish to interfere with your engagements, when they tend to a
proper end."
"But what end could be answered at Ballahuish, mamma?"
"You are growing extremely disagreeable and argumentative, Miss
Wetheral. I will trouble you to withhold your rather imperious
questionings, if you please."
Christobelle was silent, and Lady Wetheral proceeded with her
breakfast; but nothing met her approbation. The coffee was cold,
the eggs were not fresh, and the rolls were burnt. Every thing was
most uncomfortable since she had quitted England--particularly
uncomfortable, since no one was near her to make her wants a matter of
the least consideration.
Christobelle offered to ring for hot coffee.
"I shall be obliged by your remaining where you are, if you please.
Ingratitude is nothing new to me: Clara taught me _that_ parental
misery--I can bear it now with patience. Clara has ruined my health
by her ungrateful conduct. I, who sought her advancement in life,
and who almost made the offer to establish her at Ripley, deserved a
better fate than to be spurned from her dying bed, and see Mrs. Pynsent
preferred before me. I cannot understand a coarse personage like Mrs.
Pynsent being a proper attendant upon a deathbed. Her loud voice would
disturb the dead."
"But she was so gentle and kind to Clara! She was so attentive, papa
said!"
"I shall never believe it."
"But you remember how very kindly she assisted me, and how tenderly she
nursed you, mamma."
"I was not on my deathbed. Close that window, Bell, the wind is rising;
and do shut out the sound of those French horns."
Christobelle rose to obey. Two small vessels were traversing the loch,
containing a party of pleasure, apparently intending to pass the
morning in the island which was once the prison-house of Mary. A band
of French horns woke the echoes as they rowed along, and the air of
"Auld lang syne," delightfully played in parts, riveted her attention.
For a few moments she paused to listen, but the sounds affected Lady
Wetheral beyond endurance: she trembled and wept. Christobelle closed
the window.
"I cannot bear those sounds," she cried, clasping her hands. "I
hear Clara's voice, and she persists in calling me her hard-hearted
mother. Her voice is in every sound, and that tone kills me. I am not
hard-hearted--I am an injured mother, worn down by that ungrateful
voice. I hear it in the winds at night, and the breeze of the lake
whispers it. I cannot bear to hear Clara's voice."
Christobelle endeavoured to calm her mother's nerves, but repeated
attacks had destroyed their tone, and she could not rally at pleasure.
Mrs. Bevan was summoned to attend her lady, and she was laid upon her
bed to receive the usual remedies. Her ladyship was then left in quiet
and in darkness for some hours. This scene was but the recurrence of
a now constantly repeated attack of the nerves upon every sound which
reached her ear from without. The storm, the breeze, the sighing of the
winds, the soft and delicious music which occasionally rose on the air,
all created the same terror--it was Clara reproaching her for youth
and happiness blasted, and constantly exclaiming, "Oh, hard-hearted
mother!"
Time increased the disorder. Four years' residence in Scotland, far
from the scene of Clara's tragic departure, and removed beyond all
allusion to the events which had occurred, did not soften by distance
the regrets of Lady Wetheral's heart. Year after year brought increased
nervousness; and Sir John had endeavoured to lead his lady's thoughts
again towards Wetheral, but in vain. "She had resolved never again to
visit a country which had brought her so much disquietude. Clara was
gone--gone from her for ever, tainted with bitter ingratitude, and the
grandeur of Lady Ennismore's establishment was to her a blank--she
had never witnessed it. All that she had most anxiously desired had
become a source of misery to her feelings, and she only desired now
to live far away from painful associations." Sir John pointed out the
near neighbourhood of her two happily-married daughters, Pynsent and
Boscawen; but it failed to create pleasing thoughts.
"No, I have no wish to see those objects which will remind me of
Julia's banishment and Clara's death. If they are happy, why was
not Julia to be with me, and why was Clara ungrateful? Why was _I_
to be defeated in my views? Why was Julia carried abroad without
one interview with the mother who endured so much to secure her
establishment, without even writing to me? No; I am miserable, but let
me alone, and let me die here!"
Lady Wetheral would at such moments turn to Miss Wetheral with looks of
reproach, and inveigh against her unattractive appearance or manner.
"If you wished to give me pleasure, Bell, you would not fly in my
face, as Clara did. If you attended to your person, I might yet be
gratified by hearing praises of your beauty, and receive pleasure in
contemplating your future establishment; but I have no hopes for you.
I have no inducement to quit this dreary Lochleven. I will not carry
forth a daughter who is blind to her own advancement, or subject myself
to ridicule, by the constant appendage of a young woman who is likely
to pass single to her grave. If I could rouse you to exertion, I might
rally too; but this determined indifference to future distinction
destroys me. I am doomed to suffer every gradation of parental
disappointment."
What hand could pluck from her ladyship's memory "this rooted sorrow?"
What hand could cleanse her bosom of this "perilous stuff?" Haman knew
no peace while Mordecai sat at the king's gate, and Lady Wetheral
would not be comforted, because the eye of admiration had not yet
glanced upon Christobelle, or opened a channel for her energies to rise
again under the exciting employment of speculating upon her future
establishment. What a life was this! After Lady Wetheral's departure
to her room, under the nervous effect produced by the lake music,
Christobelle strolled along its banks, accompanied by Janet. The little
band still poured their sounds upon the breeze, as they sat listening
to the sprightly notes of "Will ye gang to the bourne, my Marion:" and
at its conclusion Christobelle's eager fancy suggested the idea of
sailing towards the Isle, to enjoy the softly-swelling sounds which now
but faintly stole upon the ear. The boatmen were quickly summoned to
their oars, and Christobelle ordered them to stretch and lie to, under
the Isle, where the party were seated beneath the trees, which once
afforded shade to the royal Mary in her captivity.
A boat put out from the land as they approached, and Christobelle saw
the figures of Miss Ponsonby and her brother Charles seated in its
stern. Miss Ponsonby waved her hand as the boat glided to her side,
and hailed her "prisoner." A large party from Clanmoray were regaling
in the "Douglas Isle," and her movements had been watched through many
telescopes. Miss Wetheral had declined her party to Ballahuish; but her
captivity was now as sure as that of the unfortunate Queen of Scots,
unless a Douglas again rose to the rescue.
"It was a party," Miss Ponsonby said, "in honour of her eldest
brother, who had left Ireland on a long furlough, and who had arrived
at Clanmoray, after an absence of six years. She would allow no
excuses to prevail. Miss Wetheral must and should do honour also to
Edward's arrival." Christobelle was loth to obey the mandate: she
was quite unprepared for the little incident, and felt alarmed at
the idea of encountering a large company almost unknown to her. Miss
Ponsonby, however, ordered the boats towards the landing-place, and the
party disembarked. The Ponsonby family came forward to welcome Miss
Wetheral's arrival, and they introduced her to the assembled group.
The Duke of Forfar, lately raised to the dukedom by the death of his
aged father, was present; and there was also young Lord Farnborough,
once the Selgrave, whose name she trembled to hear from her mother's
lips, when she spoke of him as a future suitor. Christobelle saw also
Lady Anna Herbert, the imagined rival of Mrs. Charles Spottiswoode in
her days of coquetry; and her mind glanced back to the time when she
heard so much and so often of the Farnborough Stacy family. Lady Anna
Herbert was still unmarried, and she could perceive the same lively
manners, the same coquettish look, which had so formidably alarmed the
fears of Miss Wycherly.
His Grace politely acknowledged his intimate acquaintance with her
family, and his pleasure at being able to renew it with a daughter of
Sir John Wetheral upon the distant Lochleven. He had no remembrance of
Miss Wetheral, but young people sprung up around him into life. His
Grace had heard of a beauteous scion, unseen at Wetheral Castle, but
it was reserved to him to meet her for the first time, on poetical
and historical ground--on the very spot where the beautiful Mary of
Scotland landed in misfortune, a captive beauty, such as the vision
which now met his eye.
"Well done, papa!" cried Lady Anna, "your imagination is awakened by
this scene, and Miss Wetheral has fortunately appeared to keep up the
illusion. Miss Wetheral, you should reply in character, and papa will
be charmed."
"If Miss Wetheral will personate the afflicted queen," said Lord
Farnborough, "I must beg to enact the faithful Douglas, and aid her
escape."
"Very good, let it be so," replied his Grace of Forfar: "this is the
very spot to renew our recollections. Who will be the warder, Lady
Douglas?"
"If I can in any way represent the character, I shall be happy to look
the grim gaoler," answered Lady Anna Herbert.
Christobelle stood confused and blushing, amid the group of strangers
who gathered round her. Among the gaily-apparelled females, she alone
appeared rudely clad in the costume of the country; she alone wore the
plaid and bonnet which decorated the humble inhabitants of Kinross, and
the hamlets around Lochleven. She felt for the moment distressed at her
appearance, so distinct from the party with whom she was destined to
mix. Her confusion was apparent to the polite Miss Ponsonby. She took
her hand.
"Miss Wetheral is all good-nature to obey my bidding, and we are happy
in having _one_ of our number, at least, attired in proper costume.
Lady Anna, how came we to plan our day's amusement, and yet forget the
most material subject of dress?"
"You have ruined the effect of our _tout-ensemble_ by your sudden
appearance, Miss Wetheral," observed Lord Farnborough; "we thought
ourselves unique, and you only exhibit our deficiencies. You are often
here, I presume."
"It has been a favourite spot of mine these four years," replied
Christobelle, slightly confused.
"You are then the genius of the place, Miss Wetheral. Will you point
out to me the favourite haunts of your long seclusion, and do the
honours of Lochleven to a stranger?"
Christobelle was very willing to be the stranger's guide; and she found
herself shortly after her arrival in "the Douglas Isle," seated between
Miss Ponsonby and Lord Farnborough, pointing out the beauties of the
lake scenery. Miss Ponsonby smiled at her enthusiastic descriptions.
"After this specimen of your powers, Miss Wetheral, do not hope to
escape me in future. You would have graced our quiet bivouac at
Ballahuish. No one spoke a word, or commented upon the luxuriant lake,
there. No one possessed your happy taste for the romantic; or they kept
it all to themselves at Ballahuish. To be sure, Lord Farnborough was
not with us."
"Are you so fond of scenery, my lord?" asked Christobelle, turning
towards her other companion.
"Yes, his lordship is a poet and a painter," replied Miss Ponsonby; "he
must, therefore, necessarily love the stupendous and the beautiful,
such as now lies before us. His lordship muses at the view of Ossian's
'Cona,' and writes verses upon Ballahuish ferry."
"Miss Ponsonby is pleased to be merry at my expense," said Lord
Farnborough; "nevertheless, I worship Nature's beautiful productions."
"Then you must visit the falls of Kinlochmore, my lord; and if you are
poetical, muse over those mountain-tops, and visit the little ruin of
St. Mungo's Isle, to hear the breeze murmur of the clans of Glencoe and
Lochaber."
"Will you, the presiding spirit, attend me there?" asked Lord
Farnborough.
"We will _all_ attend you," cried Miss Ponsonby. "The more spirits the
better, my lord, upon such a mission. Miss Wetheral, you will promise
to attend my summons to St. Mungo's Isle."
"If I can quit Fairlee for a whole day, I shall be happy to attend you."
"But mind, Miss Wetheral, I insist upon your costume; you look now like
the ghost of Scotland flitting among the barbarians who have ravaged
her soil, and changed her customs."
Christobelle continued some time in the island with Miss Ponsonby
and Lord Farnborough, as the party formed in little groups under the
trees, to gaze upon the calm lake and its beautiful shores, and they
wandered round the tower and its precincts, which once held a queen of
Scotland in durance. Christobelle thought Lord Farnborough spoke with
feeling upon the events of Lochleven Castle; and she contemplated his
intelligent countenance with an interest remote from the fear which
took possession of her mind, when her lady mother first urged her
intention that she should marry Lord Selgrave.
They were soon deeply engaged in Scottish history, following the
current of events which closed the reign and life of Mary; and though
Miss Ponsonby contended that her existence proved a course of wicked
efforts to gain the English crown, and raise rebellion in her cousin's
dominions, Christobelle defended the beautiful captive, with all the
rhetoric of youthful enthusiasm. It was, however, time to return to
Fairlee, and Christobelle could no longer linger with her friends in
the Douglas Isle. General Ponsonby and Lord Farnborough gallantly
escorted her into the little vessel which had awaited her commands,
and where Janet still sat in expectation of her return. Mr. Ponsonby
returned to the company with his father, as the boatmen pushed from the
shore, but Lord Farnborough bounded into the vessel, and took his seat
by the side of Christobelle, ere it drove from its mooring. He meant,
he said, to see her land safely on the grounds of Fairlee, and it was
useless to deny him the pleasure, or, he might say, the propriety of
accompanying her across the lake.
The vessel at that moment left the shore, and the little horn
band almost instantly played with great taste, "My heart's in the
Highlands." Christobelle turned her head towards the shore, and gazed
upon the gay groups preparing for an early meal. Their forms gradually
receded from view, and were lost in the distance; but the music
continued its dying strains, and fell fainter and fainter upon the
breeze. The silence was unbroken for some time, as they crossed the
slumbering lake; but Lord Farnborough, at last, broke the stillness of
the scene by asking Christobelle if she amused herself in sketching the
lovely views on either side Lochleven. From this question, answered
in the affirmative, they entered upon the subject of painting, which
gradually led to its sister art--poetry; and Christobelle was delighted
to know that when they visited St. Mungo's Isle, she would judge of
his progress in both departments. They were both to go provided with
drawing materials; and, if Christobelle insisted upon it, his lordship
would submit a few poetic inspirations to her "better judgment," upon a
rock overhanging the lake, even before the party took place.
It was not to be supposed that their acquaintance would end here, after
the pleasures of the morning. His lordship entreated permission to wait
upon Miss Wetheral at Fairlee, and he hoped to renew the happiness of
the last two hours in many agreeable walks and drives in the splendid
scenes of Lochleven. Christobelle trusted Lord Farnborough's polite
wishes might indeed be fulfilled; she was quite willing to be pleased
by the society of a pleasant young man, whose conversation was so
entertaining, and who appeared to be so gifted in the arts of music,
painting, and poetry--arts so admired and valued by her taste. She told
his lordship she was sure her mother would receive his visits with
pleasure. "But will _you_ receive them with pleasure?" he asked, as the
little vessel glided into the cove from which it embarked; "will _you_,
Miss Wetheral, admit my visits with pleasure, and allow me sometimes to
join you in your walks and musings?"
How could Christobelle object? yet she made no reply, or even answered
his appealing look. The young lord's countenance fell.
"You will not speak to me, Miss Wetheral; you will not say I am welcome
at Fairlee sometimes."
"My mother will be glad to see you, I am sure, Lord Farnborough," she
replied, confusedly, a second time.
"My wish is to join you occasionally in your rides, Miss Wetheral, and
_you_ must assure me I shall not be considered an intruder."
Christobelle's confusion increased at this speech, and at the earnest
look which Lord Farnborough cast upon her. She could only stammer forth
an assurance that she must be very happy also to see his lordship
whenever he paid a visit to Fairlee; and that assurance gave her
companion confidence to urge the necessity of escorting her to the very
door of her home. This Christobelle declined, with a seriousness which
forbade remonstrance; she had Janet with her, and Fairlee lay too near
the lake to allow of any fears for her safety. She, therefore, took
leave of his lordship, as he assisted her to quit the little vessel
which belonged to the Cove of Fairlee, and which her father dedicated
to her exclusive use. Lord Farnborough lingered a few moments.
"Miss Wetheral, we shall meet again before the party to St. Mungo's
Isle takes place."
"When may we expect you at Fairlee, my lord?"
"To-morrow. Promise me you will not go out till I come."
"I seldom leave the grounds before two o'clock. Remember the effusions
you promised I should see."
"Will you read them, and judge a poor poet mercifully?"
"I shall say exactly what I think, my lord."
"Then I stand condemned at once."
"Perhaps not; adieu, my lord!"
"But one moment, Miss Wetheral. How anxious you are to escape!"
"I have left my mother some hours alone. I must return to her, and
account for my absence, Lord Farnborough."
"It is not anxiety then to leave me, to get rid of me, Miss Wetheral?"
"No, indeed!"
"Then farewell for many dull hours. The Douglas Isle will have no
charms for me, since the genius of Lochleven is withdrawn."
Lord Farnborough respectfully bowed, and re-entered the boat.
Christobelle went forwards with Janet, but curiosity induced her to
look back upon the lake, as they gained a rising ground about five
hundred yards from the shore. The vessel was again traversing the
water, and Lord Farnborough was watching their receding steps, as he
stood with folded arms in the stern of the mimic sloop. He waved his
handkerchief as Christobelle stood for a moment to contemplate the
scene; she waved her plaid in answer to the signal. Twice were the
signals exchanged, at separate intervals, till a grove of firs closed
the lake from her view; and then she walked on, slowly and silently to
the house.
She did not utter a word to her companion and attendant, the patient
Janet; her mind was revolving the events of the day, and it dwelt with
peculiar interest upon the unexpected appearance of Lord Farnborough
and his family, on a solitary island of Lochleven. It was most
extraordinary that her introduction to Lord Farnborough should take
place then and there--that her first interview with the Selgrave of
former days, whose very name brought tears into her eyes, should be one
of extreme interest--nay, of growing intimacy; that she was now to be
accompanied in her rides and walks by this once hated lord; and that,
without an effort on her mother's part, they had themselves agreed to
draw, to sing, to become companions together, in the wild mountains of
Scotland, when none were near to urge the introduction, or plan the
scheme of their amusements.
While her mother lay in darkness, dwelling upon the evil destiny of
Clara, ignorant even of her amusements, she had become known to the
Selgrave of her former speculation; and without her knowledge and
concurrence, his lordship was engaged to visit Fairlee! How wonderfully
did events arrange themselves without human interference, and how
foolishly did she, in younger days, reject the idea of becoming
acquainted with a young man whom she had never seen, and could not
justly deprecate! How could she ever attach a feeling of dislike to a
creature so intelligent, so agreeable, so very attentively polite! How
rash to judge of any human being, unknown and unseen!
Whatever her youthful fancy conjured up to deform the image of
"Lord Selgrave" in her mental reveries, not a feeling separate from
admiration and pleased remembrance hovered round her meditations upon
Lord Farnborough, at this period of time. Christobelle was deeply
engaged with her own thoughts when she entered the hall at Fairlee.
Silence reigned in its precincts, and she looked forward to hours of
irritable conference with her mother, ere she could press her silent
pillow, and think unrestrainedly of all that had passed. Yet, she heard
voices in the sitting-room; and, above all, she heard her mother's
voice in its long-lost tones of playfulness, addressing a stranger. She
heard two voices reply. One she recognized to be her father's beloved
tones. He was then arrived: he had fulfilled his word of promise to
be with her on her birthday at last! Christobelle entered the room in
haste, and flew into his arms.
"I thought you could not return so soon, papa; I had quite given up
the idea of seeing you till June: how good this is of you, my own dear
papa!"
"I have kept my word, Chrystal, to salute you upon your birthday. I
made great efforts to achieve the journey in time, and I have brought
another friend to congratulate you upon your looks and studies."
Christobelle turned towards the stranger, and a cry of pleasure
burst from her lips; it was Sir John Spottiswoode. The sight of her
instructor, her companion, her kindest friend, at once obliterated all
other thoughts, and she caught his offered hand with feelings of most
enviable enjoyment. She had now again a companion to ramble with, to
talk with. She would no more mourn under her mother's petulance, or
roam the borders of Lochleven unattended. Christobelle did say to him
at that joyful moment--and she said it in sincerity--"Oh! now I _shall_
be happy--now I _shall_ have you always with me again!"
Sir John Spottiswoode expressed his equal pleasure at the meeting, and
he complimented Christobelle upon her appearance of perfect health.
It was a grateful satisfaction to find she had not forgotten him. He
remembered, with interest, their former studies, and he expected to
be astonished by her rapid progress in every pursuit, during the long
interregnum of four years. Christobelle assured him of his mistake.
"I have been a wild creature for years, and, except in drawing and
music, I have not done credit to your instructions. You will be obliged
to begin my education again, Sir John."
"Bell is a dear, flighty girl," said Lady Wetheral, in affectionate
accents, which had never yet gladdened her daughter's heart at
Fairlee--"Bell is wild as the curlews upon the lake. She requires your
society to tame her flights. She has been absent now three long hours."
"I have seen extraordinary things, and extraordinary people,"
Christobelle exclaimed, as she doffed her mountain-cap, and took Sir
John Spottiswoode's offered seat.
"In that dress, my love?--surely not in that dress, Bell?"
"I have been among the high ones of the land," continued Christobelle,
in high spirits, delighted at being with her father, and near Sir John
Spottiswoode. "I have been among the gay Southrons in Douglas Isle,
and a peer of the realm has escorted me across the lake."
Lady Wetheral looked incredulous, and somewhat offended. Christobelle
was obliged to detail the events of the morning, to mitigate the
rising storm; and what a change came over her ladyship's countenance,
as her daughter mentioned the attention and intended visit of Lord
Farnborough!--joy sparkled in her eyes, and excitement drew her form to
its utmost height. She did not answer--words were too feeble to express
her deep gratification.
"What sort of a looking person is Lord Farnborough, now?" asked Sir
John Spottiswoode.
"Most intelligent, most agreeable," she replied, "but not handsome. I
do not consider him handsome."
"Are they here for any length of time?"
"I cannot tell; they attend a party to St. Mungo's Isle soon, which I
am engaged to join. But _you_ will go with me now: I shall delight in
shewing you the lions of Lochleven. Shall we take a walk after dinner?
I long to shew you the beauteous spots, where I have sat so often and
so long, thinking of England, and wishing you were here to enjoy it
with me."
"I am ready to attend you over hill and dale," replied Sir John
Spottiswoode--"over mountain, and through glen."
"That is delightful. After dinner, then, we will set forth."
Christobelle had a packet of letters to read from Shropshire, entrusted
to her father's care; and, till the dressing-bell sounded, she was
engaged in devouring their contents. All were well in England.
Isabel wrote only of her children, and she wished to exhibit them at
Fairlee, if Miss Tabitha's health would only allow the visit--but she
would neither die nor get well. Anna Maria detailed the delights of
the winter's sport in Shropshire, and triumphed in the glory of her
husband. They had thirty-seven "brushes" of the last season, which the
children played with in the hall, and Tom had been in at the death
of each. The eldest boy, Tom, could roar "Tally-ho" as loud as the
whipper-in, and the girl climbed trees like a squirrel. Mrs. Pynsent
added a short postscript of one line, "Take care of Sir Jacky, Miss
Bell."
Christobelle involuntarily raised her eyes towards Sir John
Spottiswoode, as she smiled at the concise charge. He was gazing
earnestly upon her; her eye sank under the expression of his fixed
attention, and she resumed her reading; but a deep blush painfully
suffused her cheek. She had met no closely-fixed observation till this
moment, and she knew Sir John Spottiswoode's eye was still upon her.
She did not dare meet his glance again.