"And you really have wished to lead me through these romantic scenes?"
said Sir John Spottiswoode, as Christobelle leaned upon his arm, on
the very spot where she parted with Lord Farnborough in the morning;
"you have seriously thought of your old friend during his absence, and
wished him with you?"
"Yes; every storm which disturbed the lake, and every sunny gleam which
gilded its tranquillity, made me think of you, and wish you by my side
to enjoy it."
"Perhaps I was equally anxious to find myself strolling with you on
these magnificent shores."
"You were otherwise engaged," she replied, quickly; "you had affairs to
arrange, and property to amuse and interest your thoughts; but I have
had no companion for years, to enliven my hours of solitary walks. I
thought of you, when you were too busy to consider me."
"My thoughts were not always employed in Worcestershire, Miss Wetheral;
but take me to your haunts, and let me see the views you have so long
contemplated."
Christobelle led her companion to the cliff, where she usually passed
her morning hours in alternate reading and meditation, and they seated
themselves in a natural, rocky seat, which had been worn by time into
something like a shapely kind of arbour, for the rock arched over
their heads sufficiently deep to afford shelter against heat and
showers; and under its rudely constructed roof Christobelle had passed
many hours of each successive day, when the weather permitted her to
escape from Fairlee. She pointed the attention of her friend to the
grandly-indented cliffs which guarded Lochleven--the islets which
appeared to slumber on its bosom--the plain of Kinross--its humble
abodes--its little church, and the solitary magnificence of the whole
scene. "Confess," she said, "that this is a scene worthy to compete
with the boasted views abroad. Confess that Lochleven is matchless in
its golden sunset, its bracing air, and calmly-beautiful waters. Does
not this glowing scene fill your mind with wonder and praise? does it
not give soothing thoughts of a great and wonderful Providence, who has
created such scenes for his creatures?"
Sir John Spottiswoode stood some time in contemplation, and he was
silent during his companion's enthusiastic descriptions: at last, he
turned towards her with a smile.
"I have seen many lakes--beautiful lakes, Miss Wetheral, but I cannot
say I ever looked upon their scenery with the feelings I now enjoy, in
gazing upon Lochleven."
"You will admire every bend of this graceful water," she replied,
pleased with his admiring gaze, as he fixed his eyes upon Lochleven;
"I must shew you every lovely appendage by degrees. To-morrow we will
visit the ferry of Ballahuish--no, not to-morrow...."
"And why not to-morrow?" asked Sir John Spottiswoode.
Christobelle could not tell why she coloured at the question, or why
she turned her face from the speaker towards the Douglas Isle. Sir John
Spottiswoode repeated his question.
"But why not to-morrow, Miss Wetheral? Why cannot we begin our tour
to-morrow?"
"I believe the Duke of Forfar calls at Fairlee to-morrow," she replied.
"Will that detain _you_?" said her companion, looking at her with a
smile.
"Not altogether--no. Lord Farnborough said something about coming too;
and, as he named the time, I think perhaps I ought to remain at home."
"I do not know the nature of the understanding implied by the mention
of the intended visit to you," observed Sir John Spottiswoode,
"therefore I cannot offer an opinion."
"Oh! there was nothing implied--no absolute--I made no promise of any
kind."
"You did not engage to remain at Fairlee?"
"Certainly not--no, I may say, certainly not."
"Then let us proceed on our little tour to-morrow."
Christobelle was caught in her own mesh. She had assuredly made no
engagement--no actual engagement; but there was an implied consent on
her part to Lord Farnborough's hope of finding her at home. She had
not courage to confess this to Sir John Spottiswoode--and why was she
guilty of evasion? She must now relinquish all thought of meeting Lord
Farnborough at Fairlee. Christobelle sat meditating her disappointment
for some moments.
"Miss Wetheral," said her companion, after a short silence, "did you
ever see Lord Farnborough before the meeting of this morning?"
Christobelle started at the sound of Lord Farnborough's name, but she
answered truly, "Never."
"Are you acquainted with his lordship's character?"
"No, indeed; my only knowledge of Lord Farnborough began, and may
perhaps end, in this morning's interview."
"Lord Farnborough's character at college was designated as fair and
false," observed Sir John Spottiswoode.
"Was it!"
"A fellow-collegian of his lordship's, Beverly, resides near Alverton.
He gave me the character I now describe to you."
Christobelle felt uncomfortable at Sir John Spottiswoode's information.
It is always painful to hear depreciating accounts of those we admire,
or from whom we have received kindness. She knew nothing of Lord
Farnborough--his lordship was nothing to her; but she regretted so
agreeable a person should prove otherwise than estimable. Could Mr.
Beverly's testimony be depended upon? Character should not be lightly
treated: if Lord Farnborough's character was at the mercy of Mr.
Beverly, it was but fair to ascertain Mr. Beverly's claims to belief.
Under this impression, Christobelle hastily uttered her thoughts, after
a second pause.
"Pray, Sir John, who is Mr. Beverly?"
"A neighbour in Worcestershire, and one of the best fellows in England.
Why do you ask?"
"Because I think your friend is ungenerous, in speaking harshly of Lord
Farnborough, who perhaps never offended him."
"Beverly was once deeply offended by Lord Farnborough," replied Sir
John Spottiswoode.
"Therefore, your friend is revengeful," she answered, quickly.
"Beverly has borne his injuries like a man, and like a Christian,"
returned Sir John. "All injuries should be forgiven; but some cannot be
forgotten till memory fails."
Again the little band of French horns swelled upon the still air, and
the two vessels, which had sailed to the Douglas Isle, emerged from its
deep shadow. Christobelle started up.
"They are returning to Clanmoray so late! Oh! listen to that sweet,
soft air."
The simple strain of "Farewell to Lochaber" stole softly on their
ear, and they sat silently gazing upon the little vessels, as they
neared the cliff. Suddenly the music broke off, as if an accident had
occurred; but the pause was of short duration--it was again broken by
the lively and stirring notes of "My love she's but a lassie yet." The
blood mounted to Christobelle's forehead with undisguised pleasure and
surprise. She was discovered in her retreat by the party below, and an
indescribable feeling shot across her heart, as it grasped at the idea
that Lord Farnborough had chosen the air, and that he had commanded its
execution, as the vessel passed the cliff. She leaned over the rocks,
which formed a barricade before the rural seat, and in fancy she could
distinguish the tall, slight figure of his lordship, standing in the
stern, with folded arms, as he stood when she waved her plaid in the
morning. Christobelle watched the vessel with intense attention, as it
glided on, and exclaimed, with eager satisfaction,
"I see him!--I could point him out among a hundred!"
"Whom do you see?" asked Sir John Spottiswoode, as he rose and
advanced to her side--"Whom are you noting?"
Christobelle did not immediately reply. She continued gazing upon the
lake, and several of the party were also observing them through their
telescopes from below.
"But, tell me, Miss Wetheral, whom you note among a hundred, in that
party," repeated Sir John Spottiswoode.
"He is standing with--no, he is sitting--that very large personage, the
Duke of Forfar--you know the Duke of Forfar?"
"Oh yes, I see. How gratified his Grace would be at the knowledge of
having attracted your observation! I think I see Lord Farnborough."
"Whom do you see?--I fancy I recognise Lady Anna Herbert's feather; and
there is kind Miss Ponsonby," replied Christobelle, colouring.
"Lord Farnborough is standing in the stern of the vessel, Miss
Wetheral: he is waving something--his handkerchief. Who is he waving
to?"
A little conscious feeling prevented Christobelle from returning the
salutation. She feared Sir John Spottiswoode would observe and smile
at her action. She wished he had not told her Lord Farnborough was
considered "fair and false." She had no belief in the insinuation,
but it caused a very unpleasant restraint. The vessel passed under the
jutting rocks immediately below them, and it was obscured for a time:
when it reappeared, the distance did not allow them to distinguish the
party. They heard the full notes of the French horns, however, till a
headland concealed the vessels from sight; and, ere the last faint note
died away, the sun was considerably below the horizon. Christobelle
and her companion returned to Fairlee at the moment the servants were
passing through the hall with coffee.
The evening passed in conversation upon the past and present, and Sir
John Spottiswoode's society made Christobelle speedily forget the
attentions of Lord Farnborough. The compliments of an attractive and
agreeable person, for a few hours, could not compete with the presence
of a dear friend, whose taste had led her own in many instances, and
who had devoted so much time to accomplish her talents for music and
painting. That friend had been remembered during an absence of four
years; he had been often apostrophized in solitary walks, and she had
wished in silence and sincerity to renew their pleasant intercourse.
That boon was now granted. Sir John Spottiswoode was again her
companion, and what desire of her heart remained ungratified?
Christobelle laid her head upon her pillow, that night, in peaceful
thoughts; and if Lord Farnborough occasionally flitted before her
eyes--if the air of "My love is but a lassie yet" lingered upon her
ear--yet Sir John Spottiswoode filled her mind. His dark hair, curling
in rich profusion over his brow--his manly expression--that benevolent
dark blue eye--who was equal to him in excellence?--nay, who was
superior, even in those evanescent gifts which captivate the eye of
woman? Whom did she love and venerate equal to Sir John Spottiswoode?
The following morning produced a long and perplexing conversation
between the mother and daughter, which extinguished all Christobelle's
happy feelings. No two beings could possibly be more opposed in
feeling, in sentiment, and in action; and never yet did a colloquy
take place, without heart-burning arising on one side, and distressed
feelings on the other part, to sever the ties between parent and child.
In this morning's conference their opinions jarred more painfully
than ever; for they were now in actual collision upon points which
must materially affect Christobelle's happiness, and her future
respectability of conduct. It took place after breakfast, while the
gentlemen were perambulating the terrace, and ordering the horses
for an intended ride. Lady Wetheral commenced her attack with that
flattering address which gains so much influence over poor human nature.
"My dear Bell, the arrival of your old friend has produced wonderful
effects. I am gratified at seeing your eyes sparkle, and your
expression of countenance become animated. I may confess I am pleased
at beholding my quiet daughter transformed into a beauty, by the mere
play of pretty coquetry which Sir John Spottiswoode's arrival has
called forth."
"I detest coquettes and coquetry," answered Christobelle, seriously,
though she was not insensible to the agreeable intimation of her
suddenly acquired beauty.
"Nonsense, Bell; it is a woman's most potent argument--it is her most
powerful weapon--it is her most precious gift--because it is her
greatest attraction: do not undervalue it."
"I have not been many hours in Sir John Spottiswoode's company, mamma.
If I felt inclined to coquet, I have had no opportunity."
"A mother's eyes are open, when the daughter's eyes are closed,"
replied Lady Wetheral, with her most winning smile. "I dare say
you were not aware how prettily your eyes sought, and fell beneath
Sir John's glances, last night, and at this morning's breakfast. I
congratulate you, Bell, upon a gift which will create more decided
effects from your ignorance of possessing it. But I wish to call your
attention to my anxious wishes--I wish you to attend to my counsel, and
I wish you to act by my advice."
"What is your counsel, mamma?"
"I have never yet failed in establishing my daughters," her ladyship
continued, "because they acted upon my advice, without arguing its
propriety. Julia and Clara acted solely by my wishes, and they won
their high establishment."
"Poor Clara!" exclaimed Christobelle, involuntarily.
"It is useless to pity those who would not conform to the proprieties
of life," replied Lady Wetheral. "I gave Clara to Sir Foster, with long
and serious entreaties to avoid all public scenes and altercations with
her husband. I never countenanced opposition in a wife. I implored
Clara to be obedient in appearance--so much can be done by prudent
management! I never contradicted her father in my life. I effected
all my plans without a single quarrel. There is no occasion to quarrel
in matrimony. A woman's influence is and must be felt; but it ends the
instant you appear to contend. Clara was ungrateful to reproach me as
the cause--the idea always makes me nervous."
Her ladyship applied lavender-water to her forehead and handkerchief,
and then proceeded.
"Sir John Spottiswoode will propose to you before he quits Fairlee, but
I should wish"--
"Sir John Spottiswoode propose to _me_!" exclaimed Christobelle, in the
utmost astonishment.
"All that surprise is foolish, Bell. You are now old enough to command
those starts and blushes which look so very fresh, so very girlish.
I am certain Sir John Spottiswoode will propose, and it rests with
yourself to attract Lord Farnborough."
The blood rushed with impetuous pulsation into the face of
Christobelle, and it overspread her forehead, neck, and even her hands:
if Lady Wetheral observed the suffusion her words had produced, she
affected not to perceive it.
"I should advise you to be very cautious in your conduct to both
gentlemen, my dear Bell. Do not be seen too exclusively with Sir John
Spottiswoode, to attract attention; and yet, do not check hope on his
part. If Lord Farnborough quits Clanmoray without intending any thing,
or merely flirts with you, then, let Sir John propose. Alverton is an
excellent _au pis aller_, but I would rather my dear Bell could be
saluted Duchess of Forfar."
It was some moments before Christobelle could rally her thoughts
and spirits, after the mention of Lord Farnborough, in the light of
a future suitor. For one instant, only, the idea of his lordship's
affection shot a gleam of ambition into her mind, but the paltry
feeling was soon extinguished for ever, and her heart flew back to the
remembered excellence of her former instructor and friend. Her mother
watched the workings of her spirit.
"If Lord Farnborough calls to-day, my love, I shall invite him to
dinner."
"His lordship is a guest at Clanmoray," observed Christobelle, hastily.
"He will be a guest at Fairlee soon," answered my mother, gaily. "I
could fancy myself quite well again, my dear child; quite alert, as I
used to be; your little '_minauderies_' will raise me into new life and
spirits. I am sure Lord Farnborough is handsome and of high bearing. I
am sure he is clever and agreeable; your little coquetries will divert
me into health again."
"But, mamma--"
"No 'ifs' and 'buts,' my dear Bell. I have every dependence upon your
attractions. Sir John Spottiswoode is astonished at your improved
appearance."
"Listen to me, if you please, mamma. I am no coquette; and I would
rather die than be considered a character so repugnant to all that is
holy and upright."
"My dear girl, forbear sentiment. A little sentiment, if you please, to
Lord Farnborough, but not to me."
"I have no wish to marry, mamma," pleaded Christobelle, with earnest
seriousness. "I have no wish to leave papa, and--I have no wish
to marry Sir John Spottiswoode, and I cannot try to attract any
body. Pray, do not advise me to avoid Sir John, or to think of any
establishment. Don't let me endure the fate of Clara, or Julia's long
banishment."
Lady Wetheral's hands began to tremble, and her features became
agitated as she spoke.
"I am well used to disobedience, and this only adds to my accumulation
of vexations. Every thing has conspired to make me miserable, and I
have one child left to reproach me with bitterness. How could I expect
obedience from a headstrong girl, whose masculine education defies
restraint!"
"Indeed, mamma, I am anxious to do right. Indeed, my wish is to please
every one; but I cannot think it right to treat Sir John Spottiswoode
ill."
"Who enjoins you to do so?" said her ladyship, in a querulous tone.
"I cannot--indeed, I cannot trifle with two gentlemen, till I ascertain
the intentions of one of them. Do not ask me to do so, I beseech you,
for it goes against every feeling of my heart." Christobelle burst into
tears.
"I detest such stupid folly! Pray, don't imagine that your frowns will
destroy the peace of either gentlemen. Men do not now suffer more than
an hour's annoyance; a new flame soon lights the expiring embers of an
old _penchant_."
"I am very glad to hear it, mamma."
"I only counsel you to mete out your attentions to each gentleman
alike, Bell, and to distinguish neither at present. I imagine nothing
unholy in a line of conduct which preserves a proper and just decorum
in your manners."
"I will do any thing you please, mamma; only do not ask me to trifle
with Sir John Spottiswoode."
"You will do every thing which pleases yourself, and nothing which
pleases me. I perfectly understand your meaning; but allow me also to
observe, that I will hold no intercourse with a daughter who presumes
to lecture her parent. I will have no communication with a young woman
who insolently defies her mother, and insists upon acting according to
her own weak judgment."
"Do not suppose me defying you, mamma. There is nothing I would not do
to give you pleasure--nothing I would not do to increase your comforts;
only I beseech you not to compel me into a conduct my heart disowns as
ungenerous and wicked."
"Of course, a parent is wrong--of course, a mother is not a proper
judge, compared with a child's greater wisdom, in any affair connected
with that child's welfare. I am aware of your high opinion of yourself.
I have long known your freedom, from every proper feeling which
softens and decorates a woman's mind. Remain single, Bell, and be the
prototype of your great aunt, Miss Christobelle Wetheral; sink like
her into insignificant old maidism. But don't let my eyes contemplate
you, an excrescence in your family--an incubus upon its glory. All my
daughters have married splendidly, and I cannot be encumbered by a
stupid daughter, who throws every advantage from her, and considers an
admirer an unholy appendage."
Tears flowed silently down her daughter's cheeks. Christobelle could
hold no dialogue with a mother, whose ironical manner and determinedly
opposed views distressed her, and darkened the prospect of her life.
Her silence became a matter of offence.
"If weeping is to accompany your talent for continual and insolent
opposition, Miss Wetheral, I will request you to leave me: my own
nerves are sufficiently shattered."
Christobelle rose, and quitted the room; Sir John Spottiswoode
came towards her from the hall, as she closed the door of the
breakfast-room. He did not notice her emotion; he did not even speak,
but he gently drew her arm within his own, and led her upon the terrace
which commanded the view of the lake. They took one turn in silence,
and then Sir John Spottiswoode spoke of his admiration of Lochleven,
and gradually drew Christobelle into cheerful conversation. He asked
her opinion concerning the morning's plan of amusement. "If she did not
prefer riding, he should feel inclined to consider the day just the
very thing for a water excursion." Christobelle was very willing to
resign herself into Sir John's hands. The conversation of the morning
had damped the glow of pleasure, and given a melancholy tinge to her
thoughts, which could not be immediately shaken off. She therefore
answered slowly--"Yes, any thing; let us go upon the water, if you wish
it."
Sir John Spottiswoode pressed her arm to his side so slightly, that she
could scarcely write it down a pressure, as he replied:
"I will have nothing done without your full concurrence. If you do not
feel inclined to go on the water, let the original plan be adopted."
"I believe my tones are rather dismal this morning," she replied, with
more cheerfulness; "but I quite approve of your idea. We will certainly
row to the Douglas Isle."
Sir John Wetheral accompanied them in their little excursion; and as
they glided towards the Isle, the fresh air, the light dip of the oars,
and the conversation of her two companions, restored Christobelle's
spirit to its usual buoyancy. Sir John Spottiswoode watched the ebb
and flow of her countenance, and bent towards her. "This is perfect
enchantment. Tell me now why you were so melancholy."
Christobelle shook her head smilingly. "Do not put me in mind of it,
but sing me a Swiss air; that air I loved to hear at Wetheral."
"You have remembered it, even among these distant scenes?"
"It has never faded from my recollection. On the contrary, these rocks
and mountains brought it still more freshly to memory."
Sir John Spottiswoode instantly sang the Swiss air with spirit, and
his voice sounded melodiously on the water, which lay so calmly,
so beautifully still: not a breath of air curled a ripple upon its
surface. Again and again the song recommenced, and all Christobelle's
troubles were forgotten in the delicious harmony. She did not know
she sat gazing upon the singer, till Sir John Spottiswoode suddenly
paused, and their eyes met: Christobelle was not aware her attention
was so exclusively bestowed upon him, till the expression of his glance
recalled her thoughts. She turned from him in confusion, and fixed
her contemplation upon the mountains which rose gradually above each
other, till their heads were lost in clouds. She looked no more towards
Sir John Spottiswoode.
The little party sat conversing some hours on a small pile of stones
raised under a tree, which, in former days, constituted the _plaisance_
of Lochleven Castle. This spot commanded the rich plain of Kinross, the
rocky hills which swelled on either side, and the houses which dotted
the plain, and gleamed in the sunshine. They thought of the sufferings
of Mary, when she inhabited the now-ruined building under which they
reposed, not as a restless Queen of Scots, but as a captive woman,
banished to an isle where her eye could only rest upon rocks and water,
far from her home and friends.
Sir John Spottiswoode also told of foreign scenes, and compared the
beauties of Lochleven with the gigantic lakes of the south. They could
not bear comparison; yet Lochleven possessed, in its diminutiveness,
every requisite for poetic beauty. It was Lochleven; and Lochleven
contained a succession of captivating scenery, delighting to the eye
and mind. Many might prefer the imposing immensity of Geneva, of
Constance, or of Zurich; but all must admire Lochleven. He did not see
the chamois bounding from cliff to cliff; but the mind loved to repose
on the bold yet tranquil scene which he contemplated. He did not dread
the avalanche; but the softer landscape pleased an eye, sated with
precipices, glaziers, torrents, and cataracts. It was delightful to sit
by the side of friends, in the midst of scenery so beautiful, and yet
be able to say, "It is in our own land."
Christobelle listened, and forgot Lord Farnborough. Far more attractive
to her mind was the manly conversation of Sir John Spottiswoode,
than the empty compliments of a new acquaintance. How could she, for
an instant, feel disappointment at the thought of being absent from
Fairlee when his lordship called?
Their return to the mainland was late; it was later still when they
reached Fairlee. They had lingered by the way, and every turn presented
new objects to admire, and fresh subjects for discussion. The half-hour
bell was pealing its tones, and the echo reverberated from rock to
rock, as they gained the terrace. This incident produced another
pause: Sir John described the effect of the echo among the mountains
of Switzerland, and the wild cry of the Switzers. Christobelle had
scarcely time to hurry into her room, and change her dress, before
they were summoned into the dining-room. Lady Wetheral did not address
her daughter during dinner. She directed her discourse exclusively to
her husband, when any subject was intended particularly to attract
Christobelle's attention; otherwise, her manners were captivating as
ever, when she played the hospitable and agreeable hostess, at the head
of her table.
"My dear John, the Duke of Forfar called this morning." Christobelle's
colour rose, and her quick eye detected the little emotion. "I was
gratified by the call: his Grace looked remarkably well, and Lady Anna
Herbert as sprightly as usual. Four years have rolled by, and left
their 'flowing hair' unthinned. Lady Anna looks quite as youthful as
she did when a '_belle confessed_,' at your mother's balls, Sir John
Spottiswoode."
"She was a very fine girl, and an excellent flirt," remarked Sir John.
"Charles and Lady Anna were great friends some years ago."
"I was very much pleased with Lord Farnborough," continued Lady
Wetheral, addressing her husband, and passing her eyes slightly over
Christobelle. "Lord Farnborough accompanied his party, and I have not
seen such a finished gentleman many years."
Sir John Spottiswoode made no remark; and Christobelle was silent. Sir
John Wetheral asked if the great boy had grown into a fine-looking
youth?
"I set Lord Farnborough down as decidedly handsome at the first glance,
my love; but I forgot his beauty in his very finished manners."
Sir John made no further remark, and there was a short pause, till Lady
Wetheral resumed--
"Lord Farnborough spoke with polite pleasure of his introduction to
my daughter yesterday; and he brought a note from Miss Ponsonby,
requesting us to join a party next Tuesday to St. Mungo's Isle. You
were included, Sir John, when our friends learned you were at Fairlee."
Sir John Spottiswoode bowed.
"It is to be an early party, and there were sundry messages delivered
which my poor head could not contain; but Lord Farnborough will call
again with more ample instructions. I told him it was cruel to load my
memory with such matter."
"Do the Forfar party continue long at Clanmoray," said Sir John
Spottiswoode, some moments after the subject had dropped.
"I believe so," was Lady Wetheral's reply; "indeed, Lord Farnborough
mentioned his own protracted stay, when the rest left for Farnborough
Stacy. I forget when _they_ depart."
"Perhaps there is attractive metal in Miss Fanny Ponsonby," observed
Sir John Wetheral.
"There is attraction somewhere," replied his lady, "for there was a
lover's touch in his description of Lochleven, and in his anxiety for
the party to St. Mungo's Isle."
"Allow me the pleasure of taking wine with you, Miss Wetheral," said
Sir John Spottiswoode, bending forward. The subject again dropped.
The half hour's interregnum after dinner, was passed in lectures on
Lady Wetheral's part. The ladies had scarcely entered the drawing-room,
when Christobelle's attention was again required upon the subject so
painfully argued in the morning.
"I wish to try your narrow capacity once more, Bell, and to ascertain
whether you really possess one spark of that wholesome ambition which
dignifies a woman of birth."
"Indeed, mamma, I hope so. I would not for worlds stoop to commit a
mean action, or indulge a mean thought. My very greatest ambition is to
act like a lady, and, by so doing, meet every one's respect."
"That is all very well, Bell, but that is not exactly my meaning. To
be respectable, you must soar. It is vain to content one's-self with
grovelling just above the heads of the canaille. The proper ambition is
to grasp at high things, and possess them."
"I have no wish for high things, mamma."
"Because your nature is common-place, Bell, because your mind is low
set. However you may pique yourself upon your accomplished education,
that very education has crippled my hopes, and your own prospects. You
will live and die, satisfied with mediocrity."
"But, mamma, what do you mean, and what am I to do to give you
satisfaction? I cannot understand you."
"I will explain myself, Bell. Are you a girl of such a mean spirit,
as to accept a baronet, when a duke's son enters the list of suitors?
Answer me--are you so mean-spirited, so mediocre in your wishes, as to
content yourself with a man who cannot raise you above your fellows?"
"Certainly not, mamma, if I did not love him."
"Love him! Could you love a man--would you dare to plead attachment
to a man, as an excuse for lowering yourself in marriage below your
sisters' fortunes? Would _you_ meanly creep, while _their_ flight has
carried them to this world's pinnacle? I hope, I trust, you would not
do so, Bell!"
"Whom can you allude to?" exclaimed Christobelle, distressed beyond
measure at her mother's words; "tell me at once, I beseech you, what
you mean. Do not speak to me in parables."
Lady Wetheral became extremely agitated. She walked to the window,
threw open the sash, and closed it again, as she spoke.
"I have said enough to waken your understanding. Any one might
comprehend my meaning--any one would know I detested the idea of your
marrying Sir John Spottiswoode."
Christobelle looked up in her mother's face with astonishment. She
continued with increased nervousness.
"You cannot deceive _me_, Bell. You cannot deny your predilection for
that man, which will at once decide the intentions, and end all hopes
of Lord Farnborough. You are determined to pursue your will, and I will
act upon my own resolution. The very hour in which you accept Sir John
Spottiswoode, shall be the last of your residence with me."
"Good heavens, mamma, I have not a thought of Sir John Spottiswoode, or
Sir John Spottiswoode of me! What can have caused such a supposition in
your mind?"
"You do not care for him--you _will_ not care for him--is that your
meaning, Bell?"
"I do not care for any one, half so much as for my own papa, and I hope
I shall always prefer him," she exclaimed, energetically.
"Folly, and nonsense!--girl's folly," resumed Lady Wetheral, "by your
blushes I might have given you credit for ambition; but your walks and
sailing with Sir John Spottiswoode, inclines me to fear you will give
yourself to a poor baronet."
"I did not know he was poor, mamma."
"Comparatively speaking with Sir Foster Kerrison, he _is_ poor. What
is a paltry income of three thousand pounds, compared with the wealthy
dukedom of Forfar?"
"Am I to marry the Duke of Forfar?" exclaimed Christobelle, starting
from her chair in horror.
"Not the present duke, Bell, though he is a remarkably fine man, and
not more than sixty years of age. Many young ladies might approve the
Duke of Forfar; but I allude to his very handsome, very accomplished
mannered son."
Christobelle could have listened to her mother's eulogium with infinite
pleasure at an earlier period, and before she had deprecated Sir John
Spottiswoode. But her soul rose against persecution. She could not
endure to hear her friend lowered, or to be at once commanded not to
like a man whom she loved in innocence, and without a thought of future
connexion. From that moment, Sir John Spottiswoode became a martyr in
her eyes, and Lord Farnborough sank into a secondary personage. Lady
Wetheral awaited her daughter's reply some moments, but her mind was
too busily employed deciding her feelings.
"You are very thoughtful, Bell. Think well upon my words, and act with
becoming spirit."
"I have thought, and I have decided," replied Christobelle, firmly.
"But do not look so ashy pale, my dear Bell; these little struggles
are trifles, compared with a long existence of nonentity. I gave up a
very powerful attachment, to please my wise and reflecting mother. I
relinquished Captain Blennerhasset for your father, and I found her
remarks perfectly just, by the course of events. She implored me to
forbear marrying an Irish officer, with little more than his pay, when
a prospect arose before me of becoming mistress of Wetheral Castle.
She assured my romantic fancy, that Love could not survive the attacks
of poverty, and she warned me to avoid the miseries of following my
husband into disagreeable quarters, where I must sink into a captain's
lady, a title of far less importance than the general's mistress. I
followed my dear mother's prudent advice, and broke off my engagement
with Blennerhasset."
Christobelle was interested in the fate of her mother's unfortunate
lover, and she asked what had become of Captain Blennerhasset?
"He married somebody of distinction," she replied, "and fell at
Badajos. His widow and four children are now living upon the bounty
of their friends. My mother's counsel was wise, and I was fortunately
prevailed upon to act with propriety."
"Poor Captain Blennerhasset!"
"Poverty is always pitiable," resumed Lady Wetheral. "I consider
people equally poor, whose income will not allow them to compete with
their neighbours. I should say poor Lady Spottiswoode, if you were the
wife of our excellent guest,..."
"Alverton is a handsome estate," remarked Christobelle.
"Very well for a nobody," replied Lady Wetheral, haughtily, "but a
wretched pittance for a Miss Wetheral, who has attracted the notice of
Lord Farnborough. I saw his watchful looks towards the door, Bell. I
marked his lordship's glances towards the lake, when he heard of your
visit to the island; every thing is in your power, if you will but
listen to your mother's counsel."
"Do not talk to me of marriage, mamma, I implore you," cried
Christobelle, as the gentlemen entered from the dining-room. Sir John
Spottiswoode took his seat near her as usual; she thought he looked
more benevolent, more interesting than ever. Matrimony never coupled
itself with her admiration of Sir John, but to be commanded to approve
him less than Lord Farnborough--to consider _him_ poor and undesirable,
who had improved her better tastes, and increased her store of good!
No, that should never be. Christobelle was too young to wish to marry,
too happy and free to think of fetters: but her right hand would forget
its cunning, ere she ceased to esteem Sir John Spottiswoode beyond
every human being.
"Shall we walk this evening?" he asked, as thoughts passed too rapidly
through her mind to allow of speech. Christobelle coloured, and turned
mechanically towards her mother. Lady Wetheral saw her emotion.
"My dear child looks fatigued, Sir John. Shall we advise her to be
quiet this evening? A long morning upon the water has lessened her
bloom."
"One little turn upon the terrace only, Miss Wetheral." Sir John
offered his arm.
"My dear Bell, even the terrace will fatigue you," observed her
ladyship, with anxiety.
"One turn to watch that sunset, Lady Wetheral! I will bring Miss
Wetheral back before fatigue attacks her."
"My dear Bell!..."
"I will not detain her many minutes--_one_ turn, my pupil."
Christobelle could not resist that title. She rose, and accompanied
Sir John Spottiswoode upon the terrace. One turn was taken, and they
paused to watch the golden beams sink behind the mountains. Another and
another was agreed upon, just to watch the pale gleams departing. Was
it, indeed, her mother's prohibition which gave so much interest to her
companion's remarks? Was it her prohibition which threw a charm over
his conversation, and caused Christobelle to linger in his society? She
knew not--but it was dark when they returned into the drawing-room, and
the coffee had been forgotten. Lady Wetheral's eyes turned upon her
daughter with an offended expression, but Christobelle forgot their
glance in pleasing retrospections that night. Christobelle dreamed of
Sir John Spottiswoode, and their early first days of acquaintance, when
Lady Wetheral approved and sought his intimacy, and she had enjoyed it
undisturbed, without a reference to Lord Farnborough.