"Miss Wetheral," said Captain Ponsonby, "when I quitted Clanmoray, six
years ago, I never dreamed of a fair neighbour at Fairlee."
"Six years ago I was nursing a doll, Captain Ponsonby."
"Even so. You tease your dolls in youth, and tease our hearts in age.
Like a falling star, you have shot from your sphere, upon the banks of
this lake, and where shall you make your rest?"
"You have been some time in Ireland, Captain Ponsonby, and have caught
the true hyperbole."
"I had no practice there, Miss Wetheral. If I told a lady she was
charming, it was 'ah now, you're joking'--and if I advanced with
classical allusions, or sparkling metaphor, it was 'ah now, Captain
Ponsonby, you're so droll!'"
"The Irish ladies possibly guessed your character, Captain Ponsonby, as
it appears to have been a general answer. They knew you were either in
jest, or sarcastic."
"Upon my honour, you are wrong. I am sincere in word and deed. I am
neither fair nor false, the motto of some of my neighbours. Don't look
this way, Farnborough."
"Miss Wetheral," said his lordship, "do not believe half you hear from
Ponsonby's lips."
"It hit my lord hard, you perceive, Miss Wetheral."
"My friend Ponsonby is a rover--sans eyes, sans heart, sans every
thing, Miss Wetheral."
"Excellent--ha, ha!" laughed Captain Ponsonby. "I can disprove the
charge, Miss Wetheral. I was in love three whole days, once, at
Castlebar."
"And why so speedy a cure?" Christobelle demanded.
"The lady kept silence three days," he replied, "but, on the fourth
morning, the charm dissolved, for she spoke."
"What could she have spoken, to break a spell so powerful, Captain
Ponsonby?"
"I met the lady in a pouring rain, and, though I had not been
introduced to her, we had met often, and were acquainted by name and
sight. I offered her my escort and my umbrella. 'Ah, now, Captain
Ponsonby, there's rason in what you say, and I'll be obleeged to
you'--was her good-humoured reply. I could bear the brogue tolerably,
Miss Wetheral, for six months' residence had enured me to its twang;
but I could not away with the perfect nonchalance with which she
exhibited a pair of enormous ancles, and appealed to me upon their use.
'Ah now, Captain Ponsonby, if I've got no understanding above, there's
plenty below, and I'll be charged for two pair of legs through the
penny turnpikes.' Farewell the glowing complexion and bright eyes of my
love!--I never more gazed upon Miss M'Nab."
"Was that your _only_ enlargement of heart, Captain Ponsonby?"
"Some few relapses there might have been, but none of any
consideration. Miss M'Nab was the most serious love."
"You are difficult to please."
"No, I think not; but I desire to find a sufficiently lovely woman,
with sweetness of temper, and delicacy of manners, to love with
constancy. If I ever love sincerely, it will be my life-strings--the
very breath of my life."
"Then be very cautious, Captain Ponsonby," said Christobelle, with
a feeling of painful interest. She felt how sorrowful were the
disappointments of friendship. What would the pangs of unrequited
affection be?
"Will you be my guardian angel, and watch over me, Miss Wetheral?"
"I cannot undertake such a momentous charge," she replied. Lord
Farnborough watched the conversation in gloomy silence, and conversed
no more with Miss Quintin. Lady Wetheral was gratified by the
expression of jealousy which darkened his lordship's fine face, for,
during the little bustle of debarkation, she smiled, and hastily
whispered--"Christobelle, very well managed, my love; a little jealousy
is useful, but beware of giving _offence_."
"Mamma, you are quite mistaken, indeed you are."
"Nonsense, Bell; I am keenly watching and deciding." Lord Farnborough
offered his hand to assist her transit at that moment, and the subject
was of course dropped. Captain Ponsonby offered his hand to Miss
Wetheral, and they followed in succession: he placed her arm within his
own, as they touched the shore of the little island. "Mind, you belong
to me, Miss Wetheral; I shall not relinquish you now."
Lord Farnborough consigned Lady Wetheral to his father's care, and
immediately returned. His lordship appeared offended at the disposition
of things.
"Miss Wetheral, I am deputed by Lady Wetheral to bring you to her:
allow me--" Lord Farnborough put forth his arm. Captain Ponsonby
interfered.
"No one takes my guardian angel from me. I will take charge of Miss
Wetheral with equal care. Miss Wetheral is mine."
"My claim began earlier, Ponsonby," remarked his lordship, with a look
of fierceness.
"I will fight for every inch of mine. My good fellow, the Quintins are
unattended."
"My delegated place is by the side of Miss Wetheral." Lord Farnborough
threw a look of defiance at her companion, which terrified
Christobelle. "Oh, pray take me to my father, Captain Ponsonby," she
cried; "pray let me walk with my father."
"You shall be obeyed." Captain Ponsonby drew her among the group, who
were deciding the plan of refreshment, or arranging their dress, and
gave her into her father's care; but Christobelle still dreaded the
looks of Lord Farnborough. She did not withdraw her arm from Captain
Ponsonby's support: he smiled.
"You _are_ my guardian angel, after all. I see your fears, and, while
they operate to my advantage, I hope they will continue. How delightful
it is to be the object of a woman's tender care! every thing is so
kindly and silently done."
"I do not like Lord Farnborough's looks, Captain Ponsonby."
"Nor I, at all. I am very much alarmed, and I beg you will keep near
me." Christobelle laughed.
"What are you laughing at?"
Lady Wetheral approached, leaning on the arm of his Grace; and Lord
Farnborough also came up. Captain Ponsonby affected to tremble, and
assured Christobelle, if she quitted his protection, he should be a
lifeless corpse. He could not bear the lightning of Lord Farnborough's
eye, or the thunder of his angry voice, at being deprived of his prey.
He thought they had better contemplate the ruins of the little chapel,
while the party were quarrelling about the dinner-tables. Sir John
Wetheral was willing to move, and Christobelle also was anxious to
leave the spot where Sir John Spottiswoode stood pertinaciously by the
side of Fanny Ponsonby. Sickness of heart came over her, and she turned
from the scene.
Lochleven crowded all its beauties into the panorama viewed from St.
Mungo's Isle, but Christobelle gazed upon them with vacancy: her eye
could not distinguish, and her mind would not relish them. She sat upon
a low, ruined wall, in utter listlessness; and, in silence, listened
to Captain Ponsonby's statement of the scenes which had taken place on
the spot where they rested, when it had been the sepulchre of the clans
of Glencoe and Lochaber. Christobelle's adoration of ancient legends
was sunk in apathy. She dared not turn her head, lest the fearful forms
of Fanny Ponsonby and her companion should startle her sight. She
gazed on the heights, without perceiving their beautiful outline. She
listened to Captain Ponsonby, without the power of retaining his words.
A summons to the rural dinner alone roused her spirits and energy.
"Bell, my love, I have preserved a seat for you, near _me_," said Lady
Wetheral, holding out her hand--"Come to me, my love; you have played
truant."
Captain Ponsonby seated Christobelle, and prepared to take possession
of an empty chair on her left hand, but Lady Wetheral smilingly
interfered--
"My dear Captain Ponsonby, I believe your seat belongs to another, but
probably we can make room for you. Ah! the benches interfere so; but
where will you find a seat? Spottiswoode, is there not a vacant seat
near you?"
"Do not disturb yourself, Lady Wetheral. I am perfectly satisfied with
my present quarters; and when a turn out is beaten, I shall take a
sentinel's place."
Captain Ponsonby accordingly seated himself, and devoted his time and
attention to the wants of Christobelle, till Lord Farnborough joined
them, with a cold fowl upon his silver fork.
"I have been my rounds for a supply, and can only gain one recruit,
Lady Wetheral, a fowl screened from observation by a bed of parsley.
Ponsonby, you'll excuse my resumption of a seat which is mine by right
of conquest."
"I only held it in fear and trembling, Farnborough. I relinquish my
seat with regret; but if I must, I must. Miss Wetheral, pity my sorrow,
and admire my resolution." Captain Ponsonby rose, and stationed
himself behind her chair.
"My dear fellow, there are two seats at the bottom of the table for
you," said Lord Farnborough.
"I am very happy in my present situation," replied Captain Ponsonby; "I
am attending upon Miss Wetheral."
"But the Greys are quite by themselves, Ponsonby; do go down, and offer
your services there."
"Miss Wetheral, you are wishing for a slice of cold turkey; I saw you
contemplating it," observed Captain Ponsonby, who took no notice of his
friend's speech. "I fly for it."
"I wish Ponsonby would attend to the Greys," said his lordship, as
Captain Ponsonby quitted his station. "I shall be most happy to attend
upon you and Miss Quintin."
The eyes of Christobelle were riveted in the direction of the turkey,
as Captain Ponsonby remarked; for there sat Sir John Spottiswoode, and
Fanny Ponsonby was at his side: she tried to withdraw her eyes, but
they were fixed by leaden weights, and she gazed on. She saw Sir John
Spottiswoode turn to ask Captain Ponsonby whom he should assist to a
slice of the breast; and when Miss Wetheral's name was mentioned,
he did not look towards her; he turned and spoke to Fanny Ponsonby.
Christobelle would not allow the tears to rush from their fountains,
or a sigh to escape from her heart, however pained were her feelings.
She only resolved never again to walk as she had done with Sir John
Spottiswoode, never again to feel for him those kind and friendly
sentiments which he knew not how to appreciate. Captain Ponsonby
returned laughing from his mission.
"I wish you could hear Fanny and your handsome friend, Miss Wetheral.
They are trying which shall make the most glaring compliment to each
other. I left your friend talking about the heart of a lover, which
made Fanny grave. Do look at her, now." Christobelle glanced towards
his sister; her sprightly countenance had faded into deep attention,
as Sir John Spottiswoode spoke earnestly; her glowing complexion had
changed its bloom, and was become pale. Christobelle would have given
worlds to have been acquainted with their subject.
"Ponsonby, you are devilish rude; no one has taken wine with the
Greys," exclaimed Lord Farnborough, as his friend resumed his station
behind the chair of Christobelle.
"Ponsonby," cried Mr. Grey, "are you under orders there, that you stand
sentinel over Miss Wetheral?"
"I wish the guard was relieved, Grey," said Lord Farnborough. "Beg your
sisters to send a deputation to Ponsonby."
"They would prefer your lordship," answered Mr. Grey. "I speak in their
names, because they decline the publicity of confession."
Lord Farnborough's countenance again became gloomy, but he made no
reply to Mr. Grey. His lordship turned to Christobelle.
"Miss Wetheral, allow me the pleasure of drinking wine with you."
Christobelle was happy to do so, and by that action she gratified
her mother, who sat by her, proudly happy to witness his lordship's
vexation at the conduct of Captain Ponsonby. Every one appeared happy
but Christobelle: she saw every face decked with smiles, and each
person appeared contented with the merriment of the scene. She alone
sat ill at ease, and received no satisfaction in the attentions of
Lord Farnborough and his friend. She wished to be silent and alone:
she wished to think over the events of the morning, and reckon
with her heart. She wished to ascertain if her disquietude arose
from unrequited friendship, or whether she indeed loved Sir John
Spottiswoode. The noble friendships which Christobelle had contemplated
in history, teemed with grand and inspiring actions, but she read not
of eyes turned away from the object, or misery created through jealous
misgivings. If she loved Sir John Spottiswoode, what would become of
her, should another engross his attention and his heart? While she
was lingering with him among the cliffs of the Lochleven, all was so
tranquil, so happy, so calmly and fearlessly happy! Why was it not so
with her in this gay group?
Christobelle was lost to all sound, till a general move was made. The
tables were abandoned to the attendants, and the party retired to the
extremity of the little island, to amuse themselves till the boats were
again loaded with the spoil of the entertainment. Christobelle was
attended by Lord Farnborough and Captain Ponsonby, who appeared tacitly
determined to struggle for her attention, and annoy each other.
"Miss Wetheral," said his lordship, "you will honour me by accepting my
arm _now_."
"Miss Wetheral cannot desert her old companion," remarked Captain
Ponsonby, again stepping forward and taking her hand; but Christobelle
withdrew it.
"I should like to understand your claims to Miss Wetheral's notice,
Ponsonby."
"Never mind, my good fellow. A lady possesses her own right to select
and approve."
"Am I to understand, Miss Wetheral, that Captain Ponsonby is selected
by you?"
Lord Farnborough spoke with a bitter sneer, and stood before
Christobelle with a raised complexion, awaiting her answer. She was
fearful of unpleasant scenes; she wished to avoid notice: she could
only decide not to receive assistance from either gentlemen. They
however walked on either side of her, and the trio silently mixed
among the retiring group. Sir John Wetheral relieved his daughter's
perilous situation by his approach. Lord Farnborough might conceal
much beneath the restraint of polished society; but his temper was
strongly irritable; it glistened in his eye, and fired his countenance,
whenever Captain Ponsonby addressed Christobelle. The company formed
into little parties, on a green bank which swelled towards the water's
edge; and, by some unseen chance, Christobelle was grouped in the
little knot which contained Sir John Spottiswoode. Their eyes had not
met since they quitted Clanmoray. Captain Ponsonby and his guest were
crouched at her feet, her father sat beside her, and Mr. Grey, with
the Miss Ponsonbys, completed the number. The rest of the party sat
only a few paces apart, but they were engaged in different subjects of
conversation, and did not unite with them.
Captain Ponsonby requested his sister Fanny to enlighten the company
upon the interesting conversation which had taken place between herself
and her companion at dinner.
"It is vain to say," he continued, "that the subject is forgotten, for
I left you discoursing upon a lover's heart; and your face, Fanny,
was so full of interest, I was obliged to bespeak Miss Wetheral's
attention."
Fanny Ponsonby coloured, but disclaimed any peculiar interest in the
subject. Her eyes sought the ground, and Christobelle fancied they
filled with tears. Her sister begged to be heard a few moments upon
the subject. She was rather inspired by the dinner, the party, and the
beautiful scenery, and she ventured to think she could define a lover's
heart, if her audience were inclined to listen.
"Silence in the court!" exclaimed Lord Farnborough. "The deponent
speaks."
"A lover's heart," resumed Miss Ponsonby, waving her hand, "is ennobled
by affection, grand in its conceptions--"
"There you are out, Mary," cried her brother; "on the very threshold
you have stumbled. What is a more jealous, narrowed, dull, complaining
concern than love, and a lover's heart? Can any thing be more
disturbing, distrustful, and moody, or more capricious?"
"Speak on, Arthur; I know very little about the matter, I believe,
while your long absence has doubtless taught you knowledge," cried Miss
Ponsonby.
"Does not love create suspicion?"--Christobelle cast her eyes
involuntarily towards Sir John Spottiswoode, and met his fixed,
melancholy look. His eye was instantly withdrawn.
"Does not love create melancholy?" continued Captain Ponsonby, turning
to Christobelle, "does it not produce the desire to please, while it
restrains the ability, Farnborough? Does it not bow down the head, and
make pale the cheek, Fanny?"
Fanny Ponsonby started at her brother's address, but she smiled
good-humouredly at the question. Her head had bent forward, and
her attention was earnestly given to the definition of the lover's
heart. Her attitude had attracted the notice of her lively brother,
and drawn down his remark, but its purport was received as gently, as
its intention to give offence was innocent. Not so Lord Farnborough.
He rose proudly from the humble position he had assumed, and retired
to the group detached from his party. Captain Ponsonby continued his
remarks, while a satisfied smile played on his lips.
"Altogether, love deforms and beautifies; it makes the humble and
silent man talkative; and it causes the violent man to throw off the
mask which veils his fiery spirit. The less we know of the subtle
deity, the happier we are in freedom of heart and spirit; but once
receive him to your bosom, and adieu for ever to the calm pleasures of
life."
"I thought, Arthur, 'love was heaven, and heaven was love;' at least,
that is my idea of the passion."
"Mary!" exclaimed her brother, "presume not to touch upon ground where
your foot has never yet trod. Be wise, and remain in your ignorance,
uninteresting, and uninformed. There can be no heaven in the dire
suspense, the conscious feeling, the fear of scorn, the unrequited
pang, the jealous agony of heart, the sighs of uncertainty."
Fanny Ponsonby rose hastily from her verdant seat, and Sir John
Spottiswoode accompanied her, but they moved in different directions,
when they reached the site of the chapel which once stood in this
island, a place of worship for the living, and an asylum for the dead.
Fanny Ponsonby appeared to seek refuge in solitary contemplation; for
she sought the most distant spot, and stood gazing upon the lake. Sir
John Spottiswoode remained among the relics of the dead, and seated
himself on the low wall where Christobelle had listened to Captain
Ponsonby's legendary tales in listless indifference.
"In general," said Captain Ponsonby, "an orator draws an audience by
his powers of speaking, but I have chased mine into every corner of
this little earth. Either I have said too little or too much. Mary and
Mortimer are my best supporters. Sir John Wetheral, you are considered
a veteran. Come, Miss Wetheral, let us follow the multitude; it is vain
to waste my talent in empty space, so I dissolve the meeting."
Captain Ponsonby sprang to his feet, and the little group gradually
dispersed. Miss Ponsonby declared her brother should have been educated
for the bar in lieu of the army, he held forth so fluently upon
unintelligible subjects; and she challenged Mortimer Grey to assist her
in discovering the lost victims to Arthur's oratory. They set forth in
the direction of the spot where Fanny Ponsonby still stood absorbed,
and alone. Captain Ponsonby walked chatting by Christobelle, who leaned
upon her father's arm, and all bent their steps towards the little
ruined chapel.
"Who would have supposed so many graves, heraldic devices, and rude
sculpture, to lie forgotten and deserted here?" said Captain Ponsonby,
pointing to the various relics of other times which lay half buried in
the earth around. "How many stirring events have filled this soil with
mouldering bones, and caused the tears to flow from maidens' eyes!"
"How many fearful feuds have made these mountains echo with shouts and
cries of blood!" remarked Sir John Wetheral.
"Ay, but picture to your mind's eye the funereal procession of the
clans, slowly winding down those bold cliffs in silent sorrow, while
the pibroch screamed its wild notes to wail the dead." Captain
Ponsonby's countenance assumed a graver expression as he spoke, and
Christobelle thought it infinitely became the cast of his features. It
passed away quickly, as they advanced towards Sir John Spottiswoode,
and he resumed his playful mood.
"Sir John Spottiswoode, Miss Wetheral likens you to a lover bewailing
his mistress."
"Pray, Captain Ponsonby, do not say so," exclaimed Christobelle, in
alarm.
"You looked as if you thought so, Miss Wetheral. Why is your eye so
expressive?"
Christobelle felt distressed beyond measure at Captain Ponsonby's
thoughtless speech, which elicited a cold smile from Sir John
Spottiswoode. How could he smile so coldly upon her?
Christobelle had no spirits to reply to the cheerful remarks of Captain
Ponsonby, who continued chatting with enviable ease of heart, upon
every subject which offered itself to his notice. She was listening
to a conversation infinitely more attractive between her father and
Sir John Spottiswoode; but Captain Ponsonby's vivacity perpetually
interrupted her attention, and called forth an unwilling and absent
reply. There is no annoyance so galling as the society of the happy,
when a heart is struggling with grief, which seeks silence and solitude.
"Miss Wetheral, I bespeak your attention to those masses of clouds
rising in the west; are they not beautiful? Did you ever fancy forms
in the clouds? I do, often. See, Miss Wetheral, I can outline a lion
rampant perfectly in that fleecy cloud--can you see it?"
Christobelle was disturbed: Sir John Spottiswoode had spoken about
Alverton, and she wished to catch his words as they became indistinct.
She answered Captain Ponsonby hastily, "No, indeed."
"I will point it out more distinctly. Fix your eye upon the third dark
cloud, and by the side of that cloud stands the lion rampant. Now do
you see what I mean?"
"Yes," replied Christobelle, almost peevishly, "I think I see what you
mean." She trusted the subject was now ended.
"Well, can you distinguish a chariot and pair, Miss Wetheral? I see
them distinctly, and in excellent proportions."
"It pains my sight, Captain Ponsonby, to fix my eyes upon the heavens."
"I will shade the light with my hat," said Captain Ponsonby; "there,
now your eyes are safe: the sun is behind my hat."
Christobelle was obliged to give her attention to the indefatigable
Captain Ponsonby, and she lost all hope of Sir John Spottiswoode's
remarks. Her spirits were powerfully depressed; happily, as the morning
had opened upon her cheerful expectations, every pleasant prospect
was clouded now. Sir John Spottiswoode had been gay and playful in
conversation, till they alighted at Clanmoray, and from that moment
her evil genius had pursued her. Why was the companion of her walks so
changed, and why was he so cold and silent to his friend?
It appeared to Christobelle that Sir John Spottiswoode suffered under
an equally potent spell. The tone of his voice as he spoke to her
father was low and melancholy, and there was an expression in his
withdrawn eyes, which particularly affected her. It was not of anger,
he was too kind to feel angry; it was not of irritability, such as
she had seen flashing and dull by turns, in her mother's countenance.
There was an expression, touching and attractive in his disquietude,
which went at once to her heart, and occupied its thoughts. She could
ill endure the rapid remarks and conversation of Captain Ponsonby:
how she wished to be again at Fairlee, free from observation, and
at liberty to think upon all that had occurred, in the solitude of
her own apartment! Oh, that she had never seen Fanny Ponsonby! It was
Fanny Ponsonby who pointed the arrow of jealousy at her heart, and
tore the veil from her eyes. It was Fanny Ponsonby who taught her that
friendship was but a cloak for deeper feelings, and that the pain she
inflicted betrayed a heart prostrate before that Deity whose arrows,
under a borrowed name, enter unsuspiciously into the soul of his victim.
"But, Miss Wetheral, you are meditating too gravely," resumed Captain
Ponsonby, after a pause of some minutes, "the tombs of a thousand souls
cause your eye to grow heavy. Let us sing away care upon these swelling
earths. Where are the mirthful ones, and where are the singing-men, and
the singing-women? The Greys are all musical."
The vivacious Captain Ponsonby called the party round him, and they
seated themselves on the mounds which were scattered thickly round
the chapel. The Greys formed the centre of the groupe, and their
full voices wafted along the waters that beautiful glee of Calcot's,
"Desolate is the dwelling of Morna." The effect was truly delicious.
Desolate, indeed, was the ground upon which they sat; and silent,
indeed, were the sounds which in former times burst from the shores of
Lochleven. The harmony and its wildly poetic words accorded well with
the scene before and around them. "Yet, a few years, and the blast of
the desert comes," fell upon Christobelle's ear, and roused a thousand
emotions.
It seemed to describe in one short sentence the tale of life; and it
too truly illustrated her own wretched position. She could not repress
the tears which flowed at the thought, that even in her early youth,
care was beginning to do its work. She turned involuntarily to look
upon Fanny Ponsonby, the author of her wretchedness. She was seated
a little apart, and her head had sunk upon her breast, as though the
harmonious sounds had lulled her into deep repose; but Christobelle saw
the heavings of her bosom, and knew she wept.
The Greys concluded their song, and Captain Ponsonby was called upon to
lend his talents towards the harmony of the scene. The young officer
was nothing loth: with inexpressible softness, and in excellent taste,
he sung:
"There's something in that bonny face,
I never saw before, lassie;
Your actions a' have sic a grace,
I gaze and I adore, lassie."
Captain Ponsonby turned towards Christobelle, as he concluded the last
line of the first stanza, and he pressed his hand gallantly upon his
heart, as he gave the last verses:
"Sweet is the spring, and sweet the rose,
When moistened by the shower, lassie;
Bright on the thorn the dew-drop glows,
At morns refulgent hour, lassie:
But brighter, purer far than these
Thou art, and charm'st me more, lassie,
Than tongue can tell; I wondering gaze,
I gaze and I adore, lassie."
Christobelle blushed deeply at the general notice which Captain
Ponsonby's manner attracted towards her, and Lady Wetheral thought it
prudent to break up the party, lest the offended countenance of Lord
Farnborough should deepen, and produce results in his conduct, which
would overthrow her dearest plans. She turned to Miss Ponsonby.
"My dear Miss Ponsonby, are not those clouds threatening? I have
observed them some minutes with fearful forebodings: my dear Bell, fold
your plaid round you, the air is becoming fresh."
The attention of the party was turned anxiously to the west, and
General Ponsonby advised an immediate return to the opposite shore.
Captain Ponsonby went forward to order the boatmen to their oars, and
Lord Farnborough took his vacant place by the side of Christobelle. His
lordship spoke with much vehemence of manner.
"You have been bored with your neighbour, Miss Wetheral, yet you have
preferred him to me."
"Captain Ponsonby did not weary me, my lord."
"I hate those talking fellows, yet ladies love to be attended by them.
I can't think why all ladies like Ponsonby to run after them."
Christobelle was offended by Lord Farnborough's expressions. When his
lordship attended her from Lochleven Castle to Fairlee Cove, all was
courtesy and gallant bearing--but his lordship had become overbearing,
and, if she might so express it, he was actually offensive in St.
Mungo's Isle. She made no reply.
"Allow me to take charge of you to the shore, Miss Wetheral," continued
his lordship.
Christobelle hesitated. "Captain Ponsonby, I believe--I rather
think...."
"Of course I must give way," replied his lordship, drily, "of course
every thing must give way to Captain Ponsonby."
Captain Ponsonby came up, to announce all was in readiness; and the
party rose to prepare for departure. Lady Wetheral approached her
daughter.
"Bell, you are devoting yourself very publicly to Captain Ponsonby.
I intreat you to be cautious, and accept Lord Farnborough's offer of
attendance."
"Mamma, I am offended with Lord Farnborough."
"Do not be silly, Miss Wetheral; this is not the moment to exhibit
offended feelings. I wish you to walk with my lord, and return under
his charge."
Lady Anna Herbert passed, leaning on Mr. Grey's arm. "Be quick, fair
ladies, for there is every chance of rain," she exclaimed; "the boatmen
prognosticate weather before we reach the main land."
There was much bustle in hurrying into the boats, and the wind rose
suddenly, sweeping in gusts over the lake, ere the party left the
island. Christobelle was hurried rapidly into the little vessel,
between Lord Farnborough and Captain Ponsonby, and the rain began to
descend in torrents, as they placed her, in the confusion, between Sir
John Spottiswoode and Fanny Ponsonby.
"On, on, for your lives!" cried Captain Ponsonby, addressing the
boatmen, and the party were launched upon the waters of Lochleven.
Christobelle was by the side of Sir John Spottiswoode, and her mind
was tranquil as they rowed rapidly towards Clanmoray. He held an
umbrella over her head; and endeavoured to guard her from the storm, by
spreading his cloak round her feet and knees. She felt distressed and
uncomfortable at the thought of his own exposure to the rain and wind.
She intreated him to suffer her to return the cloak, without which he
must be cold and comfortless.
"No," he replied gravely, "I do not consider my own feelings, I wish to
secure your comfort."
"But I have _no_ comfort in depriving you of warmth and shelter: you
will catch a severe cold."
"Never mind, Miss Wetheral; my mother and Sophia will nurse me well at
Alverton."
"At Alverton!" exclaimed Christobelle, in astonishment, "at Alverton!"
"Why not, Miss Wetheral?" he asked in low tones, and his fine dark
eyes were fixed upon her with such deep expression!
"Oh, no, if you are ill, I will nurse you; and Fairlee shall be
your----."
Christobelle stopped: her heart beat thickly--she could not speak
the conclusion of her sentence--a weight, as of iron, bore down her
eyelids, and she remained silent.
"You have been happy to-day, my pupil?" said Sir John Spottiswoode,
after a moment's pause.
Christobelle waved her hand silently. She could not trust her voice;
but Fanny Ponsonby was talking to Lord Farnborough, and she was
wretched at the allusion to Alverton. Curiosity, anxiety, and the
horrors of suspense, gave her courage to address her companion again;
and she asked, in the recklessness of despair, why he contemplated
returning so soon into Shropshire.
"Because," he said, "Lochleven is now a fever spot upon my heart."
Christobelle wept silently. Captain Ponsonby sat in the stern of
the boat without speaking, as though even his gay spirit could not
resist the heavy rain, and every one appeared to be cold, weary, and
dispirited. Except Fanny Ponsonby's voice, which sung, in low tones,
a plaintive air, not a sound escaped the party till they reached the
shore; and then commenced another disagreeable contention between Lord
Farnborough and Captain Ponsonby.
"Miss Wetheral, I claim you _this_ time," said his lordship, hastily
passing Fanny Ponsonby, and offering his hand.
"My good fellow," cried Captain Ponsonby, "I am before you half a
minute, and have won the prize."
"I cannot understand why you persevere so pertinaciously in
appropriating Miss Wetheral, Ponsonby."
"Can you, indeed, be ignorant upon such a point, Farnborough? Take
care, Miss Wetheral--step firmly, and hold my hand."
"I must observe that you are needlessly officious, Ponsonby."
"Tell me so elsewhere, Farnborough; at present, I am attending upon
Miss Wetheral."
Christobelle looked imploringly at Sir John Spottiswoode, but he was
uncloaking Fanny Ponsonby, and she had taken his arm, to share with him
the shelter of his umbrella. Christobelle cared not, then, who became
her escort. Captain Ponsonby would not understand Lord Farnborough's
anger, or reply to his observations; he chatted gaily, as he unclasped
the heavy boat-cloak, which shrouded and encumbered Miss Wetheral's
figure.
"In spite of the storm, Miss Wetheral, you spring brightly from your
nest, untouched by the raindrops; how do you manage to be so unlike
the rest of the world? We will not wait for the other boat, which
would detain us some time. Let me get you safely to Clanmoray. Take
my arm fearlessly, and I will guide and support you up the pathway.
Farnborough will be kind enough to escort the Miss Greys."
Lord Farnborough threw a haughty look at Captain Ponsonby, but he made
no answer. His lordship folded his cloak round his tall, slight figure,
and ascended the pathway in silence, and without a companion. The Miss
Greys remained unattended on the shore of Lochleven.
"Farnborough is offended in earnest," observed Captain Ponsonby, "and
the gentle syrens are to suffer. Miss Wetheral, you have put a feud
between me and my noble guest."
"I am sorry, Captain Ponsonby, if any thing unpleasant should arise
between you and my lord. It is altogether innocently done on my part."
"Oh! yes, you look so dove-like and so guileless, and yet you wield
such warfare."
"Lord Farnborough appears easily irritated."
"Farnborough has been used to such easy conquests, that he resents
the appearance of indifference. You have piqued him, Miss Wetheral;
nevertheless, I am concerned to see the Miss Greys climbing the path
alone in this rain. This is an unexpected termination to our agreeable
day. It has been a really delightful day to me."
"Lochleven can never disappoint its visitors, Captain Ponsonby; even in
this rain how beautiful it is!"
"Lochleven would, though, if certain persons and things did not combine
to please me. I have enjoyed myself to-day--but you were my companion;
I was with you at dinner--on the wall of the ruin--every where; and
I have spent an extremely captivating day. I wonder what kind of day
Farnborough will represent it?"
"As very agreeable, no doubt."
"I differ with you, Miss Wetheral. Fanny and your friend have
seven league boots on, I fancy--how they are bounding on! I admire
your friend, Miss Wetheral--fine, handsome fellow, only he looks
melancholy."
"Does he?"
"Yes; his eyes were fixed upon your hand a full half hour at dinner--an
hour, as we sat talking, and all the voyage; yet, like Lady Macbeth,
his eyes were open, but their sense was closed. He has a lady-love in
the south."
Christobelle started at Captain Ponsonby's suggestion. Impossible! she
would not believe it! She never heard such a thing alluded to. If Sir
John Spottiswoode loved in the south, Mrs. Pynsent would have named it.
How came Captain Ponsonby to imagine such folly! The very supposition
of Sir John's attachment, however, created pain, and chilled her into
silence. Captain Ponsonby's conversation soon became wearisome, and she
was glad when they reached Clanmoray.
It was a relief to find Lord Farnborough absent, and still more a
relief to perceive the second party approaching in the distance. She
wanted to be at Fairlee, to enjoy rest, and silence, and free communion
with her thoughts. Captain Ponsonby's spirits were oppressive, and his
polite anxiety amounted to absolute annoyance. Christobelle was ill,
and restless, and eager to return home.
The carriage was ordered as soon as Lady Wetheral arrived, and
the Fairlee party were supplied by Miss Ponsonby with comfortable
refreshment in the article of stockings and shoes. Every other apparel
had been spared, by the thoughtful cares of Mrs. Ponsonby, who had
wisely ordered a _depôt_ of cloaks and umbrellas on board. Lord
Farnborough did not appear during their short rest at Clanmoray, and
Captain Ponsonby led Christobelle to the carriage, after the ceremonies
of leave-taking had concluded. Miss Ponsonby hoped to enjoy Miss
Wetheral's society a little more exclusively at a future time; but she
seemed to be the entire property of Arthur and Lord Farnborough at
St. Mungo's Isle. There was policy in allowing novelty to exhaust its
powers of pleasing; and she would reserve her society till it would
fill up a chasm, formed by the secession of an admirer. "Depend upon
it, all this cannot last, fair Christobelle, and, like me, you will
some day search in vain for a Télémaque."
"_I_ shall not live to see the day, Miss Wetheral," said her brother,
as he led Christobelle forward.
"Don't attach the smallest credit to Arthur's compliments," cried Miss
Ponsonby, kissing her hand.
"Mary is very incorrect in her statements, Miss Wetheral," said Captain
Ponsonby, as they passed through the hall. "You will receive me with a
smile, if I call at Fairlee to-morrow?"
"With many smiles, Captain Ponsonby."
"No, one little particular welcome smile is my hope--give your many
smiles to Farnborough. Fare you well!"
Christobelle entered the carriage, and Sir John Spottiswoode followed;
but he seated himself by Lady Wetheral's side. Captain Ponsonby waved
his hand, and stood in the rain, till the trees concealed him from
sight.