Lady Wetheral spoke of the morning's entertainment with perfect
approbation, as they drove home. "Every thing was so agreeably
arranged--every body was so inclined to be amused, which constituted
the charm of a party _al fresco_. Lord Farnborough, perhaps, was less
disposed to consider himself at ease than the rest of the group; but
circumstances did go a little '_à tort et à travers_' with poor Lord
Farnborough. Some people were in the wrong place, assuredly, which
might create a little uneasiness; but, considering the difficulty of
selecting and arranging a large morning party, it had been admirably
conducted. There was a little too much vivacity in Captain Ponsonby's
manner: he was rather too _empressé_--but Lord Farnborough displayed
the man of fashion in every movement." Christobelle did not argue
against her mother's opinions, and Sir John Spottiswoode sat,
determined to be silent.
"Lord Farnborough," continued Lady Wetheral, "tells me he intends
wandering round Lochleven some weeks longer."
"At Clanmoray?" asked Christobelle.
"No, my love, he thinks of building at Kinross." Christobelle sank back
into her former position, quite indifferent to the whereabout of Lord
Farnborough. Her ladyship resumed:--"Sir John, what a lovely creature
is Fanny Ponsonby! I think I never beheld more beautiful eyes!"
"Miss Ponsonby is a beautiful woman!" replied Sir John Spottiswoode.
"I mean Fanny Ponsonby, the lady you monopolized, my dear Spottiswoode."
"I mean the same lady; but I was guilty of no monopoly, Lady Wetheral."
"She is most lovely indeed. My dear Bell, what an agreeable companion
Miss Fanny Ponsonby would be to share in your lake diversions!"
"No, mamma, pray don't ask Fanny Ponsonby--pray think of no companion
for me. I am a solitary being. I love to be alone."
"My dear girl, you are jealous!"
"I am not jealous of any one, I hope. I admire Miss Fanny Ponsonby--I
think her very lovely--but I require no companion."
"Would you live quite alone, my love? It is not the wish of a young
lady in general."
"When I feel particularly dull, mamma, I will ask for Miss Fanny
Ponsonby."
Christobelle could not clearly define her fear of Miss Fanny Ponsonby's
society, but her name would evermore be coupled with painful feelings.
The first emotion of jealousy towards another had been elicited by her,
and perhaps the recollection of that suffering inclined her to shun the
innocent cause of the subtle intruder. Christobelle became restless at
the mention of such a visitor at Fairlee; and though she endeavoured to
reason away her alarm, the internal struggle increased. What could her
mother mean?
The clouds broke away towards the evening, and the rain ceased; the
terrace was soon dry, though the raindrops hung upon every leaf, and
the bright lake lay tranquil after the storm. Lochleven was beautiful
in its freshness, and the green tints of its wooded sides stood out in
deeper and brighter light and shade from the heavy showers. Yet Sir
John Spottiswoode did not ask Christobelle to walk with him; he did
not ask her to admire with him the setting sun, or to look with him
upon the deepening shades of evening. He sat profoundly attentive over
"Bacon's Essays," and not once did his eye or lip address her. She
also endeavoured to read, but her thoughts wandered over the incidents
of the morning. Her eyes fixed themselves upon the lake, and not upon
the page of history, as she considered the disappointments of the day,
and mused upon the changed manner of Sir John Spottiswoode. She wished
they had never joined the party to St. Mungo's Isle--she wished she had
persevered in her solitary habits, and never accepted the invitation to
Clanmoray.
Captain Ponsonby had wearied her, and Lord Farnborough's manner had
offended her. Were these things an equivalent to the estranged manner
of her friend? She wished she had been Fanny Ponsonby, for then Sir
John Spottiswoode would have sought her. She wished she had been Fanny
Ponsonby, for then the gentlemen would have avoided her. She had no
pleasure in being so publicly attended by Captain Ponsonby and his
guest. She would have given worlds to have been silent and free from
remark.
Lady Wetheral took her seat by Christobelle's side, as she gazed
vacantly upon the sparkling waters.
"Your thoughts are far away, my love, and yet I can guess their flight.
They are at this moment at Clanmoray, and you are thinking of Fanny
Ponsonby."
The truth of the remark startled Christobelle. It brought the colour
into her face and forehead.
"Never mind Fanny Ponsonby, Bell. You have no rival there!"
"Do you think so, mamma?" she exclaimed. "How can you possibly tell his
feelings?"
"His attention was exclusively given to you, Bell, though I confess you
coquetted rather rashly."
"With whom did I coquette, mamma? I cannot endure that expression, it
sounds so frivolous and vain."
"My love, strangers would remark you flirted too much with Captain
Ponsonby, though _I_ could comprehend your intentions, and I was amused
with your little _tracasseries_."
"But how can you judge of his feelings towards Miss Fanny Ponsonby,
mamma?"
"Because her attachment to him could not be concealed; it was apparent
in her looks, and in the pain she discovered during his attentions to
you."
"We hardly exchanged words, mamma," remarked Christobelle, in great
surprise; "and then only in the boat returning from the island."
"I am ignorant of what took place during your return, my love; but I
saw enough to convince me that Lord Farnborough does not return the
love of poor Fanny Ponsonby."
Lord Farnborough!--and her thoughts were with Sir John Spottiswoode!
Her eyes fell upon the Lake in bitter disappointment. "I thought _he_
had watched me--I thought _he_ had not cared for Fanny Ponsonby!" were
her silent reflections.
"I see," continued Lady Wetheral, in tones of triumph, "his lordship is
jealous of Captain Ponsonby; and there you acted with great tact. I am
sure it will lead to a proposal. He will be afraid of Arthur Ponsonby,
and it will lead him to take a hasty step, but that step will exalt
you into the future Duchess of Forfar. I fancied his Grace asthmatic
this morning; he certainly wheezed very painfully as we walked up the
pathway. This will raise you far above your sisters, my love; far more
exalted than Julia. Lord Farnborough has proved my physician; he has
entirely chased away my nervous complaints."
Christobelle could not answer. She quitted the room in haste, and took
shelter in her own apartments. There she prostrated herself, and prayed
for a tranquil spirit. She knew her mother's temper, and was aware of
her ambitious spirit; but she did not like Lord Farnborough, and never
would she sell herself to be his wife. She would not confess that she
loved Sir John Spottiswoode, or that she had given her affections to
one who did not value the gift; but she would surely and perseveringly
decline Lord Farnborough, if indeed that hasty step was ever taken
which was to proceed from anger towards his friend, Captain Ponsonby.
Christobelle had witnessed Clara's misery, and suspected that Julia was
not happy in her grandeur, therefore, she would not become the third
prey to her mother's overweening ambition. She might suffer reproaches
and harsh conduct, but she would not marry for wealth, and pine away in
silent misery, a beacon to the thoughtless and the avaricious. If Sir
John Spottiswoode quitted Fairlee, and if Lochleven was a fever-spot
upon his heart, Christobelle felt she must endure sorrow: it could not
be more despairing than the feelings of Fanny Ponsonby, to whom her
heart now clung in sympathy, and without pain. Fanny Ponsonby would
be now a companion most grateful to her taste; all jealous fears were
ended, and they could walk and weep together in fellowship. Poor Fanny
Ponsonby! Christobelle wept for her and for herself. She remembered her
abstracted look, and the haste with which she fled from her brother's
remarks upon love. She remembered the downcast eye when Sir John
Spottiswoode addressed her upon the subject of a lover's heart, and she
saw her weep during the singing of "Desolate is the dwelling of Morna."
How her heart yearned now to be near her!
Christobelle felt too unwell to return again into the drawing-room. The
struggle of her thoughts brought on severe headache, and she tried to
forget her disquietude in sleep. Lady Wetheral visited her daughter,
before she retired for the night, and smiled as she spoke of her hasty
retreat.
"Did Sir John Spottiswoode miss me?" Christobelle asked in some
perturbation, as she rose from an unrefreshing doze, to listen to her
remarks.
"No, my love, I believe not. He expressed very polite regrets at your
indisposition, but he has been reading the whole evening. He mentioned
his return into Shropshire the end of this week."
Christobelle sank back in silence upon her pillow.
"Good night, my love, I will not keep you awake; but I trust
your headache will be slept away. Take sal-volatile, and those
nervous-drops, they always did me good, and we shall see what to-morrow
will bring forth."
"So soon does he go, mamma?"
"Yes, my love. I think it would be advisable to ask Lord Farnborough to
Fairlee, to superintend his intended little sporting-box at Kinross. I
shall sound your father. Good night Bell."
Lady Wetheral retired, and left Christobelle again in silence and in
darkness. She could not sleep. The night passed _so_ slowly, as she lay
revolving all these things in her mind! When she was happy, her nights
flew by, and she rose refreshed; but now the hours lagged heavily, and
her waking thoughts were upon the departure of Sir John Spottiswoode,
and the introduction of Lord Farnborough in his place. She did not
rise refreshed. She was tired and unhappy when she descended into
the breakfast-room. Sir John Spottiswoode was there alone; and, as he
paid the compliments of the morning, his voice was thick, and sounded
hoarse. Christobelle was sure he had caught cold upon the water, and
it was to protect her that he exposed himself to wet, and had thrown
off his cloak. She was overcome by the recollection, and, though she
approached him timidly, she was in anxious fear lest he should suffer
by his attention. His hand was heated as it touched hers in salutation,
and she held it in alarm.
"Oh, you are feverish and ill, and you have caught cold by giving me
your cloak! What can I do for you?"
"I have a little headache and sore throat," he replied, smiling; "but
it will pass away, I hope, in the course of the day."
"It was that cloak," replied Christobelle, quite absorbed with fear,
and totally forgetful that her hand was still held by him--"it was that
cloak which you took off so suddenly, against my wishes. I was sure you
would be ill!"
"I am not ill," he answered, feelingly: "your kind sympathy has cured
me; but let me observe _your_ pale cheeks in return, and let me mourn
over _them_." Sir John Spottiswoode led her to the window, and looked
so kindly at her, that tears sprang into her eyes. "Here are tokens of
a restless night," he said--"here are signs of sleepless hours, and
heavy thoughts, my dear pupil. Would I could calm your gentle heart!"
"Then stay at Fairlee!" she exclaimed, as she wept without control,
and cared not for the consequences of her indiscreet words--"stay at
Fairlee, and be as kind as you used to be!" Christobelle felt the arm
of her companion drawn round her, and she was pressed to his heart, as
he replied.--
"I _will_ remain, dearest pupil, I _will_ remain at Fairlee, whatever
pain it may cost me! I will do whatever you bid me do, to give you
pleasure. God forbid _I_ should ever give you a moment's sorrow! I
would sooner suffer a thousand pangs, than see you weep one moment. Why
do you weep, and distress my heart?"
Christobelle could not help it. Was it, indeed, painful to remain at
Fairlee? Captain Ponsonby was right, then, in his suggestion--there
_was_ a lady in the south! She could not reply; a suffocating sensation
precluded all speech.
"Why are you here so early?" continued Sir John Spottiswoode, in
gentle accents, as Christobelle still leaned against him; "and why
are your spirits so agitated, and your rest broken? If such is your
present state, what will your affectionate heart endure hereafter? Your
delicate frame is unequal to contend with such deep emotions!"
Christobelle made a strong effort to check her weeping fit, and she
became more tranquil. Sir John Spottiswoode's arm still surrounded
and supported her; but she felt that, when its dear support should be
withdrawn, she would be cast upon the wide world for ever.
"Your friends are round you," resumed her companion, "and you shall
be the arbitress of _my_ movements. I will not quit Lochleven while I
can be of use to its dear inmate. Oh, my dear Christobelle! how the
schoolmaster will guard his pupil! But when," he added, hesitatingly,
drawing her closer to him, and even clasping her to his heart--"when
will he be here again?"
"Whom do you speak of? Captain Ponsonby?" she exclaimed; "he wearies
me, and every body wearies me!"
"I do not speak of him. I do not speak of Captain Ponsonby," replied
Sir John Spottiswoode, withdrawing his arm hastily, and moving a few
paces. "I mean another and happier man. You know whom I would name." He
advanced again to the window, where Christobelle remained rooted. "You
know whom I allude to, Miss Wetheral."
"Lord Farnborough?" she articulated, with difficulty.
Sir John would not meet her eye.
"I did mean that person. Will he not visit Fairlee, Miss Wetheral?
Will he not? no, he is not worthy of such a heart--of such powerful
affection!" He walked from the window to the door, and again he turned,
and approached Christobelle. "It is a severe trial to have waited
and loved as I have done, and yet suffer disappointment. It was a
strange fancy--was it not, my pupil?--to wait so long, and hope so
perseveringly? But I will not quit Fairlee, since you bid me not."
Christobelle could not comprehend Sir John Spottiswoode's emotion. She
could not divine his allusions; she only grasped at his promise to
remain, and even that was balm to her heart.
"Oh, yes," she repeated, "stay, and take my part, for I know I shall
appeal to papa and you, if I am reproached."
"Who dares presume to reproach you? Who dares to offer a harsh word to
you? By the heavens above, if I heard his false lips utter one syllable
of unkindness to a creature too gentle and excellent for his worthless
mind, I would strike him dead!" Sir John Spottiswoode's eyes struck
fire, and his tall figure became still more erect.
"Of whom are you talking?--whose lips are false?" asked Christobelle,
in stupid amazement.
"I know him!" continued Sir John Spottiswoode, kindling as he spoke;
"but I will follow him through the world, if he gives one pang to such
a heart as your's, dearest and loveliest pupil, creature of my fancy
and my heart! He is not worthy of you, Christobelle." He stopped, and
fixed his eyes upon her with an expression so wretched, that she took
his hand in terror: he snatched it from her.
"Do not break my heart, Christobelle; and do not touch me, if you have
mercy. Withdraw your wish, and let me quit Fairlee for ever!"
"Oh, no, no," she cried, clasping her hands, and sinking into a chair;
"if you go, who will stand between me and my mother?"
"Your mother!" Sir John Spottiswoode gazed upon Christobelle with
astonishment. "Your mother!" he repeated.
"I cannot, will not marry Lord Farnborough," exclaimed Christobelle,
almost bending in agonized feelings; "and who will save me from her
anger!"
"Christobelle!" burst from her companion. She heeded not.
"I will not be driven into misery to minister to ambition. It is so
cruel--so very cruel."
"Christobelle!" again ejaculated Sir John Spottiswoode, "look at me!"
Christobelle could not look up--she could not shake off her weight of
misery. She sat with her hands pressed tightly upon her heart. "If you
leave me, who will assist my father in warding off my reproaches? Who
will soften her heart, and soothe my poor spirit? Who will plead for
me, and save me?"
Sir John Spottiswoode knelt by her side, and took her cold hands in
his. "Christobelle," he said, "I will plead for you, and save you.
Will you recompense me in return? Will _you_ love and cherish the
heart which adores and blesses you?--which would suffer all evils, all
indignities, for your dear sake?"
Christobelle sat transfixed. She dared not breathe, lest the vision
should vanish from her sight.
"Shall I tell you, Christobelle, how I have waited for you, and lived
upon the hope of making you love me, when I was far away? Shall I tell
you how I watched over you, and lingered till I could ask for you?"
Christobelle could only smile a reply to her lover's questions, and she
was again folded in his arms. Oh, happy, thrice happy moment!
"Shall I tell you," demanded her companion, "how your mother deceived
me, yesterday morning, when I spoke of you upon the terrace? No, I will
not allude to it now, since all my horrible fears are ended."
"Tell me nothing now," she replied, "but let me return to my room, to
think--to assure myself this is not a vision--to consider all things
over." Miss Wetheral rose.
"Will you go with me to our rocky seat, after breakfast," he asked,
"if I resign you now? I am loth to lose you from my sight; stay a few
moments longer, dearest."
"Not now; but I will walk with you to our old place of refuge. The bell
will ring, and I am too agitated to meet my mother. I could meet no one
at this moment."
"But, my Chrystal, one--one more embrace!" and Christobelle was
encircled again in the arms of the best and dearest of human beings.
She flew from his embrace to the sanctuary of her own apartment, and
her first movement was prayer. She prayed for humility; she prayed for
strength to bear her load of happiness; and she prayed that she might
not love the creature beyond the Creator. When Christobelle rose from
her knees, she sat down to think upon all these things.
Sir John and Lady Wetheral were at the breakfast-table, when
Christobelle descended the second time. She did not once meet her
lover's eye, for she could not endure its brightness; but her bosom had
cast its load of sorrow, and her thoughts danced in the beams of a new
happiness. Lady Wetheral was pleased by her appearance.
"My dear Bell, that little headache was a _tour de jongle_ to get rid
of us all. Your dreams were pleasant, for your eyes sparkle, and you
look most amusingly demure."
Christobelle cast her eyes upon the ground; a deep and most distressing
suffusion crimsoned her face.
"Perhaps," continued her ladyship, "your gay dreams may have
prognosticated good. I have also my dream. I am dreaming that friends
from Clanmoray will call to-day."
Christobelle was silent. She knew her mother dreamt not of the
blow which awaited her. She knew her ladyship did not dream of her
attachment to Sir John Spottiswoode. She could not awaken her at that
moment to the fallacy of her hopes, neither could she lend herself to
deception. She was aware her mother's ambitious wishes believed her
young heart unable to contend against a dukedom, and that her fear of
Sir John Spottiswoode had ceased from the morning of Lord Farnborough's
visit. She had then chatted to his lordship, in the full flow of happy
spirits, and her mother's ambition had "o'ertopped" its meaning. She
could not lead her into deeper error.
Christobelle's appetite was gone, and she scarcely touched the small
French roll which lay upon her plate. She had eaten and drank in
sorrow, though the meal did not afford nourishment; but, in joy, the
very sight of food became loathsome. It appeared to Christobelle's
mind, that Sir John Spottiswoode's love--his expressed love--was
intellectual food, sufficient for many days; that her spirit would
renew under its blessed influence, and that creature-comforts suited
only the labourer and the hireling. It was impossible to remain long at
the breakfast-table. She felt the triumphant glance of her lover was
upon her, and her heart longed for solitude, to question itself again
upon its sudden happiness. She wanted to ask herself, over and over,
if it was really true that she was loved by Sir John Spottiswoode--if
it was really true that her affections were returned, and that she was
happy?
Christobelle quitted the breakfast-room as early as politeness would
admit, for the desultory conversation of her companions was painful to
her thoughts, and disturbed her train of mental reasonings. Sir John
Spottiswoode watched her retreat, but she could not meet his imploring
look. She knew its purport, and she would surely keep her promise of
walking with him to the rocky seat; but she _must_ be alone for some
time. She required a short season of solitude, to task her thoughts and
collect her scattered energies; and, above all, she wished to see her
father. Before Christobelle could surrender herself to the floating
visions of joy which crowded on her brain, she must see her father!
Christobelle remained an hour walking up and down her dressing-room,
ere she could quell the emotions of her soul, and then she descended
into her father's study. He was reading; and, for some moments, an
indefinable sensation of shame kept her silent. At last, Christobelle
gained courage to address her kind and indulgent parent. "Papa, if you
are not engaged, I wish to speak to you, if you please."
Sir John Wetheral laid down his book, and assured his child his
attention was ever alive to his Chrystal's summons: but she became
agitated and confused as she approached the subject. "Papa," she
stammered forth, "I came to say something, and I don't know how to say
it."
Sir John Wetheral smiled, and drew her to him. "Well, my love, which
is it--my Lord Farnborough, or the humble Captain? It must be a novel
subject which confuses my poor little companion, and it _must_ be a
love affair. Which of them is intending to deprive me of your society,
Chrystal?"
"Neither, papa." Christobelle became still more distressed and confused
at his mistake.
"Well, then, it must be the old duke, or that young man with the whip.
I cannot approve of either, my love."
Christobelle threw her arms round his neck. "No, no, papa; think again."
"Ah, I have it, Chrystal. It is that young wanderer upon the
terrace, who is watching the windows of your apartments so eagerly."
Christobelle's head fell upon his shoulder. "Be not alarmed, my child.
If there is a heart as kind as Boscawen's, and as affectionate as
Pynsent's, it is the heart of Spottiswoode. Now go, and tell him what I
say."
Christobelle was too confused and too joyful to speak her gratitude,
but her heart was known to the parent who had loved and watched over
her from the hour of her birth. He led her to the door. "Go, my best
love, and tell your friend, and my friend, that he has set at rest all
my hopes and fears for your welfare. Tell him it is only into his hands
I would relinquish my child. There, fly to the poor puzzled youth, for
he is lingering under your windows." Sir John Wetheral closed the door,
and his daughter was alone in the hall, almost stunned by the rapidity
of the morning's eventful incidents. She would have proceeded to the
terrace, but her mother's voice called her to the sitting-room.
"Bell, is that you?"
Christobelle found her ladyship seated in a lounging chair, employed
with her knotting. She looked up.
"I thought I recognized your step, my love; the fairy step, as Lord
Farnborough calls it. I wish you to remain entirely in the grounds,
Bell; indeed, I wish you not to quit the house this morning. Stay with
me, and wind these silks; they plague and impede my work."
"I am only going to the cliff, mamma: if any body comes, you will be so
good as to send for me, perhaps."
"My love, I cannot send the whole establishment in different directions
for you, upon all occasions. Your walks become a serious evil."
"I will remain on the terrace, then, mamma: I have promised to join Sir
John Spottiswoode."
"I do not approve of such daily walks, Bell--such wild roaming over
the hills. I wish you to wind these obdurate skeins for me: you forget
caution and propriety. I insist upon your avoidance of Sir John
Spottiswoode this morning. Lord Farnborough must not always find you
appropriated."
Sir John Spottiswoode appeared at the window which opened upon the
terrace at this moment. Lady Wetheral kissed her hand to him, and he
entered.
"My dear Spottiswoode, assist me to persuade my restive daughter that
so much exercise is hurtful. I wish her to remain with me this morning."
"The day is so beautiful, Lady Wetheral, and the air so reviving!" he
observed. "I am sure this fresh breeze will exhilarate her, and bring
the roses into her cheeks."
Her ladyship raised her glass to her eye, and slightly examined her
daughter's countenance.
"Bell, my love, your bloom is less vivid, but I think I prefer the
delicacy of its present tone. I have very essential reasons for wishing
you to remain with me this morning. I feel languid and unwell--very
languid after the fatigues of yesterday." Lady Wetheral's voice grew
fainter as she uttered the last sentence: and she sank back in her
chair, in an attitude of languor. "My love, pray wind those skeins for
me. I am a poor creature, you see."
It was useless to contend: Christobelle's destined walk must give
way to her mother's quiet determination that she should not become
conspicuous with Sir John Spottiswoode, and it was her duty to yield
to her wishes. Christobelle relinquished, therefore, all hopes of a
_tête-à-tête_ with her lover, and prepared to obey her commands, by
occupying herself with the silks. She had not courage to meet the
disappointed eye of her companion, nor indeed did she wish him to
discover, by the expression of her own orbs, how severely she suffered
by her obedience.
Sir John Spottiswoode was silent under the existing order of things,
and forbore to offer an opinion upon its unfitness; but he quietly
assisted Christobelle's operations, and held the skeins for her better
convenience in winding them. The whole affair arranged itself in such
perfect pantomime, that she could not resist a smile and glance at
her assistant, which amply repaid her self-control. An expression of
gratified happiness played upon his manly countenance, and lighted up
his eyes, which communicated itself to Christobelle's heart, and caused
intense gratitude for the blessing conferred upon her in the gift of
his affections. She felt that she could meet her mother's opposition,
her irony, her bitterness, with patience, since she had won all that
seemed valuable upon earth--all that was excellent, and affectionate,
and kind--the heart of Sir John Spottiswoode. She had received
the blessing too, at the very moment when her fears believed him
indifferent to her love: and when she suffered the pangs of jealousy,
elicited by Fanny Ponsonby, and continued by the surmise of Captain
Ponsonby; yet it was a change so suddenly effected, that she could
scarcely believe in its reality. Her lover knelt before her, holding
the extended skein, yet she could not place faith in the certainty that
all was not a dream: she heard her mother speak, and yet it appeared a
vision, from which, she trusted, she might never wake.
"My dear Spottiswoode, you are Hercules with the distaff."
"I have made my choice too, like Hercules, Lady Wetheral. I have
selected virtue, and I find I have also gained pleasure, for they are
seldom separate, after all. Pleasure does not include virtue always:
but virtue rarely moves without pleasure; I find it so now. I am
virtuously employed, and it is my greatest pleasure. I have great
pleasure in assisting your labours, Lady Wetheral."
"You appear to great advantage, Spottiswoode; but I hope you are not
making a pain of pleasure. Bell has already broken her thread twice."
"Miss Wetheral is all kindness; she bears with my awkward attempts
to be useful. I know I am very trying to her patience. Another thread
broken! My dear Miss Wetheral, be calm."
"I believe I must relinquish it, for a few moments," Christobelle
observed; "my hands are so tremulous."
"I am going to lecture you, Miss Wetheral, to spare your mamma the
trouble of pronouncing an exhortation in her languid state. Pray,
make another trial, and hold your hand steadily--_so_." Sir John
Spottiswoode pressed her hand affectionately, and held it as he
continued--"Now, my dear pupil, you must try to feel tranquil, and be
assured all efforts succeed, if they are made with perseverance."
"Very well," said Christobelle, laughingly; "my next effort shall be
boldly made."
"But, stay," he added, detaining the hand she would have withdrawn,
"stay one moment, while I examine this entanglement." Sir John
Spottiswoode bent forward to conceal his movement and Christobelle's
confusion from Lady Wetheral's notice. "This is rather a puzzling
affair at this moment, Miss Wetheral, but we must succeed in time by
mutual perseverance--if you are calm, and I am near you, to offer
counsel. Do you perfectly understand me?"
"I believe I do. I am to be calm, and try to unravel this puzzling work
in patience. I quite understand you, and I will try to do so."
"When did my pupil ever misunderstand my words?" he replied, with
energy; and, forgetful of his own cautions and Lady Wetheral's
presence, he caught Christobelle's hand to his lips. She was terrified
at the action, but her mother had little time to express her
indignation, for the door was suddenly thrown open, and the servant
announced Lord Farnborough.
His lordship entered with a heated and raised complexion, and he
attentively surveyed the apartment, as he spoke.
"So I am before him at last. I thought I should find the fox in his
earth, for he was off an hour ago: this is capital."
"My dear lord, you are most welcome. This is really a neighbourly
action." Lady Wetheral rose promptly from her languid repose, and
received her visitor with bright smiles of pleasure. Lord Farnborough
recollected himself, and recovered his self-possession, as he paid his
_devoirs_ to the party.
"I fear I came in rather hastily, Lady Wetheral; but you will excuse
my eager manner, when you learn its motive. I thought Ponsonby had been
before me. We have had a race for it, I assure you."
"Captain Ponsonby has not called, I believe," replied Lady Wetheral,
in tones of mingled triumph and hope, "unless he is closeted with my
husband."
"Ha!" exclaimed his lordship, "then he has preceded me? Lady Wetheral,
allow me an immediate conference, if you please."
"Certainly, my lord; we will retire into my own sitting-room."
"Here, if you please, for time is very precious. Will you allow me
to lead you upon the terrace, Lady Wetheral? You must excuse my
impetuosity."
Lady Wetheral accepted Lord Farnborough's offered arm, and she was
hurried upon the terrace; but not a glance or movement on her part
betokened fatigue, or a remnant of her past languor. Her step was firm,
and her eyes beamed with expected triumph.
"Chrystal, my own Chrystal," cried Sir John Spottiswoode, as the
receding figures were lost to sight, "if ever I loved and admired you
more truly and fondly than I fancied I could do, it was at the moment
you renounced your plans to obey a parent, with a smile on your lip,
and regret in your dear heart."
"But my real misery is yet to come," exclaimed Christobelle, though
she felt herself pressed to the warm heart of her lover, and there was
blessedness in the pressure.
"But why so?" he asked tenderly; "what has Chrystal to fear?"
"Lord Farnborough's visit is connected with _myself_; I know it as
surely as if I heard the words spoken. I know I have so much to endure
from my mother!"
"But you are mine, Chrystal; and who can take you from me now? Are you
not my own, my very own?"
"I know it: I feel secure of _you_; but my mother will say such harsh
things!"
"Fear not, my beloved. If we are true to each other, surely we can
endure a little trial of patience."
Yes, he spoke truly. Christobelle could endure a long, long trial
for _his_ love. She could suffer a protracted misery, to deserve a
heart so excellent. She had, too, a dear hope to sustain her, for her
father approved her sentiments, and he would shelter her from the
harsh reproaches of her mother's ambitious spirits: she could meet
her lover's entreaty to be patient with smiles. She told him she would
endure all things with firmness--that she would not anticipate evil.
She called upon him to rejoice with her in her father's approval, and
she told him of her interview and confession. How swiftly did their
short _tête-à-tête_ glide by! and how delightedly did Christobelle
listen to his fears respecting Lord Farnborough!
"But why did you not tell _me_ all this? Why did you suppose such
incredible things in silence--to leave me in such cruel and useless
suspense? Oh, Spottiswoode, _one_ word yesterday morning, and all this
had been spared us!"
"No, I was silenced by your mother for ever, in our morning lounge
upon the terrace. Had you not disclaimed all idea of Lord Farnborough
this morning, and had not hope rushed into my heart unbidden, by the
confession of your misery, I had never dared to breathe a word of my
sentiments. I believed you loved Lord Farnborough."
"She could not tell you _that_! Surely my mother did not tell you
so--oh! she never told you I cared for _him_!" Christobelle shuddered
at the thought; but the encircling arms of her lover restrained the
movement which impelled her to start from her chair.
"I was assured your heart was on the point of acknowledging Lord
Farnborough's power, Chrystal--and your mother spoke in terms of proud
approval."
"Oh, my mother, my mother!" exclaimed Christobelle, weeping at the
thought of her cruel policy; "I might have been sacrificed for ever to
your ambitious wishes! I should have been given in utter wretchedness
to a man I did not love, and consigned to hopeless misery!"
"Weep not, dearest," said her companion, "and I will tell you how your
presence shall brighten and bless the scenes of my solitary wanderings
at Alverton--how it shall illumine my future life, and reward me for my
patient waiting. Did you but know, my love, how I feared you would be
appropriated, ere I could claim an interest in your heart, and, yet,
how firmly I resolved to leave you to the working of its own resolves,
you would pity and love me for my resolution."
"I _do_ love you!" Christobelle concealed her face upon his shoulder.
They were silent for some moments, but his lips were pressed upon
her forehead, and she was in his arms--both too engrossed, with
the certainty of being at last happy, to break the deep silence.
Christobelle forgot her mother--she forgot Lord Farnborough; she
thought not of his errand, or her future anger. She was in a
trance:--she thought all reproach--all suffering--all unkindness, had
no further power to wound, for she belonged to her lover, and he would
shelter her, as he did at that moment, in his beloved embrace. The
world without might struggle with deep and mighty commotion--it might
drink deeply of the elements of strife, and do battle with the stirring
natures of mortality--but _she_ was safe from strife and suffering now.
She had given herself, heart and soul, to the man she loved dearer than
herself, or aught in creation besides. She was the promised bride of
Sir John Spottiswoode!