Sir Foster Kerrison's entrance into the great drawing-room at Wetheral was an epoch in its annals. It was the precursor of stirring matter. Lady Wetheral received him with great amenity of manner; and any other gentleman might have perceived a look of anxious care in her eyes. Sir Foster, however, saw nothing; he did not even observe that her ladyship was alone. Habit directed him to a seat in the direction of the lounging-chair, which stood in the boudoir, and when his hat was placed upon a table, there was nothing to interfere with his dolce far niente. Sir Foster sat down, tapping his boot and winking his eye, in happy ignorance of coming events.

Lady Wetheral allowed some little time to elapse in silence, ere she commenced proceedings; but, when Sir Foster had taken root, and looked steadily deposited for three hours at least, the case was gently opened. Lady Wetheral drew near, and seated herself opposite her neighbour.

"Sir Foster Kerrison, I beg your attention for a few moments."

Sir Foster made no reply, but a rather quickened tapping of the boot assured her she was heard. Miss Kerrison had innocently enough supplied the key to her father's meaning, and movements.

"Perhaps, my dear Sir Foster, you are somewhat surprised at the absence of Lucy and Clara."

Sir Foster looked round the room, and smiled.

"Clara is not allowed to return again to your society, my dear Sir Foster, for very essential and painful reasons." Lady Wetheral paused, but she might have continued ad libitum for hours: Sir Foster neither perceived the absence of his daughter and Clara, nor understood the drift of her remarks. Lady Wetheral's quickness detected at once the obtuseness of her companion; she perceived the uselessness of hints and sighs, and broken sentences, in the present instance. Tom Pynsent yielded at once to their influence, but Sir Foster required a coup de main to rouse his feelings and attention. Another line of conduct was therefore chosen.

"Sir Foster Kerrison, you have behaved very ill to my daughter!"

"God bless me!" cried Sir Foster, almost starting. "Eh! what?"

"If your intentions are not honourable, Sir Foster Kerrison, I, as a mother, demand a change of conduct on your part."

"Lucy ill, or any thing?" demanded Sir Foster, in surprise.

"Miss Kerrison is well," replied Lady Wetheral, with emphasis.

"Oh, umph!"

Sir Foster sank again comfortably into the arm-chair.

Provoking man! Was there no way of chaining such a creature? Her ladyship's patience was inexhaustible. Perhaps a still more decided manner might effect the purpose. Lady Wetheral took a high tone.

"Sir Foster Kerrison, the neighbourhood have reported you are addressing my daughter. I wish to know if you are aware of this report: Miss Wetheral shall not be trifled with, Sir Foster!"

The tapping increased in velocity, and Sir Foster's eye winked with prodigious rapidity. Her ladyship became gradually more resolute and parental.

"If my child is to be made wretched, Sir Foster Kerrison, a mother's offended heart will urge its claims to be heard, and her lips will express its horror at such baseness. She will tell you how detestably wicked it is to come, day after day, and sit hours, with an innocent, trusting girl, who fondly believes there is truth and honour in your soul. No parent can mistake the aim of your visits, Sir Foster, but I will know if it is meant in honour. I will hear no base apologies, no wicked evasions—is my daughter to be Lady Kerrison, or is she to pine away in solitary, unrequited attachment? Is Miss Wetheral to become pointed at as a refused and melancholy picture of disappointed love; or is my lovely Clara to be your happy, affectionate wife, Sir Foster Kerrison?" The lady's voice sounded agitated and heart-broken at the conclusion of her speech.

Sir Foster looked bewildered. He heard the epithets "base" and "wicked," without comprehending their purport, or having a connecting idea of the sentences which fell from Lady Wetheral's lips with such voluble earnestness. He only heard distinctly the concluding words, "Is my lovely Clara to be your happy, affectionate wife, Sir Foster?" and he replied with quiet nonchalance,

"If you please—oh yes—eh, what?"

Lady Wetheral smiled very complacently as she rose from her seat.

"You have made me very happy, by proposing for my Clara, dear Sir Foster, and we will now return into the boudoir."

Lady Wetheral talked all the way from the drawing-room into her boudoir, while Sir Foster followed, humming and staring, perfectly aware something had happened, yet not quite awake to its nature.

"I am delighted our little society is not to be broken up, my dear Sir Foster: now, you know, every thing will continue in its own charming routine—you will be in your arm-chair now every day, as a thing of course. Sit down, dear Sir Foster; I will open this window; the spring flowers are early and delicious this season. I perceive Lucy and Clara walking in the garden. Ah, I see you have taken possession of your old seat, dear Sir Foster."

Miss Kerrison and Clara were quickly at the door of the boudoir. Clara had seen the signal; the window was at last thrown open.

"Lucy, Lucy, your father is come; let us return to the house," she cried, hastily retracing her steps. Lucy followed instinctively.

"Lucy Kerrison," said Lady Wetheral, taking her hand the moment she appeared, "I have very extraordinary news for you! how are you inclined to receive a mother-in-law, my dear love!"

"Are you going to marry papa?" asked Lucy Kerrison, in extremity of surprise.

"No, my love; Sir John is in excellent health in his study," replied her ladyship, smiling.

"Oh yes, how foolish! I forgot; but I fancied you in earnest, and I could only think of yourself, Lady Wetheral. Papa, are you going to be married? Oh, don't marry! pray, don't marry, papa, and I will return to Ripley with you: but it's only a joke, is it papa?" and poor Lucy Kerrison became very pale.

"My dear love, you really tremble; but I assure you there is no need of any alarm. You will not fear Clara as a new relation: you will lead a very easy life with Clara, my dear Lucy! Your papa has proposed for Clara, my dear young friend. Are you sorry?"

Lucy Kerrison seated herself in perfect silence and astonishment. Lady Wetheral resumed.

"Clara, my love, Sir Foster has decided upon taking away my companion: he has asked for you to ornament and enliven Ripley, my love. How can I refuse Sir Foster Kerrison; and yet how can I part with my only child, my only companion, since the marriage of Mrs. Tom Pynsent and Lady Ennismore!"

Miss Kerrison fixed her gaze upon Clara and her father alternately, but she did not speak: her ideas were too confused to admit of speech, and she watched in stupid amazement the scene that was passing before her. Lady Wetheral approached Sir Foster, leading Clara.

"Rise, man of happy fortunes, and receive the boon I tender to you according to your wishes. Make my child happy, and I must reluctantly consider myself fortunate in giving her to a good, indulgent man, such as Sir Foster Kerrison."

Sir Foster was noted for taciturnity, and inveterate absence of mind, in society; but he was not an absolute fool, and he was a great admirer of beauty. He had a strong suspicion in his mind that a young lady was on the point of being forced upon him; but he hated altercation, and the lady was young and particularly handsome; besides, Lady Wetheral was insisting upon it, he had made proposals, and it was useless to contend. Sir Foster therefore rose and bowed very gallantly—considering it was Sir Foster; and that bow recognised and authorised the whole affair. Lady Wetheral's care was ended upon Clara's matrimonial prospects.

Miss Kerrison at length found words to express her deep surprise, and indeed pleasure, considering her father really meant to marry; but she confessed the thing was a mystery to her; she had seen no attention on her father's part to Clara—never! As to his sitting three hours every day at Wetheral, that was nothing—he did so at many places. She never saw any liking on Clara's part either—altogether, it was the oddest piece of courtship she had ever seen or read of.

Sir Foster having bowed and reseated himself, heard all his daughter's remarks in silence. He smiled and tapped his boot fast, which always denoted concurrence, or was a symptom of pleasure as far as it went; therefore, Miss Kerrison continued.

"I am sure, papa, you only visit here as you did at Hatton and Lidham, and in Shrewsbury; you never made love to Miss Wycherly or Miss Spottiswoode; did you? And you never spoke to, or looked at Clara that I could see? I cannot make it all out! I am sure, Clara, you would have mentioned it to me if you had liked papa, or if you thought papa liked you. I never shall understand it. Are you going to marry soon, papa?"

"All in good time, my dear Lucy," replied Lady Wetheral, pleased with the admirable issue of her scheme; "there are many little things to be done before Clara can be given up to you. You, my dear Lucy, must be my daughter when Clara goes to Ripley; you must stay with me then, at poor lonely Wetheral."

"My dear Lady Wetheral, I will often come to see you, but I am sure Clara will require my assistance some time at Ripley. You don't know how particular papa is in eating! Clara will be some time finding out what papa likes, and till then!—oh, Clara, till then!" Miss Kerrison lifted up her hands and eyes. Sir Foster only smiled at his daughter's insinuation; he never offered to excuse or remove the implied hint from the minds of his fair one, or her mother. Miss Kerrison proceeded with lively energy,—

"Oh, Clara, I am very glad you mean to marry papa, though I never shall understand how it was brought about. I shall be released from managing the establishment, which I do not like. I hope you will get money from papa for every thing; I can assure you I had dreadful work to squeeze out a few pounds, and the fishmonger is my abhorrence: papa and the fishmonger have pretty scenes together!"

Sir Foster Kerrison chuckled, and winked his eye with nervous rapidity.

"Yes, papa, you may laugh, but the fishmonger did not. Do you know, Clara, papa kicked the man and his basket of soles and salmon out of the kitchen, and down the drive at Ripley."

Another chuckle betrayed the delight Sir Foster felt at the recollection of his prowess. Lady Wetheral however thought it politic to close the subject.

"Tradespeople are very tiresome, my dear Lucy, and it requires a particular degree of patience to deal with itinerant fish-people. I don't wonder at your poor father losing temper. One moment, my love, if you please."

She rose and quitted the boudoir, followed by Miss Kerrison, who accompanied her to the breakfast-room. Her ladyship then expressed and explained her wishes.

"My dear Lucy, it was time to have mercy upon your father and his bride elect, therefore I begged you to withdraw. They must have a tÊte-À-tÊte, poor things, to explain their feelings and inquire into each other's habits and tastes. And now, my love, since events have unfolded themselves so rapidly this morning, I must counsel and advise with you. I think it prudent that you should return to Ripley this morning, Lucy; therefore the carriage shall be at your service in two hours." Tears rushed into Lucy Kerrison's eyes.

"You know, my dear love, a separation now is merely a few hours' absence; something more to smile at than weep over—perhaps a day or two, not more. You are aware of your good father's infirmity, Lucy; and I trust to your good sense and kindness to remind him occasionally of his engagement; you understand me, my love."

"Yes, but papa forgets so sadly. After all, he may go off, and sit three hours at Lidham again; and how can I detain him, Lady Wetheral?"

"Circumstances are very different, my love! Yet I do not say Sir Foster may not require a little prompting sometimes; his absence of mind is certainly a disease: perhaps, if you withheld his cane, or concealed his coat—Pelham, you know, might be let into the secret, to watch his master; or, if you sent a message by him, to freshen his recollection; but you will do every thing well, I am sure, my love;—no one more au fait and clever than Lucy Kerrison."

Thus flattered and counselled, Miss Kerrison undertook to watch her father's whereabouts, and Pelham was to be instructed to turn his master's thoughts every morning to his regular ride towards Wetheral. With these "advices" upon her mind, poor Lucy was consigned to the carriage, bearing with her many delightful compliments and invitations to consider Wetheral her second home—many pleasing anticipations of the future—and much triumph that another was going to undertake the management of Ripley, her father's violence, and the frightful contests between himself and the fishmonger.

Clara assured her mother, when Sir Foster had departed, "that though the tÊte-À-tÊte had not been a chatty affair, yet such taciturnity proved a very quiet, mild character, which would suit her own warmth of temper. She was very content to be Lady Kerrison, and have Lucy for a companion. Sir Foster loved quiet, therefore he would not interfere with her tastes, or quarrel with her actions. She and Lucy would enjoy themselves, and perhaps be a great deal from home." Lady Wetheral quite acquiesced in Clara's prognostics; there was only one little affair to get over, and that would soften by time and reason, she trusted.

"I mean your father's objection, my love; I dare say he will be horrified at first, because he fancies Sir Foster a little warm in his temper."

"I don't believe he is warm-tempered," replied Clara, haughtily. "If I don't complain, no one need make any objection."

"Exactly so, my love; who can possibly judge of another's tastes? What I consider impetuous, another person may think simply vivacious, and so on. I think, my love, we will not say any thing to your father just now; suppose we allow the subject to remain in abeyance for a few days? Sir John has such very narrow views of worldly advantages; such peculiarly contracted notions upon the luxuries of life."

Clara differed from Lady Wetheral. She considered it better sense to state the circumstance at once to her father, since he must become a principal in the affair sooner or later. She would herself inform him of Sir Foster's proposal, and if his objections were not to be reasoned with, she must act for herself.

Such was Clara's determination, and such the intrepidity of her temper at sixteen years of age. Ungovernable in feeling, and haughty in disposition, she held powerful sway over her mother's mind; but it was yet to be proved whether her father also would yield to her domineering and intractable spirit. Lady Wetheral shrunk from the combat which must ensue between parental authority and filial disobedience; it would be a combat far surpassing the skirmish which preceded Lady Ennismore's engagement, for her husband had seen the error of his frequent compliance with her wishes, and his commands had been peremptory in the matter of Sir Foster Kerrison.

Clara's high spirit would not stoop to commit her mother, by acknowledging her active management in procuring the proposal, but it might transpire that she had a deep share in its contrivance; and she dreaded the calm bitterness of her husband's reproaches. Clara's temper was equal to a thousand storms, and a thousand untoward events: "Clara therefore must fight her own battle; she was fully equipped for the war of words which must ensue, and her lofty spirit scorned the alarms which subjugated meaner and more timid minds." Clara only smiled in contempt at her mother's reasoning.

Sir John inquired at dinner what had become of his young and agreeable friend Miss Kerrison, who had so suddenly disappeared. His lady's reply was perfectly satisfactory, and precluded all further remark: "Miss Kerrison had been summoned home by Sir Foster." The dinner passed in harmony, and on Sir John's part, with more than his usual vivacity. He seemed to feel relieved by the absence of all associations connected with Ripley. How little did he anticipate the blow which awaited the withdrawal of the servants, to fall heavily upon his heart!

Clara opened her subject with the indifference of a person who had quite made up their mind to all consequences, and dared every opposition; she raised her wine-glass to sip its contents with consummate nonchalance, and coolly commenced her disclosure.

"Papa, I think it right to inform you of any material step which I may take, therefore I beg to tell you I have accepted Sir Foster Kerrison."

Sir John appeared for a moment stunned. Clara resumed—

"Sir Foster Kerrison pleases me; and, though my tastes may clash with others, I alone am judge of what will make me happy; therefore, I have resolved to marry Sir Foster, papa."

Sir John's eyes were fixed upon his lady's face in silence. She read their expression, and shrunk under its deep meaning. A flood of tears fortunately relieved the painful sense of self-upbraiding, and proved a fruitful theme by which to evade the subject so galling to her husband's mind.

"Really, Sir John, I am so enfeebled by constant flurry of mind, and my poor dear girls' marriages, that a word or a look throws me into fits of nervousness. I cannot imagine why you should stare at me in that odd way, when I never could endure a fixed gaze; particularly when my spirits are low, and my nerves so shaken."

"Clara," said her father, calmly, "what events have led to your acceptance of Sir Foster? when did you accept him, and where have you met him since your sisters' nuptials? Tell me candidly how all this has happened."

"Oh! yes, certainly, papa. Sir Foster has been visiting me here some time."

"I never saw him, or heard of the visit, Clara," replied Sir John, mildly.

"You are always in your study, papa. People seldom ask for you now," was Clara's observation, as she helped herself to preserved strawberries with perfect coolness of manner.

"Gertrude," said Sir John, "you have concealed all this from me, and disobeyed my strong injunctions to allow no intimacy with Sir Foster Kerrison. Since my wife persists in opposing me, I cannot be surprised at a child defying me."

"I never asked Sir Foster to Wetheral," faltered the lady; "his visits were not the consequences of any invitation from me; you have never seen him here, my love: I never ventured to ask him to dinner: I never held out an inducement to attract him here. It has been Sir Foster's own act and deed to propose to my daughter; and his calling occasionally was very natural, while Lucy staid with us. You brought him in yourself one day; but really all this violent altercation destroys my nerves, and undermines my health." Lady Wetheral sunk back in her chair, closed her eyes, and applied her vinaigrette.

Sir John was silent for some moments, as if his thoughts and feelings were too powerful to produce utterance. Clara did not, or would not, perceive his emotion; she continued eating her biscuit and strawberries with calm unconcern, not at all disconcerted by the deep silence which followed her mother's speech. Sir John at length rose, and, with great solemnity of tone and manner, addressed his youngest daughter, who was seated a silent spectator of the whole scene.

"Chrystal, it is time for me to take some steps towards removing you from such examples. I shall accompany you to Brierly to-morrow, and place you, for the present, under Boscawen's care. He will take charge of you till I can claim you in peace. When I have deposited you in safety, I shall remove from Wetheral for ever. Your mother and sister will accompany me into Scotland, as I shall reside in future at Fairlee."

Nothing could exceed Lady Wetheral's terror at these words, spoken so calmly and so decidedly. She rushed towards her husband, and seized his arm with nervous trepidation.

"Don't go into Scotland, John! oh, don't go there, to horrid Fairlee! I shall die there—no, no; say you will not take me from Wetheral, and I will promise any thing, John!" Her ladyship's alarm became very powerful, and she sank to the ground. Christobelle would have flown to the bell to summon Thompson, but her father forbade the action; he begged that such scenes might never be disclosed to the eyes of the household. He raised her, and laid her on a sofa, but it was some time ere her senses returned. She wandered evidently for some hours in her conversation, and was at length placed in bed, under the influence of a powerful narcotic. Christobelle watched by her as she slept.

Sir John Wetheral felt all this most painfully; but he was now awake to the weakness of his conduct in placing such implicit confidence in his lady's system of education; he felt too late how indolently he had succumbed to her tears and reproaches against his own better judgment, even to the sacrifice of Julia; and now he was resolved to save Clara, at the risk of sacrificing for ever all future hopes of domestic felicity. Her ladyship's fearful apprehensions of Fairlee threatened an illness: but Sir John was firmly resolved to quit Shropshire; to leave at once the scene of deception which irritated his mind; to save, if possible, the fate which awaited Clara, should her evil genius give her into the power of Sir Foster Kerrison.

Christobelle was still watching in her mother's room, when she opened her eyes, and faintly called for Thompson. Christobelle did not reply, but walked softly to the side of her bed, to inquire how she felt after her long sleep. Her eyes were heavy, for she closed them as she spoke.

"Is that you, Thompson? I have had such horrible dreams: your master is going into Scotland, and poor Miss Clara will be taken away from Sir Foster, after all my trouble."

"It is me, mamma," whispered Christobelle.

"Well, well," replied her mother, petulantly, "never mind who it is, you are equally included in this dreadful Fairlee business. I shall never live to reach Scotland: the dullness of the place—no neighbourhood—all old married men—not a match there fit for Clara—altogether it will kill me."

A silence of some moments ensued, and she spoke again in low complaining tones.

"Your poor father's violence has made me seriously ill, Bell, and he must lay my death at his own door. Sir Foster has been extremely ill used, and all the neighbourhood will think so, after his proposal being accepted, and his attachment made so public! My poor child Clara! it is very cruel by her, and the affair has broken my heart."

There was again a pause, so continued, that Christobelle believed her mother slept; at last she heard her name pronounced.

"Bell."

"Yes, mamma, I am close to you."

"Perhaps, Bell, as you have influence with your father, you can find out his intentions with respect to Sir Foster. I can't think he would break off such a match, but I am too unwell to enter upon the subject with him now. Go down, Bell, and manage your father, as I used to do, only bring me some intelligence."

"Shall I ask the question for you, mamma?"

"Don't be stupid, Bell; ask questions? Nonsense! You will never get the truth from man by a direct question, foolish child. You know what I mean; now go and glean his intentions with cleverness; it will be practice for you; there, no reply, Bell; no sentimentality; I detest it!"

Christobelle left the room, not quite comprehending her mother's words. She could not understand the "gleaning," neither did she know the meaning of the word "sentimentality," but she went to her father's study, and found him in his arm-chair, the candles standing before him unsnuffed. It was nearly twelve o'clock when she entered. Her father held out his hand, and drew her to him.

"You are still up, my child, and it is very late."

She told him her mother had slept long, and was very anxious to know whether he really intended to quit Wetheral.

"Your mamma sent you to inquire, my love?"

She hesitated. "No, papa, not to inquire; mamma forbade my asking questions."

"What were you to do, then, Chrystal, since your mother wished to know my sentiments?"

Christobelle hesitated again. She was not prepared for this close investigation.

"Chrystal, whenever you speak, let it be strictly in truth, and with open-heartedness; God and your father, my child, hate insincerity, and untrue lips; speak without fear, and without evasion. What is this all about?"

Christobelle became alarmed at her father's grave observation, and lost all presence of mind; she repeated at once her mother's injunction.

"Papa, I was told to glean your intentions, without sentimentality, that was all; only I don't know what 'glean' means."

"Go to bed, now, my dear child, and I will visit your mother," said her father, in a melancholy tone of voice, which surprised her. "You and I have a journey before us, Chrystal; the day after to-morrow we shall set out for Brierly; you will be useful to Isabel, and improved by Boscawen's society and tastes. Good night, and go to your bed, my love."

She went to her room, and slept soundly, innocent of wrong, and ignorant of the scene which took place in her mother's room, in consequence of her unfortunate disclosure. Christobelle was summoned to Lady Wetheral's bed-side after breakfast; Clara was seated reading near the window, and a small table covered with essence-bottles told her at a glance there had been strife. Christobelle was accosted with much irony.

"Peacemakers are desirable people, Bell, and, doubtless, your heart is enjoying the harmony you have created; pray advance, and behold your delightful work. Am I quite as miserable as you wish, Christobelle? or have you any little poisoned arrow to apply, by way of completing my distress? Pray do me the honour to inform me what my next annoyance shall be!"

Christobelle stood in astonishment; her mother was very seldom bitter in her remarks.

"I suppose you are not aware you have procured the dismissal of Sir Foster Kerrison, and may, probably, be the cause of your sister taking strong steps to assert herself. I suppose you are not aware you have made her and myself wretched, by your stupid matter of fact!"

Lady Wetheral laid down her salts bottle, and took up the vinaigrette; Christobelle could only weep, and plead ignorance of all intention of offending.

"Well, there's no help, now," continued her mother, changing her tone, and resuming the language of complaint. "You have done mischief, and you must endeavour to repair it. Your father intends to see Sir Foster to-day, and I am too ill to interfere; he will be violent, I dare say, for he has quite changed his nature, and his violence to me lately has been extraordinary; I know he will forget himself, and offend Sir Foster. Now, Bell, you must manage to place a slip of paper in Sir Foster's hand as he leaves the room, and do not make such mistakes as you generally contrive to do with your horrible matter of fact ways."

"There is no occasion for any slip of paper," observed Clara, without raising her eyes from the book she held before her.

"My dear Clara, yes!" said her mother, in an earnest tone.

"I choose to manage my own affairs," was Clara's quiet reply.

"But, my love, my dear Clara, remember Sir Foster's wretched memory! he requires some management!"

"I shall attend to all that is necessary," replied Clara.

"Well, my love, I ask no questions; indeed, I have no wish to interfere; I have done all I could do, in bringing Sir Foster to propose, and you must guard your own property now. I ask no questions; we will ask no questions, Bell; we will not be curious. I have neither eyes nor ears, Clara; I have only sunny thoughts, bright visions of Lady Kerrison presiding at Ripley, in spite of appearances; but, Bell, you must be blind: with all your might, remember; no more mistakes, if you please, and you may be of some use; you are too old to affect ignorance now, and I cannot excuse it."

Christobelle was in a tremor; for the sentences which flowed in such profusion from her mother's lips, conveyed no meaning to her mind; she was anxious to do right, but no distinct line of conduct had been pointed out; she told her mother steadily, yet in considerable alarm, that she did not know what was meant.

"I dare say not, Bell; your ideas are as limited as your poor father's, and I can imagine your influence over his mind must be very extensive—the confluence of dullness and stupidity. However, Bell, you can, probably, comprehend what I mean, when I command you to keep all you see and hear to yourself."

"Yes, mamma, I can do that."

"Very well. If you find Sir Foster Kerrison at any time about the premises, don't see him; and, whatever may take place around you, be ignorant of all things. Can you do this?"

"I will not say any thing to papa, unless he asks a question," replied Christobelle, quite assured in mind that she was giving satisfaction at last; her mother did not join her in opinion.

"Nonsense, folly! you have not common sense to guide you through life, child. Thank Heaven, the burden of procuring you an establishment will not be upon my shoulders! Your father must manage that affair as he pleases; he takes the whole management of you upon himself. Your wretched matter-of-fact ways would traverse all my plans for your benefit."

Christobelle was wrong again! She never could understand her mother's innuendoes, and she told her so, though she trembled as the words fell hesitating from her lips. She told her, also, that she could not comprehend the epithet "matter-of-fact," which she continually used with reference to her conduct. Alas! the explanation was to the artless girl equally unintelligible.

"You have no capacity, Bell, or you would understand the meaning of that expression. Your sisters were not matter-of-fact, unless, perhaps, Mrs. Tom Pynsent might be considered so; but time would have improved her; you are past hope. Nothing is so matter-of-fact, as believing every thing you hear, and answering questions point-blank. Nothing can be so cruelly matter-of-fact, as telling people exactly what you think, and making remarks upon people's movements. I believe matter-of-fact is born with you, and I can perceive no intuition, no tact in your manners, by which to imagine a germ might be fostered by practice. You will be very like your grand aunt, Bell, and like her, too, you will live single. I have no hopes from such mental poverty."

Clara appeared absorbed in her book, for she never raised her eyes, or joined in the conversation which related to her sister. After her haughtily expressed determination to be guided by her own judgment, she remained silent, nor did she apparently hear a word that passed between her mother and Christobelle. Time was, certainly, fostering the "germ" of resolution in Clara's breast; and now that circumstances and events developed her character, it was easy to see she had shaken off all restraints, and intended to hold the reins in her own youthful and inexperienced hands. Lady Wetheral felt her power was no more, if it had ever existed, over Clara's opinions and conduct; and she detained her youngest daughter to listen to her grievances.

"Altogether, Bell, what with your dullness, and Clara's temper, I have never been happy since your sisters married. I have endured a great deal from your father's violence, too, lately; last night he was indescribably violent, and I am sinking into ill-health. He is resolved Clara shall not be Lady Kerrison, and he has ordered the poor dear man to be shown into the study when he calls to-day. Do be there, Bell, and report the whole affair; you surely have just capacity for that?"

"Report nothing," said Clara, without raising her eyes from her book.

"My dear Clara, you really shock me!" Her mother laid down her vinaigrette, and took up the eau-de-luce. "My dear girl, you frighten me with such abrupt and alarming sentences. Do you not intend to marry Sir Foster Kerrison?"

"Of course I do," replied Clara, haughtily.

"Then, my love, why do you forbid Bell reporting his interview with your father?"

"I hate all that nonsense and tale-bearing; let Bell alone; why is she to be taught eavesdropping?"

"Really, Clara, you are becoming quite harsh. I certainly never taught any of you to do wrong, unless procuring the best alliances for you all is considered an injury. I cannot approve your remark, my dear love, at all."

Miss Wetheral did not reply.

"I cannot make out Clara's temper, Bell," whispered her mother, "there is nothing to be got at in her; I never can have any influence, when I particularly wish to point her attention to circumstances; however, I must let her take her own way, for she means to marry Sir Foster, I see, and my mind is fixed upon that match. Well, I shall rise, now, but I am seriously ill from your father's imperious conduct last night."

"I am very sorry, mamma."

"Sorry! Yes, it was your stupid folly which caused such an unprovoked attack. When Clara marries, I shall visit my dear Julia: her situation, so exalted, and the novelty of a new neighbourhood, will amuse me. You can take care of Sir John while I am absent. Perhaps, Bell, I may see some young man who may do for you some six years hence."

"No, I thank you, mamma."

"Oh, do not be alarmed," exclaimed Lady Wetheral, a little indignantly, "I am not going to trouble myself about your fortunes. You can return to the study: don't tumble over the chairs, Bell. You are at that awkward, ugly age, all legs and wings—there, get you gone."

Christobelle was very well pleased to escape, for she ever dreaded a summons to her mother's apartments. She might be awkward, and her countenance might be displeasing, but her father never alluded to personal appearance. His voice breathed accents of kindness and affection, and he only taught her to be good and dutiful. To his study she retired, as to the home of her happiness, and she was there when Sir Foster Kerrison was announced, according to Sir John's orders. Lucy Kerrison had kept her word—she had indeed reminded her father of his devoir at Wetheral Castle.

Sir Foster stood somewhat bewildered, at his entrance: he had been marshalled to the right instead of the left, upon alighting, and he was now ushered into a large room filled with books, instead of work-baskets and ladies. Altogether, without the trouble of reasoning upon the matter, or exactly perceiving how things were, Sir Foster felt something was different from what it had been: the chain of daily events at Wetheral was broken; he had got into a different line of action, without knowing why, or how it had been effected. Sir Foster's embarrassment, however, was only perceived in the nervous motion of his eye, and the tapping of his boot; for, in despite of the unhappy absence of mind, which indolence had nurtured, and which ever produced ridicule, his manners were those of an eccentric but polite man.

Sir John Wetheral received him with gravity, but with kindness, and, after a few observations had passed upon the state of crops and the weather, he commenced the subject near his heart. Sir Foster sat in silent reverie while Sir John poured forth his regret at an engagement having been entered into with his daughter without his concurrence; he spoke feelingly upon the deception which had surrounded that engagement, and expressed his entire disapproval of the match. Sir Foster smiled and winked, as allusion was made to the known violence of his temper; and he tapped his boot with rapid strokes, when Sir John professed his more powerful objections arose from his constant absence at the house of prayer.—"If," he said, "a man cared not to pray to his Maker, he would never heed the happiness of a creature committed to his care; and he would rather follow his child to the grave, than give her to a man who had no respect to earthly or heavenly things—whose passions were violent, and whose faith was unsettled."

Sir Foster had nothing to say in extenuation, if he really understood the purport of the address; but he looked perfectly innocent of all charges, or of having attached any meaning to the sounds which reached his ear. Sir John remembered Sir Foster's besetting sin, and accosted him again with decision, as Lady Wetheral had done in a similar situation, though upon a different subject.

"Sir Foster, I forbid your visits to my daughter Clara."

Sir Foster raised his eyebrows, but he understood the sentence: it was clear and concise.

"Eh?—yes, certainly, if Lady Wetheral does not mind."

"I am afraid, sir, Lady Wetheral has given you encouragement in this affair."

"Umph!—ah!—yes; something of that sort."

"I must insist upon ending the engagement, Sir Foster."

"Eh!—what? Yes, if you like."

There was a silence for some moments; it was broken by Sir Foster, in apparently complete forgetfulness of the preceding subject.

"Boscawen keep his blood mare?"

Sir John smiled, as he replied in the affirmative. Sir Foster began to wink his eye violently.

"Give him two hundred for her."

Sir John mentioned his intended visit to Brierly, and offered to be the bearer of his message or intentions.

"Go with you."

"Ripley does not lie far out of our way; shall I call for you, Sir Foster? We shall be happy to offer you a seat in or outside the carriage, which you please."

Sir Foster smiled and hummed, which, according to Lucy Kerrison's reading, implied consent; they were therefore to have the pleasure of his company on their journey. Sir John would not feel annoyed by the accession of a taciturn companion; Sir Foster would, at least, be out of Clara's neighbourhood, and, what was more satisfactory, he would be beyond the reach of his lady's machinations.

After this arrangement, Sir Foster remained two hours, silently smiling in his chair, without changing his position, or appearing to feel the absence of his so lately affianced bride. Once initiated in another suite of apartments, it was more than likely he would, in future, seek the study as naturally as he had made his sederunt in the boudoir; but the proposed journey must interfere with his plans, and force them into other channels. Brierly and the blood-mare had present possession of his memory, and, unless they sank into the oblivious depths of his lethargic mind, Sir Foster was destined to become a millstone round the energies of Mr. Boscawen, and Clara must relinquish all hope of securing her fleeting lover.

Sir John was aware of his companion's eccentric habits, therefore his studies were quietly resumed, and Sir Foster was allowed to smile and doze out his allotted time in his own peculiar way. Happiness is very differently defined by individuals: Sir Foster considered it enjoyed in a long course of half-dreamy nothingness, seated in a soft arm-chair, tapping his boot, and not bored by questions or remarks: Mrs. Hancock and Mrs. Pynsent loved locomotion, and considered life given as a means of enjoyment in talking, walking, driving, laughing, and "fun:" Sir John Wetheral loved retirement with books: his lady confessed she delighted in matchmaking, and visiting different watering-places: yet do we know and feel happiness is not of this world; and our enjoyments prove, in the end, the highway to trials and cares.

Sir Foster Kerrison, at length, awoke from his long calm, and put on his hat. Christobelle was reading aloud to her father, but she became silent at this moment, which denoted preparation for departure. Sir Foster did not observe this; probably he did not see them, for he rose humming an air, and, winking very nervously, looked attentively at a portrait of "Eclipse," and walked deliberately out of the study. This was Sir Foster's "odd way," and no one ever took offence at any thing Sir Foster did or said. Sir John only remarked, in his gentle way, "Clara's idea of Sir Foster's temper may not coincide with mine—a young girl cannot understand how deeply her husband's temper may implicate her happiness—but I am astonished at her taste, in selecting a man whose manners must disgust a delicate woman, and who has already forgotten his dismissal, in anxiety to purchase a blood-mare at Brierly. I fear Clara is dazzled by motives which blind her to truth. I will take you to Brierly, my love, to-morrow: I long to get you away from this place."

When Christobelle passed through the chapel to reach her own room, she saw Clara and Sir Foster Kerrison walking in the avenue: she could not be mistaken; the chapel-window commanded the avenue, and Clara was seen distinctly. She appeared in very earnest conversation: Sir Foster led his horse by the bridle-rein, and Christobelle thought one arm was round Clara's waist. She remembered her mother's injunction "not to see" Sir Foster if she met him upon the premises; and she obeyed the spirit of her meaning, for she made no observation respecting what she had seen. Clara appeared at dinner perfectly calm and collected, and her spirits were higher than usual: she had not the pale cheek, or monumental look, which Shakespeare describes so pathetically—there was no sign that

All was tranquil health and untamed spirits in Clara's beautiful face. Christobelle persuaded herself she could not have seen her sister in the avenue, and that she was yet ignorant of Sir Foster's intention to accompany them to Brierly, and bid high for the blood-mare. When the family separated for the night, Lady Wetheral coolly wished her youngest daughter a happy meeting with her friends at Brierly: she should not be up, and begged Christobelle would not rattle at her door with her awkward fingers, under pretence of leave-taking. She was to give her love to Mrs. Boscawen, and bid her remember the baize-door for the nursery.

Clara advanced and kissed her sister: she spoke laughingly.

"You need not visit my room, Bell, to-morrow, because I shall be very busy; but I wish you lots of happiness, if there is such material at Brierly. How long do you remain?"

"Papa says, till you are all at Fairlee."

"Oh, well, a happy meeting to us all at Fairlee; but, Bell, before we meet again,

"You don't understand me? Never mind—I don't think I shall like Fairlee. How you stare, Miss Bell!"

Christobelle did look surprised: she could not understand Clara's gaiety upon her lover's dismissal. She retired to her room, however, and lost all recollections, in deep and sweet slumber, both of the past and present.