Sir John Wetheral spoke very seriously to his daughter during their rapid transit: he pointed out the crime of sacrificing principle and content upon earth, to bow to idols which tempted the worst passions of human nature, and gave the soul to mammon. He laid before her notice the fate of those who forgot their Maker's injunction, to care for their soul, and not for the body; and who strove for earthly things, without considering they could not carry them to that place, where the innocent and upright spirit alone could be triumphant.

Christobelle listened to her father's mild admonitions in silent, pleased attention, and her heart drank in the holiness of the subject, and the justice of his remarks; but when he changed his tone and subject, to charge himself with negligence, in allowing his lady's influence to prevail over his better reason—when he took blame to himself for allowing the marriage of Julia, so contrary to his own wishes, to a man so little calculated to make her happy, and prophecied, in melancholy accents, that his grey hair would be brought in sorrow to the grave, by his own unpardonable indolence, and blind affection—then she wept to hear him, and pressed his hands to her heart.

"Do not say so, papa—do not die, or what will become of me?"

He smiled at her energy.

"I am not going before my appointed time," he said, putting one arm round her waist. "I shall not leave you, Chrystal, unprotected, whenever that time may arrive, for your mind is stored with those precepts which can mitigate the evils of this world. You have a parent, my child, who is not a fallible father, such as I am, and to Him I commit you, and did commit you from your birth. You were given up exclusively to me, with your poor mother's consent—indeed, by her expressed wish—and I have endeavoured to lead your mind to those truths which must advance your happiness. I have led you, Chrystal, to the fountain of living waters, and from that fountain you will drink the cup of tribulation, but it will be sweetened by the knowledge that it came from His hands—that all trials are sent to the good, to see if their faith is sincere, and their patience an abiding trust in Him who gives and takes away. If, Chrystal, your earthly father is taken away, and your home broken up, remember that Father above, and remember that house made without hands, promised to all who walk steadily and faithfully to the end."

Christobelle's heart was wrung with the seriousness of her father's words, and the peculiar tone in which they were uttered: it seemed that he was preparing to leave for ever the home, and the study, which had sheltered her youth from every storm, and had been the scene of their daily and long communion together. If her father was no more, who besides Isabel would cherish his companion, and love her as he had done? Who would save her from her mother's irony, and soothe her increasing irritability towards her? Christobelle became wild with the idea of his early death, and, clasping her hands, cried, "Oh! dearest papa, don't talk so—don't frighten me, and promise not to leave me."

"Nay, Chrystal," he replied, soothingly, "do not alarm yourself; I am here in present health; and I trust, for some years to come, to be allowed to watch over you. I speak seriously, because my words will be remembered by you hereafter, when I may not be near to give counsel; and I think seriously, because Clara's unhappy marriage may affect her conduct and character: she is too young to escape the contamination of passing her life with Sir Foster Kerrison."

Sir John became agitated as they turned into Ripley Park, and drew near the house which held his unfortunate daughter: he wished to gain firmness with gentleness for the approaching interview, and he muttered several times, quickly, "I hope I shall not forget myself!—God help me, I hope I shall not forget myself!" He was agitated even to nervousness, when they drove past the conservatory, and the bells pealed their arrival; but Christobelle was then too young and inexperienced to be useful, or even to understand the depth of a parent's agony. She followed him in silence to the hall and into the sitting-room, where Clara lay extended upon a chaise-longue, with a bandage round one arm, and a severe bruise upon her eye. She rose, upon their entrance, with self-possession, and, apparently, with utter oblivion regarding the past, for her eyes flashed with angry feelings, and she spoke only of the present moment, and of her own distress.

"You are come to witness a pretty scene at Ripley, papa, and to congratulate Sir Foster, of course, upon being the greatest brute in Shropshire. Pray see if 'brute' is not legibly stamped upon my arm, and written upon my left eye. Look at this, papa."

Clara drew the bandage from her arm, and a dreadful sight presented itself: her anger rose as she gazed upon it.

"If my absence should give one qualm to that brute, I would never see his face again; but I will plague his heart out!"

Her father was greatly shocked: he was offended and disturbed by the exhibition of Clara's temper, but he detested the cowardly violence of a man who could strike a helpless wife, even through extent of provocation: his first movement was to insist upon her return home. "Return with me to Wetheral, Clara, instantly; I will not see you treated like a slave, or bear that my daughter should be struck down like a dog, by a coward! Clara, return to your home, and I will tell Sir Foster he shall reach you again through my heart."

Clara shook her head. "Papa, I detest Sir Foster; and I would willingly fly to the wilds of America, if that distance would free me from his brutal presence—but my mother would speak bitterly to me. She drove me to Ripley by everlasting persuasions, and I will not bear her taunts at my return. My mother has done this by her love of high establishments, and I am married! She told me this morning, anger ruined my appearance; but she has ruined my happiness. Nevertheless, I'll plague his torpid heart, and torment him by day and by night! He shall feel that I can strike, too, in another way!"

"Clara," cried her father, "let me not hear such dreadful threatenings from a young woman's lips...."

"I will threaten!" interrupted Lady Kerrison, starting to her feet; "and I will do it! Am I to be bearded on every side, without revenge? I am passionate by nature, but I am raging with ill-usage, and I'll torment him—yes, I will retort upon him faithfully!"

Such language from a youthful and beautiful creature seemed to stun her father; and Christobelle stood petrified at such a display of female intemperance. Could this be Clara, her own sister? Was this irritable creature the sister of Isabel, of Julia, of Anna Maria? As she stood baring her arm, and fixing her eyes upon her father, she looked a Pythoness unveiling future woes and tribulations to the enemies of her country.

Clara was yet standing, when Sir Foster walked into the room, tapping his boot, and humming his usual air: the same smile was upon his lips, and the same vacant expression was upon his features: he nodded familiarly to his guests, as though their parting was but of yesterday, and he sat down in his capacious-cushioned arm-chair as quietly, and with the same enjoyment, as formerly. His eye glanced at Clara, and a chuckling sound proceeded from his throat—the same note of internal gratification which issued in the boudoir, when Lucy Kerrison detailed his prowess with the fishmonger. Clara understood its meaning, and she pointed towards him with a bitter contempt.

"There he sits, smiling and curling his audacious lip, as if he was thinking of any thing but cowardice and cruelty! Would you imagine that man could strike a woman to the ground, for upholding justice and right?"

Sir Foster winked his eye with the rapidity which denoted observation; his colour rose at Clara's remark, but he did not reply. Why did Clara persevere?

"Would you think that animal, called a man, ever rose from his dulness to revenge himself upon my person, for affronts he dared not revenge upon a fishmonger?"

Sir Foster was roused: he approached Clara, and held her arm. "Will you hold your tongue, or I'll kick you to the devil!"

"No, I will not hold my tongue: I tell you the man was right—right—right—he was right—if I die saying it! Now, will you dare touch me before my father, coward?"

"Oh, Clara!" Christobelle exclaimed, "do not persist in using provoking words—oh, be like Isabel!"

"I'll be Clara Wetheral," she replied, indignantly; "I will never submit to tyranny, or crouch to brutality. I would spurn a quarrel about a salmon! Beat a woman about a salmon!—is there a coward upon earth who would dare have acted as this man has done?"

Sir Foster appeared irritated to the top of his bent, and his hand was raised to strike. Sir John Wetheral could be silent no longer; he called to his son-in-law, in piercing tones, "Kerrison, be a man!" Sir Foster did not touch Clara—he turned away with a great effort, and resumed his seat; but he closed his fist, and shook it at his wife.

"If I don't wallop you some day properly!"

"Ay, when the fishmonger returns," answered Clara, in taunting tones.

The father's distress at witnessing this scene cannot be described. A parent may feel with him the desolation of heart he endured, as he listened to his daughter's unadvised and unwomanly railing, and comprehend his deeply-pained, disgusted feelings—but no pen can depict it. He stood for some moments unable to master his emotion; and, to all appearance, he was bowed down under its influence. Christobelle was sure the effect of this scene would have a fearful result, and that his mind would dwell upon the reckless conduct of Clara, and her future destiny, till his health would suffer. When utterance returned to his opened lips, which had essayed in vain to move, Sir John advanced to Sir Foster, and spoke kindly, but firmly.

"I have seen a dreadful quarrel between two people, who are my near relations, and who have been married three months: this is a sight, Sir Foster...."

"Plaguy devil!" muttered Sir Foster.

"I have seen great provocation on Clara's part, but I beseech you never to lay your hand upon my daughter, as you hope to see your own children happy in marriage."

"His boys are brutes already," exclaimed Clara, haughtily.

"Peace, Clara," replied her father, "and hear me, while I call upon you, by the affection I have ever felt, and the kindness I have shewn, to be gentle and obedient to your husband."

A laugh of contempt broke from Lady Kerrison. "Yes, papa, obey an hyena, and be gentle to a tyrant!"

"D—— me, if I stand this!" cried Sir Foster, provoked beyond endurance, and, seizing a heavy volume from the table, he hurled it at Clara's head: it missed its aim, and fell at Christobelle's feet. Clara again laughed contemptuously. Christobelle rose in alarm, but her fears were not for herself; she threw her arms round Sir Foster, in terror, and implored him to overlook her sister's conduct. She found fluency of speech, as she besought him to bear with her temper, and take no notice of her remarks. She implored him to think of her dear father, and to promise he would never strike Clara, let her conduct be ever so provoking. "Oh, leave the room, Sir Foster, when Clara becomes angry, but do not throw such dreadful things at her!—do not commit murder in your passion!"

Sir Foster winked his eye during this address, and smiled, but Christobelle could perceive all decorum was banished between them, for he replied with coarseness, "I'll serve her out, if she jaws in that style."

It was impossible to interfere with Sir Foster and his lady, when each party forgot prudence and propriety alike. It was but too evident that Clara disdained to conciliate, and that she rendered her husband furious by unfeminine and violent opposition. From the coarse mind of Sir Foster also, that mind which Sir John had deprecated—which his lady had palliated—which every one connected with Ripley deplored—from such a mind, under the influence of provocation, nothing but abusive language could proceed, or violent conduct be elicited. It was therefore incumbent upon Clara to obey the wishes of a man with whom her life must pass away in wrangling, should she oppose his measures. But Clara had never curbed the strength of her passions: her mother's influence had never been exerted to reach and amend that peccant part, and, as the wife of Sir Foster, those passions increased to the threatened destruction of her happiness and respectability. It was impossible the present state of things could exist. Sir Foster or Clara must yield in time, and who was to watch the conflict?

Sir John Wetheral placed his hand upon the bell-rope, and waved his hand to demand attention. He besought them to heed his words, ere he rang for the carriage to convey him from a scene which had harrowed up his soul; this was no time for reproach and recrimination; he would reproach no one; he perceived both parties were in fault, and he trusted they would both see their mutual error. "It was grand in a man," he said, "to overlook a wife's failings; her helplessness, her weakness, demanded indulgence, and a woman never looked so lovely in the eyes of God and man, as in her performance of the duties allotted her. He would now depart, firmly believing he was quitting two rational beings, responsible for their breach of vows to a higher authority than himself. He would hope all things; he would hope, nay, he was certain, each party regretted the transactions of the day, and he trusted all remembrance of its bitterness was ended. He must now return to Wetheral."

Sir Foster made no reply in words: he attended to his father-in-law's gentle admonitions, because his usual winking motions and smile evidenced his powers of hearing; but Clara betrayed her withdrawn attention by the half-closed eye and head averted. When her father approached to take leave, she saluted him with affection, and expressed a desire to see him often at Ripley.

"Come very often, papa, pray, and see if I am alive. Don't leave me quite in the power of the brutes around: the five boys are enough to kill a giantess, and the next book thrown at my head may do mischief."

Oh that propensity to repeat and allude to past disagreeables! Not a shadow of tact had descended to Clara from her mother, to preserve domestic peace. The reckless speech again woke up contention; for Sir Foster advocated his own system of education, by exclaiming,—"Hold your tongue, will you?"

"I shall not be silent," retorted Clara: "don't expect to make me subservient to your vulgar prejudices, as your first wife was compelled to be. I insist upon saying your five boys are like your terriers in every particular."

The presence of her father checked the action which would, under other circumstances, have dealt heavy punishment upon the speaker. Sir Foster ground his teeth, but the closed fist attested his intention, and the respect which induced the effort to curb his resentment. Clara saw the effect of her father's presence upon his mind, and madly took advantage of the moment to continue her invectives.

"They are terriers in their features, terriers in disposition, and terriers in their feeding."

Sir Foster became pale with rage: he was a man of few words, but his wrath was terrible to witness. He called down every imprecation upon his lady's head, and vowed most fearfully to "wallop her" the first convenient opportunity. Sir John hastened Christobelle from the contemplation of such dreadful looks, and from the sound of such horrible words. He withdrew with her as their voices rose high in altercation, and left the scene of turbulence far, far behind.

Christobelle had indeed seen the misery of a match formed upon the baseless fabric of worldly riches. She saw it was unblest and full of woe. Their drive to Wetheral was silent and sad, for there was that upon the father's mind which banished repose. Clara's nature was too fearless and too violent to render her an object of esteem, or even to awaken compassion in her lot. Her determined insolence, and contemptuous bearing, towards her husband—her daring manner, and offensive observations, were insupportable to the eye and the ear. It was impossible to advocate the cause of a being, however youth might plead extenuation, who had deliberately and clandestinely married Sir Foster Kerrison, in defiance of her father's strongly expressed objections, yet, in three months' matrimony, dared to the uttermost the passions of her chosen companion for life.

Much as her father sorrowed over his daughter's destiny, he could not uphold her cause; her passions were too powerful, too unrestrained for his interference; he could not upbraid Sir Foster, when he had witnessed the provocation given by Clara, and he could not again offer his home to a disobedient wife. Clara must henceforth be a warning to her acquaintance, a beacon-light to warn them from the perils she had scorned, defied, and sunk under. But who had guided Clara to this perilous position? who had taught her youth to covet wealth, and stake her happiness against title and affluence without reflection?

Oh, mothers! what do you gain upon this passing scene, by bartering your children's welfare for a tinkling sound?—what will you gain hereafter, when the souls committed to your care on earth are required at your hands? Is the atheist, the gambler, the reckless, and blasphemer, to receive them, and become responsible for their lost state at the great account? I tell you it is not so; you have sold their minds to mammon, and you shall answer for that you have received, and have not given back.

Lady Wetheral had discovered Thompson's flight when Sir John and Christobelle returned to Wetheral, and her indignation was extreme. To be left by a menial in that offensive manner was degrading; but that Thompson should have flown from her duties, to enter matrimony, was disgusting. Thompson marrying! and with all the mystery of an heiress too! It was an insult she had not believed Thompson would have presumed to offer; but every thing was wrong, every thing was most wretched since her daughters had married. What was now left to her but poor Sir John, who was half a methodist, and an awkward girl, who was as learned as she was plain? It was very odd her intention to visit Bedinfield had been frustrated. She supposed all her children intended to decline her visits.

With these ideas and feelings, it was not to be supposed Lady Wetheral could be happy; and her disappointed mind preyed upon her health and temper. Christobelle was the victim of this state of things; she could never be sufficiently attentive or sufficiently agreeable; she was tiresome, awkward, or learned; she was to be an old maid, a nuisance in society, an arguing, philosophical excrescence, whom people would avoid and detest; she had not half the sense and conversation of poor, dear Thompson. Christobelle's spirits fled under constant and frivolous exertion of the power of tormenting. She was seated in the boudoir, with Lady Wetheral, one morning at work, not many days after the scene at Ripley; the irritability of her temper was increased by the recollection of former days and former employments. She commenced her usual complaints.—

"I think I am worse in health and spirits when I sit in this room; it puts me in mind of my poor daughters, who are gone. I am now quite deserted and forlorn; not one of them invites me to their home!"

Christobelle mentioned Brierly and the affection of its inmates.

"Fiddlestick, Bell! you are always quoting Brierly! I don't like Boscawen. I have no opinion of a man who allows his wife to be driven by a pair of horses, when he can afford four—I dislike avarice. And Isabel would make me so nervous, by carrying a great heavy baby about, and disordering her dress! I shall never visit Brierly."

"The Pynsents will be home soon, mamma."

"What's that to me, Bell? You don't suppose I shall stay at Hatton, and hear Mrs. Pynsent's remarks about Ripley, and Clara's folly in coming to an open rupture with her husband? The Tom Pynsents should have accepted Hatton when it was first proposed to them. I shall not visit there till Anna Maria is mistress of the property."

"But you will go to poor Clara, mamma."

"What am I to go to Ripley for?—to see my daughter ill-treated, or be treated myself with indifference? Clara had no business to make herself conspicuous by quarrelling. I wish, Bell, when you do vouchsafe to talk, that you would choose better subjects to converse upon. Your poor father's education has only fitted you to be a nuisance. I hate girls with books in their hands, and dulness on their tongues."

Christobelle changed the conversation.

"Mamma, your worsted work looks beautiful upon that ottoman; I could almost fancy that rose had perfume, it is so natural."

"Just the opinion of a girl who follows a man's occupation, instead of her own feminine amusements: had you any knowledge of work, you would have thought otherwise." Her mother gave a glance of disdain at the ottoman.

"I assure you, mamma, I understand all the stitches. Miss Boscawen taught me."

"One old maid teaching another, Bell."

"I don't think I shall dislike being single, mamma. Miss Boscawen looks so beautifully dressed, so clean, not at all like your descriptions of old maids."

"If you had any anxiety to be established like your sisters, Bell, you might please and amuse me in my seclusion. No one comes near me now, not even Miss Wycherly, who was always at Wetheral with Julia. I don't understand it. You might bring about an intimacy with Frank Kerrison, Bell, and ask him here to read with you. He will inherit Ripley, you know."

"Mamma, I don't like Frank Kerrison, he swears so."

"Nonsense, you matter-of-fact thing: if he swears now, it does not follow he will always swear."

"But papa says, it is seldom left off. I don't like Frank, he is so violent with his sisters."

"But you would be his wife, not his sister, child. What stupid notions you have!"

The hall-bell rang violently. Lady Wetheral's eyes brightened.—

"Some one has arrived at last to amuse me. I hope it is Penelope come to ask us to her marriage. She ought to do so, for Julia's sake."

The door opened, and Clara entered, to their great astonishment. She seated herself with perfect coolness.

"There," said she, "now let the brute seek me in my father's house!"

"My dear Clara, what brings you to Wetheral?—is Sir Foster with you?—will you dine here?" asked Lady Wetheral, in delighted accents. "I cannot tell you how a little society charms me in this dull place. You have made up that foolish fracas, my love, and you are both come to dine with me: is that it?"

"I am certainly come to dinner, and to sleep too," replied Clara, taking up the work which Christobelle had dropped in surprise. "Where is your thimble, Bell? I will finish this sprig for you."

"But, Sir Foster, my love—where is Sir Foster?"

"I really cannot say: perhaps, kicking the nurse-maids, as I am not at Ripley to stand in their place."

"Are you alone, then, Clara?"

"I hope so. I mean to be alone for some time."

"My dear Clara, you surely have not been quarrelling again!"

"Again! oh, no! it has been one long-continued quarrel ever since I married!"

"I am really shocked at your conduct, my dear love. How often I have implored you all to avoid scenes when you married! My dear Clara, you must remember my earnest instructions. This is a sad dereliction from good taste!"

"You should not have married me to a brute," exclaimed Clara, becoming impetuous.

"Clara, I was not at your side, when you eloped with Sir Foster," cried her mother, in a vindicating tone.

"Perhaps not; but you may remember the means you took to induce me to elope, mamma. You did not know the moment; but you were aware of the intention, brought on by your own hints and anxieties to see me at Ripley. Bell can bear witness to your remarks and innuendoes."

"I am sure Bell cannot," replied Lady Wetheral, in alarm.

"Bell can, though! Bell, I charge you to reply to my question. Did not my mother induce me to run away with my brute? Speak truly."

"You cannot say so, Bell," said Lady Wetheral, bursting into tears.

"Bell, answer truly!" and Clara dragged her from her chair, to stand before her. Christobelle struggled to get free; but Clara grasped her with a force she could not resist. "Now, Bell, tell my mother the glaring truth!"

"I will not be questioned—I will not speak—let me go, Clara, let me go!"

"Go, then, stupid fool, too weak to utter the truth!" Clara released her grasp, and Christobelle fled to a distant chair, to remain a spectator of the ensuing scene.

"Clara," said her mother, reproachfully, "what could induce you to blame me, for your own impolitic conduct? If I wished to see you the wife of a man standing high in situation, I never counselled you to forget the proprieties of life."

"You held up Sir Foster to my view, as a match which you prayed for, and desired me never to relinquish," retorted Clara, with passionate energy. "You have married me to a heartless brute, and now you turn against me!"

"No, Clara, I do not deserve that reproach; your temper is too violent for your peace, or mine." Her mother wept.

"I know my temper is like the whirlwind, but you never complained of it, or subdued it! You only bid me conceal it when Lucy came here, till I was actually the wife of a monster! I cannot conceal it now, for it chafes under ill treatment. Oh, if you had but checked it in childhood, to meet this extremity!" Clara grew almost madly passionate and vehement; she threw herself upon her knees before her weeping mother. "If ever my misery exceeds my forbearance, it will be your doing, oh! hard-hearted mother! You have sold me to a wretch who will drive me to desperation, and you must answer for it! My temper is warm—I know it—but any other man would not have made me despise him so horribly. I have provoked him, and I will provoke him; but it is your doing, for I did not understand a man's brutal nature. I thought they were all like my father!"

Lady Wetheral became almost convulsed with agitation. "Ring for Thompson—Thompson, Bell!" Alas! Thompson was no longer at Wetheral; but Christobelle was acquainted with her mother's ways, and brought the usual remedies to her hands. She did not avail herself of their use; her mind was too deeply occupied to heed them: she pushed her daughter aside, without being aware of the action.

"Clara, I never thought a child's reproach would rise against me! I did not imagine a daughter could raise her voice against a parent, who had sought so unceasingly the happiness of her married life."

"In what way, in what way?" demanded Clara, throwing herself on the ground with a movement of despair.

"I secured the luxuries of life to you, Clara."

"Oh, folly, folly!"

"I secured to you a proper position in society, Clara."

"Oh, folly, folly!" continued Lady Kerrison.

"I was anxious to see you enter life, courted, admired, and envied, my dear Clara."

"Who admires and envies me?" cried Clara, starting to her feet. "Who envies my situation, or would change places with such a wretched creature? By the Heaven which witnessed the sacrifice of my youth and hopes of happiness, I would willingly exchange with the humblest woman who breaks stones for her daily bread, and devours it in peace! Oh, Chrystal, never marry while you live!"

The exertion of complaint, and the powerful passions which warred in the soul of Clara, exhausted her strength after this vehement exposition of her suffering; and she lay upon the sofa, like a child who had sobbed itself into silence. It was a solemn sight to see so young and fair a creature, so deeply engaged in the strife of passion and contention; the expression of her countenance was already tinged with angry feelings, and her beautiful mouth was losing its attitude of repose: if such was Lady Kerrison's vehemence of character at this early period of her marriage, what would become of her in after-years?

Clara fell into a doze, which continued till the hall-bell again announced a visitor. Lady Wetheral, also, endeavoured to acquire a composure which would not appear at her call; Lady Kerrison's reproaches had startled and destroyed her tranquillity. Her hands trembled under their efforts to resume their occupation, and sighs burst from her bosom. Christobelle was glad the bustle of a fresh arrival drew near the door, to divert her thoughts from her sister's sorrow. Clara started from her sleep, at the sound of approaching voices, and rose from her couch. The servants announced Sir Foster Kerrison.

Sir Foster walked fiercely towards his lady, without taking notice of Lady Wetheral or Christobelle, who stood amazed, as he advanced to the sofa; he did not even wink his eye. Clara remained in haughty expectation of his address, her head thrown back, and her eye flashing defiance. "Now, sir, are you come to beard me at Wetheral!" was her indignant exclamation; "are you come here to prove how brutally you can treat a woman, even in her father's house?"

"Go home!" cried Sir Foster. "Go home this instant!"

"I will never return, if there is a roof elsewhere to shelter me!" returned his lady. "I am weary of existence under a tyrant's power."

"You won't? who is master at Ripley?" Sir Foster raised Clara in his arms, and, in spite of her resistance, he was carrying her from the boudoir. Lady Wetheral endeavoured to interfere; she besought Sir Foster not to commit himself before the servants—before the world—by using force towards his wife; but he heeded not her observation, or her prayer. Clara was borne into the hall, unable to contend with the grasp which detained her prisoner. In vain she screamed, "Oh, father, my father, save me!" he was not within hearing. In vain she vehemently threatened to plague her husband, till life should be a burden to him: Sir Foster made no reply. Before the household, who assembled at the piercing cries of Lady Kerrison, before the Ripley servants, who were stationed with the carriage, did Sir Foster bear his lady to the hall-door, and, ordering his footmen to their post, Clara was placed in the carriage by main force. She struggled violently to regain her liberty, but her delicate limbs were unequal to the conflict; she sank back almost fainting with her useless efforts; and, Sir Foster taking his place by her side, nodded and winked, and chuckled, as he exclaimed, "Done it well, by Jove! Jerry, drive like winking!" The Ripley carriage dashed furiously down the avenue.

Lady Wetheral felt intensely the publicity which accompanied Sir Foster Kerrison's resumption of his wife's society. The action itself was disagreeable—must be most offensively disagreeable to Clara—but the manner of the thing, the public display which surrounded the whole affair, was inexcusable! It was beyond a doubt now, the affairs of Ripley were discussed in the servants' halls and dining-rooms throughout the neighbourhood—a most horrible idea! People might be as unhappy as they pleased, and quarrel whenever they felt inclined so to do, but it was an offence against society, to perpetrate little misunderstandings before the world. Nothing could be in such wretched taste. Clara was very foolish and impolitic to irritate a man like Sir Foster, and blame her for the results. She had always cautioned Clara and the rest of her girls against scenes.

The remembrance of her salutary cautions, however, did not operate upon Lady Wetheral's nerves, or bring calmness to her mind. Clara's words rang in her ears; and her figure, as she knelt in the attitude of upbraiding, glided before her eyes. She could not forget those piercing expressions, "If ever my misery exceeds my forbearance, it will be your doing, oh! hard-hearted mother!" The voice sounded through the house, it followed her into the dressing-room; she complained to Christobelle that it would haunt her in her sleep, and that her death would be caused by filial ingratitude, after all her anxieties to promote her child's welfare. "I am sure these scenes are enough to destroy me, Bell, and I think Thompson might have spared her part in the transaction. She made my dose of sal-volatile exactly to my taste, and now in my extremity I dare not touch your mixtures, for I dare say they would excoriate my throat. Mrs. Bevan will never be what Thompson was; she looks perfectly bewildered when I require any thing. Clara has killed me: ingratitude is, indeed, hard to bear, and it will disgust me from making any further sacrifices on my own part for others. I shall not concern myself with your marriage, Bell. Marry whom you please; but, if you marry less well than your sisters, never come into my presence." Christobelle promised never to marry without her concurrence.

"So you all say, and act in defiance when opportunity offers. Say nothing to your father, Bell, about Clara; it was lucky he rode to Shrewsbury this morning; he would have laid the blame upon me, too; he always lectures me now: say nothing about it, pray. What is that?" Her ladyship started. "Oh, it is that ungrateful voice; it spoke quite plain to me! I am sure I shall have a nervous attack, if that voice haunts me."

Clara's reproaches had sunk deeply into Lady Wetheral's heart, though she affected to carry off this impression with bravery of manner. In vain she took repeated doses of camphor-julep to still her nerves, and recover a portion of her spirits; the trembling of her limbs increased, and she acknowledged it would be impossible to meet poor Sir John at dinner; Christobelle must take her place, and invent any excuse she pleased for her absence, so that the truth was concealed from her husband. She was on no account to hint to him the transactions of the morning. It was fortunate for Christobelle that her father made few comments upon his lady's illness during their solitary meal; but his disposition was perfectly free from suspicion or curiosity, and conversation turned upon other subjects. Christobelle was delighted by one piece of intelligence on his part. The Tom Pynsents were to arrive in England the following week. Mrs. Pynsent and Mrs. Hancock were in Lewis's shop, and they informed him of their instant return to Hatton. Paris had not amused Tom, and he was longing to return to England; they had even come to the resolution of never again quitting Shropshire. Mrs. Pynsent was full of bustle and happiness at the idea—she would now get Tom back, and thank God all his dogs were in fine condition—not a puppy lost. Tom would find every thing as he left it, and Sal Hancock must be off to Lea. Mrs. Hancock winked her eye at her sister's remark.

"I tell you what, Pen, Tom will know a thing or two, when he comes from France; ten to one but I get into fashion this time."

"You be hanged, Sally Hancock!"

"They are not so whitewashed in France, Pen. I'll make a good bet our Tommy has had a 'cherry amy' by this time."

"None of your surmises, Sally Hancock; you know I can't bear any thing said about Tom. I'll be hanged if I take you home for that fib!"

"Faith, you must carry me somewhere, Pen," replied Mrs. Hancock, coolly; "you can't leave me and my game-leg here."

"Hold your tongue, then, about Tom and 'cherry amys.'"

Sir John thought it was time to make his bow to the ladies, and he quitted the shop, leaving the sisters in high altercation. The quarrels of Mrs. Pynsent and Mrs. Hancock were fortunately as short as they were frequent and public. Ten minutes after Sir John's departure from Lewis's shop, he saw Mrs. Hancock upon her sister's arm, walking with great difficulty and in apparent pain; but both ladies were laughing immoderately, and attracting the notice of the passers by from the loudness of their conversation.

Christobelle trusted that Tom Pynsent's return would operate advantageously upon her mother's spirits, and assist the recovery of her tone of mind, which appeared sinking. She could not understand the extraordinary change which had taken place in a person naturally so active and lively. It appeared as though Clara's marriage had acted as a sedative upon her mental and physical energies, and numbed their vigour. She had sunk rapidly into a nervous, solitary being, unequal to every exertion, indifferent to her husband's society, and dead to all resources. Yet was Sir Foster Kerrison the long-coveted object of her wishes, and every thought of her heart had been given to the accomplishment of that most desired union. Clara married Sir Foster, and obtained Ripley. What then caused this lassitude of body and mind? this melancholy exhibition of energies unemployed? of time heavily passed in dull complaining, and nervous misery? Her daughters were highly and wealthily established; and her views for each had been promptly and successfully fulfilled.

What could produce such a fearful change in the graceful Lady Wetheral, once, and so lately too, the gayest of the gay; ever animated, ever pleasing, even to those who knew and feared her matrimonial speculations? Because, all that was triumphant had fled;—because all that was most exciting had passed away. The hopes and fears which had given zest to life were unfortunately at rest, and there was nothing now to lead on the energies, and compel exertion. The cause was withdrawn, and the effect was fatal to a happiness which consisted in ceaseless anxiety to procure establishments for her children. All solicitude was now ended, and the mind sank, unemployed, into listlessness. Every thing became gloomy in its routine; every thing was conducted in its usual daily forms, but there was no longer the spirit which gave animation to ceremony. The shadow still remained, but the substance had departed, which threw a mantle of gaiety and brilliance over the proceedings of Wetheral Castle.