Lady Wetheral was extremely disconcerted by the knowledge of Mrs. Pynsent's intended visit for the day. The hour of breakfast passed slowly and miserably to Christobelle, who bore the whole burden of her petulance, and gave offence by the silence with which she hoped to dispel her irritability. "She was not at all like her other girls. Clara was warm in her temper, but she had always something sharp or witty to say. Christobelle was the dullest creature she had ever been doomed to sit in company with. Thompson was a great loss, poor dear silly woman; the best creature in the world, and the greatest fool for marrying a man who could not settle something upon her. If Christobelle would have the kindness to inform her how Clara looked, she would be extremely obliged by the information. Perhaps that was a subject on which she might condescend to speak."

Christobelle told her mother all she had seen and heard; and how fearful she was, that another dispute had arisen between the Kerrisons, which would increase Clara's violence. Lady Wetheral smiled incredulously.

"Clara will soon find herself no match for Sir Foster, and then she must yield by degrees. One or other must domineer, and the battle will be short: Clara will feel compelled to command her temper in time, and all this nonsense will be forgotten. People always forget the faults of the rich. Clara must give a splendid ball when it is blown over. How did Anna Maria appear to like being a guest at Hatton?"

"She was so happy and agreeable."

"She is very unlike her mother, then. I never would visit Wetheral till your father's tiresome old mother died, and Christobelle followed her example. I expect to hear your sister designated 'Mrs. Tom' every where. Country places are so second-rate in their customs! I hope no one will be guilty of such bad taste before me."

Christobelle had nothing to bring forward upon any subject which she considered likely to amuse; and, was therefore, again silent. Her mother patted the table a few seconds.

"Was Mrs. Hancock at dinner yesterday?"

"Yes, mamma."

"And how did she behave?"

"She was quite silent."

"Mrs. Pynsent is tolerated, because her position in life raises her among the highest of the land; but Mrs. Hancock is unfit for ladies' society:—I was going to say, for female association; but she does not often intrude. Miss Wycherly is a softened likeness of Mrs. Pynsent. There is great insolence in such marked bluntness of manners; one only meets with it in retired country places."

Another long pause.

"Your father talks of visiting Bedinfield next week, and he means to intrude you there. I shall send for poor dear Isabel and her child, I think."

Christobelle was all astonishment. What! summon the Brierly party, whom she always deprecated! Her surprise was visible in her countenance.

"Any thing very extraordinary, Bell, in wishing to see my daughter? I wish you would endeavour to suppress impertinence in your looks and motions, before you leave home. What are you sitting there for? Pray retire to your occupations."

Christobelle went into her father's study—that sanctum sanctorum for painful feelings, and mortified spirits, and there she remained till the Hatton carriage arrived. She had a long and serious conversation with her kind parent upon many subjects. He spoke most feelingly upon the distress of mind he endured, respecting Clara's conduct and destiny. He had suspected at Hatton that the Kerrisons were not upon speaking terms; and, though Sir Foster was not the man to whom he would commit the care of a daughter, yet he feared that Clara's turbulent disposition increased her own misery, and defied her husband's control. He besought his youthful daughter to pray without ceasing for a mild and teachable spirit, that her future days might not be steeped in misery. He pointed out the worldly and avaricious feelings which had induced Clara to marry; and which he feared would wreck the peace of Lady Ennismore.

Lord Ennismore and Sir Foster Kerrison were selfish men—men who cared for their own pleasures, not for the happiness of those who lived with them. What had Clara reaped from her connexion with the Kerrison family?—Contention and disgust. What had Julia gained by an early removal from her family? He firmly believed she was a victim to the strongly imperious and fascinating Lady Ennismore, who was jealous of any influence over her son's mind, and who would not endure a rival in her power.

Christobelle listened to her father's anxieties in sorrowful silence; young as she was, she had been too long his companion not to have gained some powerful views of the great truths he had ever been anxious to inculcate. She had also been too long his companion not to comprehend and feel for his disquietude. She threw her arms round his neck, and promised to be guided by his counsel in every action of her life; but she besought him not to take blame to himself for Clara's wilful conduct, or Julia's determination to become Lady Ennismore. Her father smiled, but did not combat her prayer. Christobelle was too young to be made the confidante of his feelings—much too young to distinguish the cause of his self-reproach. He could not tell her of one whom he deprecated as the cause of Clara's misery; that he was mourning, when too late, the power he had delegated into unsafe hands. He would not tell her his indulgence to his wife had been treacherously and even wickedly dealt with; that he had given his affections to a worldly being, and that its consequences were now gnawing at his heart.

True, he could turn with pleasure to Anna Maria and Isabel, and behold them happy. They had married men of principle—men whom he approved and valued; but who would wipe away the tears from Clara's eyes?—from Julia's once smiling cheeks? Not the Protector, who swore to cherish each young and inexperienced creature at the altar. Not the world, which condemns and punishes its erring and unhappy members, with ruthless pertinacity. They must turn to another and more merciful Judge for pardon and peace; and had they been taught to pray for help in time of need? A father could not unfold all this to the youthful mind of his child; though his melancholy tone and countenance struck her attention, as he spoke to her of earthly and heavenly things. She could not then understand the chastening of his mind, but she listened in deep attention to his precepts; and fancied that nothing in this world could have power to attract her from him who loved and cherished her so dearly. To marry, and quit the study, its quiet, its books, its happy associations! Oh! Lucy Kerrison might wish to leave Ripley, and the family quarrels which broke its rest; but Christobelle felt she could never like a human being, as she honoured and loved her father.

The Pynsents arrived in the highest spirits at Wetheral, and the sight of Anna Maria gave animation to her mother's countenance for a season. She thought her very much improved in looks, and it was not her fault that Anna Maria had not rouged before she married; but Sir John had many prejudices, and that was one of them. Tom Pynsent was delighted.

"Well, I do like to hear every one say my little wife is rouged; it proves how rosy she is grown. All my care, Lady Wetheral, all my care. I let her do as she liked; Biddulph, and Jack Smith, and myself, went after her, and the Count; every where kept her in sight, you know. She talked herself into that pretty rosy face."

"You were not conspicuous, my love, I hope," said her mother, smiling.

"Oh, no; Tom liked me to chat my French, did you not, my love?"

"I liked you to make yourself happy," answered Tom, affectionately. "You made me happy, by getting such a nice healthy bloom."

A look of affection, and a pressure of the hand, attested his lady's gratitude and love, though she coloured through her rouge at her husband's remark.

"When we have lunched," continued Tom Pynsent, taking nearly half a pigeon-pie into his plate, "when we have just taken off the edge of hunger, we'll have a ride on horseback, Anny, and go over the old ground again. You must have an old habit here, somewhere; let us go and see our old love haunts."

Anna Maria was nothing loth; her matrimony was of only four or five months' standing, and they were lovers still. She was quite willing to take an agreeable ride with her dear Tom.

"Let us have the young one, too," exclaimed the good-natured Tom Pynsent; "habits and horses for two, and you shall see the world, missy."

"I shall want Bell," said Lady Wetheral, annoyed at the idea of a tÊte-À-tÊte with Mrs. Pynsent.

"Ay, Miss Bell, stay with us, I shall want a casting vote, and I shall want you to introduce me to Sir John's study," cried Mrs. Pynsent, giving Christobelle a thump upon her shoulder. "I must become acquainted with you, young lady."

Lady Wetheral's possession of manner concealed the disgust she endured at this movement. She turned to her eldest daughter, and inquired at what hour she would wish her horse equipped.

"Oh, my poor Lady Mary, let her be saddled at three, if you please. I think three o'clock, Tom, will do."

"Lord, Mrs. Tom, you will be as hot as fire, riding in the blazing sun," exclaimed Mrs. Pynsent.

"Perhaps Mrs. Tom Pynsent would prefer her ride at four o'clock," observed Lady Wetheral.

"My daughter, Tom, will melt away," replied Mrs. Pynsent, giving her a touch with the elbow. "Suppose your pretty face melts, eh, Mrs. Tom? That would be a pretty confession, wouldn't it?"

"At what hour, Mrs. Pynsent?" demanded her mother, addressing Anna Maria, and taking no notice of Mrs. Pynsent, the elder.

"Say four, then, at once," continued Mrs. Pynsent, "and don't confound mother and daughter; I am Pen Pynsent, and that is my daughter, Tom—Mrs. Tom, till I am underground, and out of the way."

Lady Wetheral bowed with much suavity and politeness to her unrefined companion. "She had great pleasure in acknowledging her daughter Mrs. Tom Pynsent, the wife of an excellent and honourable man, standing high in the county."

"To be sure—and very happy to get him. Every girl can't marry such a tight lad as Tom; as good a son as ever comforted a mother's eyes. He's none of your pimmeny fellows, like I know who; or a ranting, violent husband, like Foster Kerrison. He's good, downright Tom; and Mrs. Tom may look the best of them in the face."

Tom Pynsent winked at his lady, and continued paying his devoirs to the pigeon-pie. Lady Wetheral could never argue with Mrs. Pynsent, and a short silence ensued. Mrs. Pynsent's forcible mode of expressing her ideas, and her perfectly opposite views upon every subject, prevented all hope of coalition with Lady Wetheral, who could not endure abruptness, or what the world denominated "a good, downright person." Her education in high life did not enable her to shape her sentiments and actions to the tone of country society, so far removed from the atmosphere of courtly phrases; and of all her acquaintance, Mrs. Pynsent was the least suited to her tastes. She disliked "truth-telling," disagreeable people; she deprecated people who "spoke their mind" upon every point, and at all times; in short, Mrs. Pynsent was never to be endured but as the mother of Tom; and now he was secured, nothing could be more intolerable than her presence.

Mrs. Pynsent took up her workbag after luncheon, and sat down to knot. Lady Wetheral politely stationed herself near her guest, and appeared occupied with her worstedwork. Anna Maria looked over Christobelle as she was busied copying a drawing for her father; and Tom Pynsent was gone to sit an hour with him in the study, and talk of Paris, till the riding-horses should make their appearance. Mrs. Tom Pynsent complimented her sister upon her first essays in landscape-painting, and prognosticated she would be the only accomplished Miss Wetheral of the family. Her mother smiled upon her.

"I may certainly confess you are the 'beautiful,' my dear Anna Maria. I quite congratulate you upon the addition of a little rouge."

"I'm sure I would never congratulate a daughter upon her painted face," exclaimed Mrs. Pynsent; "a woman with her cheeks raddled, is like the poor things in the street."

Anna Maria blushed, but in perfect good humour with her mother-in-law. She answered the remark with a confession of its propriety, and expressed her wish it should not be made known to her husband that she did employ art in improving her complexion.

"I was very foolish to rouge at all, because Tom did not like the idea of it; but the Count de Nolis pressed it so much as a material improvement to a lady who was naturally pale, that I tried a very little gradually; and poor dear Tom had such pleasure in fancying I was becoming blooming, that I never could bear to disappoint him. I assure you it was only to please Tom."

Mrs. Pynsent was appeased at once by this candid confession: any thing which bore a meaning, or shew of affection towards her son, won her instant assent. She was satisfied the motive was good, and she upheld her daughter-in-law from that hour in deceiving her husband. But there was a reservation in her approval.

"It's a nasty trick, Mrs. Tom, and a bad trick; but if you love your husband, and wish to please his eye—God help me!—I have nothing to say. Whoever loves Tom, has my heart and good-will. But leave it off as soon as you can."

"It is very becoming," observed Lady Wetheral, "and it is done in all the highly fashionable circles."

"Yes, it's done, my Lady Wetheral, and so are many abominable practices. Your high ladies do gamble, and they do intrigue, my Lady Wetheral; but you would not approve your daughter's fashionable turn, I hope, in that line."

Her ladyship disliked "home thrusts" also, in her catalogue of country annoyances. She made no reply to Mrs. Pynsent's remark, but coolly inquired of Anna Maria when Miss Wycherly's marriage was likely to take place.

"Oh! I am most likely to know my niece's affairs," resumed Mrs. Pynsent; "my daughter, Tom, can't explain Pen's intentions. Bill Wycherly gives up Lidham to the young couple."

"A very excellent resolution," observed Lady Wetheral, with emphasis.

"I don't think so, at all. Bill should keep the staff in his own hand: I'm very angry with him. Let the young wait for the old, is my maxim."

"The old, perhaps, are more fitted for retirement," drily remarked Lady Wetheral.

"They are fitter to be called fools who renounce their birthright," retorted Mrs. Pynsent, "and so I told Bobby when he offered Hatton to Tom. My son knew better than to accept it. Tom never forgets his duty, and his wife may say her prayers for having caught him."

"I should feel inclined to soften that expression," observed Lady Wetheral, in her gentlest accents; "the idea of catching a young man is not a pleasing figure of speech."

Mrs. Pynsent gave a short, loud laugh. "Why, my Lady Wetheral, we won't stand upon words; I express my knowledge of facts in few roundabout phrases. I say what I think, and I can't help the cap fitting too tight to be agreeable."

Anna Maria beheld the disgust of Lady Wetheral's mind expressed upon her lowering brow. A slight frown was the only public token of distaste which was ever allowed to transpire: her ladyship never rebutted, never argued. It was, she averred, an indisputable sign of ill-breeding, wretched taste, and bad temper. She frowned, and her daughter knew its purport. It was impossible to leave two such ill-assorted companions together; the undisguised sentiments of Mrs. Pynsent, uttered with masculine energy of manner and voice, would overpower her conscious yet refined companion—perhaps cause a nervous attack, and originate an illness. Mrs. Tom Pynsent relinquished all intention of riding with her husband. Her presence might check her mother-in-law's vivacity; it would certainly give pleasure to her mother, and it must be a satisfaction to Christobelle. Mrs. Pynsent's good nature even turned her daughter-in-law's expressed intention to Christobelle's advantage.

"Very good move, Mrs. Tom—very good move. You and myself are old women, as it were; we will sit here chatting to my Lady Wetheral, but let every one have their turn. Tom will ride with poor Miss Bell, and amuse her: the poor thing is cooped up to death here."

"My daughter Bell has every advantage. I rather think my daughter considers her mother's society sufficiently agreeable," said Lady Wetheral, bending politely but haughtily to her guest.

"Considers a fiddlestick, my Lady Wetheral!" replied Mrs. Pynsent, knotting with great energy. "What young girl considers herself agreeable with no playfellows, and a hipped Lady-mother? No, no; air, my lady—exercise, my lady—companions, my lady: that is poor Miss Bell's proper entertainment. Tom will ride with her, poor thing."

Lady Wetheral did not condescend to reply to this sally. However lowly Christobelle stood in her eyes, however petulant she might be to the "stupid, awkward girl herself," "poor thing!" sounded most offensively to her ear. Anna Maria again interfered by ringing the bell, and begging that Mr. Tom Pynsent might be summoned from the library. Tom's presence, she knew, was always desirable every where; but his mother's attention would be riveted upon her son, and Lady Wetheral would escape the inevitable contention which followed her own remarks. This was the first time the ladies had ever been placed a whole morning in juxtaposition. Anna Maria was sure the visit would never take place again. Each party would decline a second day of family intercourse.

Tom Pynsent's entrance with Sir John effected a change in every one's situation. Christobelle was to ride; Mrs. Pynsent decided upon that measure, and her father enforced it. He was then to do the honours of the conservatory and gardens to his guest, while the mother and daughter worked and conversed tÊte-À-tÊte. So far, all was prudently arranged, and promised peace.

Christobelle was enchanted with her ride. Tom Pynsent did not possess conversational powers, but his want of talent was more than balanced by invincible good-nature, and manly courage of body and mind. Christobelle loved him for his kind heart and anxious wish to make every body happy; and she loved him for the devotion he expressed for Anna Maria at all times, and in all places. It was not an uxorious affection, effeminate, and annoying to witness. Tom Pynsent loved with his whole heart the woman who possessed his name, and was to share his fortunes. He loved her with a manly tenderness, which displayed itself in a thousand forms, and raised him in public estimation by its amalgamation with his very existence. It connected his wife with the stable and the kennel; it connected her with all his amusements. She was part and parcel of every thing in which he was concerned. What a man had Julia thrown from herself, ere he discovered Anna Maria's love and sufferings!

Tom Pynsent shewed Christobelle, with infinite satisfaction, the spots most consecrated to memory, as the scenes of Anna Maria's confessions. He seemed to linger with pleasure in the lane where his wife first disclosed her long-concealed misery, and where he had dismounted to impress a thousand kisses upon her hand. His tone changed, as he recapitulated his astonishment and delight.

"By Jove, when I think of all this, I could never bear to ride here, if any thing happened to my little wife; but I hope not—I hope she will see me into my grave, and be comfortable with you all. She would do very well without me, but I couldn't exist without her. I should let Kerrison have the kennel then, and take the shoes off the hunters. By Jove, they might turn out for life, then."

Christobelle listened to her brother's remarks with great interest; she could not understand the deep affection of his heart at that time, but she was sensible to the compliment of being the depository of his thoughts. She was delighted with his notice and attention; and particularly felt its pleasing influence, because her mother undervalued and reproached her daily and hourly at Wetheral. She was very sorry when their ride was brought to a close, and she again returned to her apartment to dress for dinner.

Anna Maria joined her sister; her hair was forced into immense curls, by her French attendant, FÉlicÉ, and her ringlets were frizzed into bows. FÉlicÉ followed her mistress in green silk. Such a novelty was rare and alarming in Shropshire; they had heard of the allied sovereigns being at that moment in London, but nothing approaching to a foreigner had yet appeared at Shrewsbury. FÉlicÉ was a creature to be stared at, and Anna Maria would become most formidably fashionable when once the knowledge of her arrival should transpire. Anna Maria said, "she had brought her maid to friz Christobelle's very English head of hair into something like effect. She bade her look in the glass, and smile at her hair, combed straight in front, and just turned up at the back. It was something that would horrify De Nolis in the autumn. She must positively have it dressed properly."

"See now, FÉlicÉ; Miss Wetheral's hair must be dressed this way."

"Comme-Ça, madame," repeated the smiling pretty FÉlicÉ.

"Yes, comme-Ça: friz this dreadful crop into curls, boucles, FÉlicÉ—grand boucles, like mine. Donnez mademoiselle un very nice tournure, and let her be trÈs bien mise. You may laugh, Bell, but I assure you a Parisian perfectly understands what you mean, if you only use the words 'coiffure,' 'parure,' or 'tournure;' they fill up the rest of the sentence intuitively."

Christobelle submitted to the torture of the comb and curling-irons with great satisfaction. Whatever was fashionable in Paris, must be admired and envied in England, and her mother would be pleased to see her decorated by the hand of approved good-taste.

The hair was not the "ultima thule" of FÉlicÉ's care. A "bustle" was appended to Christobelle's waist, and the folds of her muslin frock were drawn over it with the nicest care; her dress was dragged down to give a lengthened appearance to the waist, and the band tightened till she could hardly breathe. Mrs. Tom Pynsent and her "artiste" were charmed with the result of their exertions. FÉlicÉ spoke a long sentence, which Christobelle translated to her sister, whose knowledge of the language was not at all improved by four months' residence in Paris. It was a well-turned compliment upon the change in the young lady's appearance. Anna Maria regretted that their education had been so little attended to by Lady Wetheral.

"Papa has taught you so many accomplishments, Bell! You draw, and you speak French, and quote delightfully, Charles Spottiswoode says. You have had many advantages over us. The Count de Nolis said I was rapidly improving in French, and he advised me to return to Paris soon, to learn the accent; but I cannot speak it half so fluently as you do. I wonder what mamma will say to your head? I think it perfect."

Their appearance certainly made a sensation in the drawing-room, for Lady Wetheral raised her glass with a surprised and satisfied expression of countenance, and examined Christobelle very attentively. Mrs. Pynsent caught a glance of her head, curled, frizzed, and bowed in all directions; and she exclaimed, "Hollo, there! why, Miss Bell, what's the matter now? they have made a dancing-dog of you!"

"You have done a very kind action by your sister, my dear Mrs. Tom Pynsent," said Lady Wetheral, still gazing at Christobelle through her glass; "you have quite christianized her style and appearance."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Mrs. Pynsent, "poor Miss Bell! Well, now they have done it. Curly-headed christians for ever, Mrs. Tom! Who are you going to baptize next?"

"But does not Bell become her baptism?" asked Anna Maria, smiling.

"She is always a pretty girl; and, what is far better, she is a good and kind-hearted girl; but I don't like your French fashions."

"Pray, Bell, let your hair be attended to in future," said Lady Wetheral, still holding her glass to her eye. "I approve of your present appearance. I cannot endure your thick, short hair hanging over your eyes."

"By far the most natural, at her age," observed Mrs. Pynsent; "a young girl dressed up that figure, is very unnatural and ridiculous."

Lady Wetheral did not reply. Tom Pynsent was much amused at the transformation, when he entered the room. He bantered Christobelle, with great good-humour, upon the havoc she would cause among the hearts of the schoolboys, the very next vacation, if she persisted in twisting her hair into sausages; and he pitied poor Frank Kerrison, who would certainly renounce murdering cockchafers, to write verses upon her beauty. Sir John smiled, and stroked his daughter's cheek, but he offered no comment upon her person. The circumstance was almost too trifling to amuse even the dull half hour before dinner. A whim of Mrs. Tom Pynsent had led her to dress her sister's hair; and its end was answered, by causing a few smiles and a jest. The incident passed away, and was forgotten in the summons to dinner; but that very trifling occurrence laid the foundation of much future misery:—it woke up Lady Wetheral's slumbering energies, and led her to speculate upon the establishment of a creature whom she had, till that moment, renounced as awkward and vulgar—a girl belonging exclusively to her father—whose futurity was indifferent to herself. Causes, however trifling in their origin, swell into fearful effects, under the agency of the weak or wicked.

When the ladies returned into the drawing-room, Anna Maria and Christobelle enjoyed a short tÊte-À-tÊte during their mother's siesta. Anna Maria said it would be impossible to hope for pleasant intercourse between the houses of Pynsent and Wetheral. The two ladies had not agreed in one sentiment upon any subject during Christobelle's absence, and each appeared irritated and wearied. It was altogether abrupt truth on one side, and haughty silence on the part of her mother: she was very certain there would be no pleasant result from this day's occurrences. Her two relations had never before passed a day together, dependent upon each other's society; and it had only taught them how impossible it would be to meet again upon those terms. She would tell Tom her thoughts as soon as they arrived at Hatton—Tom could manage every thing—she did not believe any body could resist Tom's pleasing way of arranging things: perhaps Tom would entreat his mother not to contradict Lady Wetheral so very flatly.

This was distressing intelligence: if Lady Wetheral felt disturbed by Mrs. Pynsent's peculiar style of manners, there would be an end at once to Christobelle's happy prospects; she was becoming jealous of her daughter's society, though she professed indifference; and she could see little of her sister's company, if Mrs. Pynsent was necessarily included in the invitation, which welcomed the Tom Pynsents, at all times, to the now dull halls of Wetheral Castle. Lady Wetheral's offended taste was a mental wound which never closed. She was not harsh towards vice—it might redeem itself; but rudeness of manner, or a vulgar phraseology, was beyond the limits of pardon. In both particulars did Mrs. Pynsent certainly transgress; and her ladyship's remarks, after their departure, betokened her disgust and aversion to the society of her departed guest.

"I shall feel obliged, Bell, by your silence upon the events of this disgusting day. Let me forget, if possible, that I have been, for eight hours, the companion of stentorian coarseness and vulgarity. I must regret seeing your sister but seldom, as I apprehend I shall do. I cannot be upon terms with a woman who designates her son's lady 'Mrs. Tom:' now ring, if you please, for my sal volatile."

The next day's post brought a letter from Mrs. Boscawen: its contents were most cheering. "She was very anxious Christobelle should know how beautiful her darling babe was growing, and that it had outgrown its first pinafores. Boscawen was quite as fond of the darling as she could possibly be herself, and Christobelle would be amused by seeing him nurse it to sleep, while she tamboured its little frock. Miss Tabitha was gone to stay a few weeks at Worcester, with Mrs. Ward, and there was no one now at Brierly to alarm her with heat, and cold, with drinking too little, or eating too much. She was perfectly happy with her dear Boscawen, nursing and laughing all day long—no books—no lectures. Oh, if Chrystal could but see her now!"

A postscript, in Mr. Boscawen's hand-writing, was equally valuable, and gave deep satisfaction to Sir John Wetheral. These were his words:—

"I have lived many years in seclusion, and in the dull misery of a long bachelorship; but I am repaid by a happiness, too fondly valued to describe. The remainder of my life will pass in making an innocent and exemplary wife and mother, as happy as mortality will allow, and poor human nature can enjoy.

"Yours faithfully,

"C. Boscawen."

It was grateful happiness to Sir John Wetheral, to reflect upon the destiny of Isabel. Boscawen's age was an unpromising opening to the fortunes of a young creature attached to juvenile pleasures, and averse to the restraints of tuition: but Sir John judged that the high principles of the man to whom he should commit the welfare of his child, would be the safeguard of her happiness. The atmosphere of Wetheral was unfavourable to mental culture. At Brierly, the society of her husband would enrich Isabel's mind with stores from his own deep resources; and her heart would become refined and exalted by Boscawen's strict integrity of thought and action. He had judged rightly. Isabel loved Boscawen for his kindness of heart; and the birth of her infant knit their feelings together, in one dear object of continually increasing solicitude, which would not dissolve again. Anna Maria was happy, also, with her honest and affectionate Tom Pynsent; but what was to be the hope of Clara?—clouds and darkness rested upon it.

Christobelle was now to prepare for her visit to Bedinfield. She wondered at the sudden intention, on her father's part, to go uninvited to Lord Ennismore; but she was not a party to the events—if such there were—which gave rise to the meditated visit. Christobelle's youth precluded her from entering into the consultations, or bearing a part in the correspondence, of her father: she could only guess all was not right, when he spoke of Bedinfield, because his smile fled, and his expression became melancholy; but she was an utter stranger to its cause. She was perfectly content to know she was preparing to visit Julia, and to travel with her father. Her mother spoke very seriously to her the evening before they quitted Wetheral.

"Bell, you will have Taylor to attend you at Bedinfield. I admire Miss Willis's taste in your dresses: she is unrivalled in her selections, and your figure is considerably improved since FÉlicÉ has given you a few general instructions. The long waist is extremely becoming to you. Your hair gives quite a changed expression to your whole person now, Bell."

"I am very glad, mamma, you approve of it."

"I do, very much: I have some hopes you will equal your sisters in appearance. If you persevere in attending to your hair, which is such a graceful ornament to a woman, I shall have some pride in your well-doing. I never looked at you before, Bell, you were such a dowdy-looking creature. Walk across the room—head up, Bell: really, that dress is very becoming."

Christobelle walked several times up and down the boudoir, to allow her mother to complete her observations. She was to throw her head gracefully back—she was to curtesy, as if in the act of receiving company—she was bid to come forward and offer a fan, with an air of easy composure. She performed many disagreeable, but extremely necessary evolutions, to give her mother satisfaction; and, unfortunately, her dress, and her eagerness to bring the lesson to an end, assisted her success. She was decided a creature not destitute of a certain air, and, as Landscape Brown would word it, there was "great capability," with severe pruning, and much persevering determination, to shine. If Christobelle made good use of the three following years, her mother did not despair of matching her even higher than Lady Ennismore. "A very Frenchy style of dress and walk would prove a great novelty, and attract gentlemen who always approved the novelties they failed to admire. She would cause a sensation, and some contention in opinion, which would inevitably make her the highest fashion in Shropshire."

This was an unlooked-for change in the politics of Wetheral. Little did Christobelle think FÉlicÉ's hand would have wrought such evil to an unsuspecting, unspeculative creature as herself. Little did she dream, under her tasteful assistance, to spring, at a bound, from the "awkward, dull Bell—Sir John's tiresome, learned daughter," into an object of speculation, which would again waken her mother's powers into action, to draw her from happy tranquillity, into scenes of distracting contention. She was glad to think the Bedinfield visit stood between her and a second lesson upon graceful movements. She could not dive into the future, or draw conclusions from the present, at this moment: she rejoiced only to escape lectures upon style, and reprimands for acting upon impulse. Christobelle hoped to find freedom and happy enjoyment at Bedinfield, and that pleasing thought gave her spirits to endure her mother's unceasing efforts to arouse "a proper vanity" in her mind, and make her look forward to a ducal, or, at least, the coronet of a marquis.

"Bell, you shall certainly be emancipated from the seclusion of Wetheral, and receive the first advantages which a dancing-master can give. I will endeavour to persuade your poor father to give us a spring or two in London, or a trip to Paris. Paris I should approve most. FÉlicÉ has quite delighted me with her tasteful fancy."

"I prefer Wetheral, mamma, and my pleasant readings with papa in the library, if you please."

"Young ladies are not the soundest judges upon their own case," replied her mother, drily; "they may prefer indolence to activity: and, for a season, they may be blind to their own defects; but they will take care, in the end, to throw the consequences of their folly upon their parents, as Clara did. She forgot her own very insupportable violence of temper; and her endeavour to blame me as the cause of her high position, as Lady Kerrison, was improper. I find my daughters establishments, but I look to them to fill that situation with propriety."

"Sir Foster is very violent to all his people, mamma" Christobelle observed, hoping to shield Clara from remark.

"Your sister knew that, Bell: every body knew Sir Foster was a dull brute. She should never have entered into collision with him. If he kicked his servants, he was not likely to strike his wife without provocation. Clara is extremely provoking."

It was true, indeed. Lady Kerrison did act most unadvisedly in rousing a turbulent nature, when it was actually at rest: but who pointed her attention to the match, and softened down every report which bruited Sir Foster's violence to the neighbourhood? Surely, Lucy Kerrison's remarks upon her father's temper was a beacon to parents, to avoid the domestic quicksands of Ripley—yet Christobelle was present, and heard her mother vindicate Sir Foster's treatment of the fishmonger, and urge the eligibility of the connection. Lady Wetheral continued:—

"I am not at all pleased with the junior Pynsents being guests in the country—Mrs. Pynsent will follow them every where, and quote 'Mrs. Tom' to her friends. I cannot say that match has been productive of pleasure to me. Lady Ennismore, the dowager, has been offensive in her conduct, by presuming to close her son's house to his friends. Bedinfield is no pleasant refuge for me, I can see. I can never witness Clara's quarrels—and Brierly is so secluded, besides Isabel having the child always with her, that I have no satisfaction in that quarter. What comfort have I in my girls' marriages? You must make up to me for these sad disappointments, Bell. You shall marry Lord Selgrave, when you are both introduced into life."

"Lord Selgrave, mamma! I never saw him in my life."

"So much the better: the introduction rests with me. Lord Farnborough will not leave Shropshire, and Selgrave, the boy, will be amongst us. Farnborough Stacey will be the favourite residence, even when he becomes Duke of Forfar. You shall be Lady Selgrave, Bell, the future Duchess of Forfar: does not that title raise your little vanity, and produce ambitious wishes?"

"No, indeed, mamma, I would rather be comfortable in the library, reading to papa."

"If there is any thing I detest," exclaimed Lady Wetheral, with great asperity, "it is a slothful and mean mind, content to grovel in lowliness—untouched by ambition—crouching in dullness, and blind to prosperity. Leave my presence, Bell. Go to your chamber, and let me see you no more."

Christobelle prepared to obey the harsh injunction. She lighted her taper, and turned to utter "good-night." Her mother waved her hand.

"Say nothing. I do not choose to be disturbed to-morrow by your appearance. I have no regard for blind obstinacy—pass on in silence, if you please."

Christobelle quitted the boudoir in tears. Why was her early life to be embittered with reproaches concerning those things which might never take place? and why was her mind to be tortured into projects which could not affect her heart, or her time of life? She rushed to her father's study, and threw herself into his arms, weeping. He was surprised at the movement, and still more so at her words:—"Oh, papa, don't let me be obliged to marry. Don't make me think of Lord Selgrave; for I never saw him, and I cannot marry him."

"My dear Chrystal," he exclaimed, in astonishment, "I cannot understand you."

Christobelle explained to him her mother's wishes, and her anger at her disclaiming matrimony with Lord Selgrave. He smiled.

"This is sad folly, my dear child; I ought not to allow myself to feel entertained at your alarm, for I see the pernicious effects of education extending to yourself: but do not weep, Chrystal. No one shall take you from me, without your consent."

"I may always live with you, papa, and stay at Wetheral?" she asked, as the tears coursed down her cheeks.

"You shall never quit me till you say, 'Papa, I wish to leave you for the home of another.'"

"And that will never, never be, my own dear papa!" Christobelle embraced him with joyous gratitude, and smiled through her tears.

"Then be happy, my child, and think no more of little Lord Selgrave. You, at least, shall not reproach me hereafter with weakness of character. Go and sleep sweetly, and prepare for to-morrow's journey."

Christobelle received her father's blessing, and her heart was no longer sorrowful. He would watch over and protect her! She would not be driven to marry Lord Selgrave, and renounce her peaceful station by his side. She could live with him, and read to him for ever! She became calm, and her mother's angry glances faded from her recollection. Christobelle retired to her slumbers in peace, that night.