A twelvemonth passed by, unmarked by any event, save the marriage of Miss Wycherly. Mr. and Mrs. Charles Spottiswoode resided at Lidham, and Sir John Spottiswoode had returned to England, to inhabit his almost desolate property in Worcestershire. Lady Spottiswoode and her daughter were invited to remain with him at Alverton, to enliven his home, till he could endow it with a wife; but Sir John's fastidious taste gave little promise to the gay partakers of Lady Spottiswoode's festivities, that she would be restored to her once agreeably filled jointure-house, in the Abbey Foregate.

Worcestershire, also, lay wide and far between the growing loves of Miss Spottiswoode and Mr. John Tyndal; but there was resolution on his side, and encouragement on the part of the lady; and the repeated absences of Mr. John Tyndal from Court Herbert, gave rise to much observation and prophecy in their circle. The Tom Pynsents were at Hatton, rejoicing in the prospect of an heir to its prosperity; and Mrs. Pynsent's ecstasy could only be equalled by the anxiety she manifested to keep Anna Maria's mind easy. Her whims, in every respect, were to be met with instant fulfilment. Mrs. Pynsent formed a most amusing contrast to the fearful Miss Tabitha Boscawen.

Christobelle was domesticated at Hatton a fortnight before her sister's expected confinement. Her father rejoiced in her visits, for she was then withdrawn from her mother's increasing petulance—a petulance, which began to vent its puerile vehemence upon every being within her power, and which fell upon Christobelle with peculiar violence.

The extremity of her ladyship's patience had given way under repeated disappointments connected with Bedinfield and Ripley. Those matches, which she had most fondly considered her own scheme, prosecuted to their close, by her own determination and skill, in the very face of her husband's objections, had given her no satisfaction. Bedinfield was now deserted by her daughter for a foreign land; and Sir Foster Kerrison had interdicted the meeting of Clara and her mother at Ripley. He considered Lady Wetheral an aider and abettor of his wife's violent spirit; and, having once forbidden the presence of her ladyship within the walls, the gibing and bitter reproaches of Clara strengthened and decided his prohibition. Vexed and irritated by these occurrences, Lady Wetheral could not turn her attention to her happily-established Anna Maria, or the gay-hearted Isabel, with her darling child: she forbade Christobelle ever offending her ears with sounds so repugnant to her taste.

"Hold your tongue, Bell. I do not choose to be lectured by a pert girl of thirteen. What is Tom Pynsent to me? I detest a man who can tamely bear to live shut up with those people at Hatton; and who can bear the avarice of Boscawen, driving a stupid pair of horses, when he can so well afford four? Those were your father's matches, not mine."

"I thought you particularly wished Tom Pynsent to propose to Anna Maria, mamma?"

"Hold your tongue, Bell."

Christobelle was happy to escape from the cares of Wetheral, to the perfect freedom of Hatton. Provided every one spoke their mind, and that mind was free from mean pride, Mrs. Pynsent was content. Her good-humour to those she loved was proverbial, as her detestation of folly was public. Luckily, Christobelle was ranked among her favourites at her first visit.

"You young thing, so you are come to Hatton, are you? Shake hands. I shall like you, because you showed a good feeling about your dare-devil sister Kerrison, some time ago. I like warm-hearted people, without nonsense and pride—here's a welcome to you, you great, tall, good-looking thing." Mrs. Pynsent wrung her hand with a good will, which gave severe pain. Christobelle tried to smile.

"What, my welcome is rough, is it? Make a face at once, and don't pretend you are pleased, when you are no such thing. There's your sister—she's a proper little tub—and there's Tom, as handsome as ever—and here's my Bobby, with the gout; but you may go and shake hands with him. The poor soul can't wag from the sofa."

Christobelle was received affectionately by all and each. Mrs. Pynsent was full of kind inquiries. Some fell kindly upon her young friend's heart, and some remarks had better have been left unsaid.

"Well, and how is your father, my young one? A better creature never walked this earth than Sir John. How is he?"

"Quite well, and desires his compliments."

"Ay, to be sure—and my lady, how is she?"

"I left mamma very unwell."

"Too-too! she can't be ill. Hasn't she married her daughters to two mad scamps, that her heart was set upon? What is she ill about? Can't she get you off, just yet, that she is so dull? She had better throw you at Selgrave's head. Well, and how is my pretty Mrs. Boscawen?"

Christobelle gave Mrs. Pynsent a full account of Isabel's health, and her happiness at Brierly.

"Very proper; I am glad to hear it. That was your father's match, missy. He valued a good man. Lord, Tom, what are you doing there, with Anna Maria?"

Tom Pynsent was removing a basket of apricots from his lady's vicinity.

"I won't let my wife eat these unripe things, to make herself ill, and bring on all sorts of queer feelings. Upon my soul, you have eaten six half-ripe apricots; you have eaten sour things enough to kill an old fox, much less a little delicate creature like yourself."

"Just one apricot more, Tom," said Anna Maria, coaxingly.

"By Jove, I'll throw them out to the dogs, Anna! You shall not eat such trash."

"Just one more, Tom," continued his lady, advancing her hand towards the basket, and looking half-beseechingly, half-saucily, at him.

"Upon my word, you are enough to drive a man distracted! I declare you are more trouble to me than the kennel!" cried Tom Pynsent, unable to resist her minauderie, and again surrendering the basket of apricots to her grasp. "I'm sure I hope this won't happen every time."

"Ha, ha," cried Mrs. Pynsent, "and that's the fear, is it, Master Tommy? Give up the fruit, and let her eat as much as she likes. Do you remember, Bobby, how I gobbled your pines, once upon a time?"

Mr. Pynsent looked up from his newspaper, and shrugged his shoulders. "I remember a good deal, Pen."

"I'll be bound you do, Bobby."

Anna Maria now expressed a wish to walk with her sister into the flower-garden. Tom rather demurred at her descending the long flight of steps. Mrs. Pynsent would allow no opposition.

"Come now, Tommy, let the poor thing hobble about, if she wishes it; and, if she drops down, pick her up again. I hate a poor unfortunate woman to be refused any thing. I am sure it's no sinecure to be such a roundabout."

Tom Pynsent was easily persuaded into measures which he endured pain in refusing to his lady. His affectionate heart was only anxious to do right by a creature, whose very footsteps he worshipped; and his watchfulness proceeded from the fear of losing that which was dearer to him than light or life. Anna Maria revelled in the very wantonness of happiness, and she delighted in drawing forth her husband's attentions, by every little inventive art. She loved also to rouse his alarms; and enjoyed, with rapturous delight, the expression of his honest affection.

One morning, as the ladies sat at work, amused by Tom's account of the progress of his kennel, Anna Maria suddenly sank back upon the sofa, and, by her closed eyes, and the work falling from her hands, Mrs. Pynsent did indeed fear some fatal termination to her son's hopes. Tom Pynsent sat rooted to the spot; his clasped hands and trembling lips exhibiting every appalling alarm. Mrs. Pynsent and Christobelle flew to Anna Maria's assistance; but the apparently dying victim opened her eyes, and laughed heartily, exclaiming—

"My dear Tom, I wanted to see how you would look at my death; come to me, Tom, and don't look so overpowered."

Tom Pynsent flew to her, as the blood rushed violently into his face, by the reaction of hope against the horrors of despair. He threw his arms round her, as she looked half terrified at her own thoughtlessness.

"By all that's horrible, Anna Maria, never give me such a useless fright again; I might have had an apoplectic stroke. How could you play me such a devil's trick?"

She stroked his cheek, as she whispered, "I just wanted to amuse myself, Tom."

"Yes, it might amuse you, but what sort of amusement was it to me? What would you have done, if I had dropped down dead with the shock?"

"Cried, Tom," answered Anna Maria, putting her finger to her eye, and looking demure. Tom Pynsent looked at her with admiring affection.

"Upon my word, if you play me this trick again, I'll—"

Anna Maria placed her hand upon his lips, and a little playful scene ensued, which ended in the usual way. It gave the happy wife the delight of witnessing her husband's sincere alarm and love, and Tom Pynsent was charmed with the little ruse, which gave a zest to the day's routine. "It was," he said, "one of those sly tricks which his little wife acted so prettily, doubling and harking back, like a knowing vixen fox. He thought a wife and a fox were devilish alike in their politics."

It was a pleasing sight to witness the happy understanding which prevailed among the members composing the family circles at Hatton. If Mrs. Pynsent failed—and fail she assuredly did, in the elegances of polished life—yet her domination was kindly wielded over those who lived under her roof. She respected and loved her husband, though his cognomen of "Bobby" threw a shade of ridicule round her gentlest expostulations. She loved her Tom with that blind enthusiastic fondness which extended itself to every thing connected with him. She loved his wife, because she belonged to Tom—the dogs were Tom's dogs—Bobby was Tom's father. Hatton would, eventually, belong to Tom; therefore, her heart warmed to every one around her. Was not Christobelle also a favourite? Had she not come to Hatton to see Tom?—Mrs. Pynsent cautioned Anna Maria not to repeat her fainting-fit, or trench upon the sacred ground of her husband's feeling heart too closely; at present she was safe, and Tom was pleased, so it did not signify.

"The deuce take the best of them, my dear; if they are often called upon for sorrow, it hardens them, as the cold air stiffens your sticks of lollypops. Tommy is but a man, after all; and the dog must be amused, not frightened. What an owl he looked, bless his heart!"

Sir John Spottiswoode appeared suddenly at Hatton. He was staying at Lidham, and excursing among his friends in Shropshire. Mrs. Pynsent insisted upon Sir John becoming their guest, and enforced her request in her usual quaintly expressive style.

"Here, hollo, Sir Jacky, you can't think of leaving us at the rate of a sneaking call! Make yourself at home, man; and stay with us till Tom's wife—"

An earnest look of entreaty from Anna Maria checked the rapidity of Mrs. Pynsent's speech. She hesitated.

"Stay with us, Sir Jacky, till—I'll be hanged if I know what I was going to say!—if you haven't put every thing out of my head, Anna Maria. What did you think I was going to say? I wasn't going to talk like Sally Hancock."

"Stay with us, Spottiswoode," cried Tom Pynsent, "and we'll have a field-day; such a one as you never saw in Italy."

"Oh, those outlandish places, and those snivelling Frenchmen!" exclaimed Mrs. Pynsent: "come to us, and here's a pretty girl, worth all your mamzells."

Mrs. Pynsent pointed Sir John Spottiswoode's attention to Christobelle. The timid girl felt a poignant shame, which caused deep blushes to suffuse her face and neck, and she placed herself behind Anna Maria, till an opportunity offered to escape from the room. When she returned Sir John had departed, but he was to become a guest at Hatton for some days, on the following morning. He was to accompany Mr. Wycherly and the Charles Spottiswoodes to dinner. Mrs. Pynsent rallied Christobelle upon her flight from the sitting-room.

"Why, hollo, my young one, you seem to shrink under a little notice. That won't do for my lady, some time hence. You must expect notice now. Don't be a fool—an affected fool—or any thing of that kind; but you must expect to hear yourself admired. Why, you're a monstrous fine girl, and, if you don't beat Lady Kerrison in a few years, my name is not Pen Pynsent."

Christobelle blushed more deeply and painfully than before.

"Come, Miss Bell, try to bear beauty without reddening so furiously. Don't be argued into selling it to the best bidder, and you need not be ashamed of it."

"My dear Miss Wetheral," said the peaceable Mr. Pynsent, "come and shelter yourself under my wing."

"A pretty wing you have got to shelter her with, Bobby."

Mr. Pynsent, to use a parliamentary expression, "withdrew his motion," and Christobelle was again exposed to his lady's jests.

"Now, I say, Sir Jacky would be a proper sort of beau for you, Miss Bell. A long-legged fellow, as steady as our best hound, with a nice estate, and a good temper."

"I would rather not leave papa," answered poor Christobelle, almost inclined to weep.

Mrs. Pynsent laughed heartily. "A good joke this, for Jacky. I only mention it, my dear, to be beforehand with my Lady Wetheral. When she tells you of Sir Jacky's estate, you can say it came from me first. I recommended the spec., mind. It will be droll enough if I get before my lady, in a matrimonial speculation."

"Come, now, mother, don't tease my friend, Bell," cried the kind-hearted Tom. "I won't allow any teasing. I shall bespeak Bell for my second wife; no one else shall have her."

"What is that?" asked Anna Maria, raising her head from examining a painted screen.

"Why, Bell has promised to be my wife, the very next time you die, you little rascal." Anna Maria snapped her fingers at him with a smile; Tom Pynsent snatched a kiss, and proceeded.

"If any one teases sister Bell, I shall feel called upon to take her part, so run and put on your habit, Bell, and we'll have a scamper with all the dogs."

Thus ended Christobelle's trouble and blushes; and Mrs. Pynsent good-humouredly forbore to distress her in future, by recurring to her appearance, or extolling the fortune and long legs of Sir John Spottiswoode.

When every species of joke was withdrawn, which caused feelings of annoyance, Christobelle liked Sir John Spottiswoode's society. He had travelled much; and she loved to listen to his accounts of the places he had frequented, and the objects he had observed with interest. Sir John was sparkling in his descriptions, and he saw that Christobelle lent an attentive ear to all his communications; a flattering circumstance, even though the listener proved a girl of thirteen. They were the best friends in the world. Christobelle loved to question him upon foreign subjects, and his very easy manners made her cast away gradually the alarm and restraint of her first acquaintance with a man so much her senior in age and mental acquirements. Sir John had seen the Ennismores at Florence. They were very gay, and Julia was considered the loveliest Englishwoman in Florence. Her society was greatly courted, and there was a Colonel Neville who was deeply attached to her. Every body pitied Colonel Neville. The Countess encouraged his attentions to her daughter-in-law, which made poor Neville's case more pitiable. The young Lady Ennismore had given no occasion for remark, for her conduct was unimpeachable, but poor Neville was sacrificed. He could not tear himself away, when Sir John quitted Italy. He was lingering near Lady Ennismore. It must be a case of strong temptation, he thought, for the young Countess. Neville was a fine agreeable fellow, and Lord Ennismore looked more fit for the grave. Pen Spottiswoode was extremely uneasy about her old friend.

In such interesting subjects, Christobelle's attention was deeply fixed; and, whether they rode or walked, she generally found herself by the side of Sir John Spottiswoode. Mrs. Pynsent winked her eye, if their glances met upon these occasions, but she refrained from making any remark, except by implication.

"I say, Miss Bell, if you would rather not ride to-day with an elderly man, give me a hint, and I'll get you off."

"Here, hollo, Miss Bell, don't do any thing disagreeable to your mind. Shall Tom give you his arm to-day? I dare say, like the rest of us, you prefer variety."

Mrs. Pynsent would not allow Christobelle to return to Wetheral at the appointed time. "She was a steady tight kind of a lass, and the deuce a step should she make towards her dull home. She need give herself no trouble. She would settle the concern with Sir John. Christobelle should stay over Tom's confinement—he would suffer quite as much as his little wife—and Jacky Spottiswoode should stay too. It would make Tom comfortable, when madam was in the straw."

So it was decided to be, and both continued at Hatton, enjoying long walks, and assisting each other in dispelling gloomy apprehensions from the mind of the affectionate and anxious husband. Tom Pynsent's apprehensions increased as Anna Maria's hour drew near, and his mother taxed her memory for calming and comfortable precedents.

"Tom, don't drop your lip, like Sally Hancock. Why, there's Kitty Barnes, with fifteen enormous purple-faced children: she is alive at this moment. And look at Polly Mudge, the whipper-in's wife, who they thought must die; isn't she hanging out the clothes, and handing the baskets along, as brisk as your three year olds?"

"Anna Maria is so delicate; one can't compare her with Polly Mudge," said Tom Pynsent, in doleful tones.

"Well, then, what do you say to Betty Smoker, who always wanted bacon and greens, an hour after her troubles were over. She was a poor sickly-looking thing!"

"I hope my poor girl will do the same, if it's a good thing for her," replied Tom, in more cheerful accents.

"Let her eat and drink just what she likes, Tom. I won't have her contradicted in any thing."

At length, the day arrived which was to decide the fate of Tom Pynsent. The moment Anna Maria complained of feeling ill and restless, her husband fled to the kennel, and insisted upon some one bringing him intelligence every ten minutes of his wife's health. Polly Mudge was deputed to relieve guard with Christobelle; and for nearly thirteen hours they were employed as carrier-pigeons, to announce bulletins from Mrs. Pynsent to the kennel, where Tom pertinaciously resolved to remain. It was the only spot where his mind could receive amusement, or which had power to distract his attention from the idea that his wife would not survive her confinement. He took no nourishment. He continued constantly employed with his men in examining the dogs, and suggesting improvements for their convenience.

At length, as the shades of evening began to fall, Mrs. Pynsent approached the kennel, waving her pocket-handkerchief: it caught her son's eye as he was preparing to give "Rattler" and "Beauty" a dose of salt. He bounded over the wall, and gazed earnestly upon his mother's face. She waved her handkerchief again in triumph, and gave a powerful cheer. Tom caught up the note, and it was re-echoed by the huntsmen, till their voices rose far and wide upon the air. Anna Maria had given birth to a son. Mrs. Pynsent embraced her son in ecstatic delight, and the tears ran down her cheeks.

"If it isn't as fine a boy as ever blessed my sight! Go and change that coat, my blessed Tom, and you shall see them both; but don't go smelling of the kennel, my pretty one!"

Tom Pynsent's heart swelled with a husband's and a father's best emotions, when he contemplated his wife and child. It seemed as though his Anna Maria had passed through death, and was raised again to his eyes and heart. He gazed silently upon them for some time in astonishment—he gazed upon the infant, as it lay by her side, who had suffered so much to give it life. He turned to his mother, who watched the workings of his countenance with delight, and, seizing her hands, he exclaimed,

"If John Spottiswoode and myself don't drink like fiddlers to-night, for this day's work!"

All was joy and congratulation at Hatton. Mr. Pynsent, in spite of gouty pains, insisted upon being carried to the door of his daughter's apartment, that he might enjoy the satisfaction of hearing his grandson cry. Mrs. Pynsent would not hear of it.

"Be quiet, Bobby, and nurse your crutch. To-morrow you shall all see our little, squalling puppy."

Tom Pynsent did not drink like a fiddler with John Spottiswoode. He remained the whole evening in Anna Maria's dressing-room, listening greedily to the movements of her attendants—to the tone of her voice—and to the cry of the newly-arrived object of his affections. There he received refreshment, and he only left his station to retire at a late hour to his own room.

Christobelle was allowed to ride with Sir John Spottiswoode, to convey the intelligence to Wetheral the following morning. It was vain to hope for her brother-in-law's company: he was never absent from his lady's room. Christobelle was now quite unrestrained with her companion, and to be escorted by him alone was delightful: he could then attend to her, and she was free to chat, without fearing a wink or nod from Mrs. Pynsent. Her arrival, so attended, was pleasing to Lady Wetheral, and Christobelle was welcomed, for the first time in her life, with smiles and kindness.

"My dear Bell, you are very kind to bring me such good news; I am such a poor thing in illness—so alarmed about those I love, that my company would have been worse than useless to dear Mrs. Tom Pynsent. Tell her how I rejoice in my grandson. Sir John Spottiswoode, we are very old acquaintance, though you have been so long absent. I hope you have brought back your affection for old friends?"

"Unchanged, Lady Wetheral, unchanged."

"I am glad to hear it. You have been staying some time at Hatton, I think?"

"Nearly three weeks, attending very closely upon Miss Wetheral, who has had no other gallant."

"My daughter has been receiving pleasure, I am sure."

"I won't answer for that: but I can answer for her very polite reception of me, and that I have received great pleasure from her conversation."

"Give a proof of your satisfaction, by staying at Wetheral, Sir John. My husband will be full of regret, if you quit Shropshire without paying a visit to your old friends."

"I shall have pleasure in doing so, Lady Wetheral, when I leave Hatton."

Her ladyship was greatly pleased by Sir John Spottiswoode's alacrity in accepting her invitation. Her manner wore its usual composure under excitation, but her sentiments transpired in the gentle suavity of her conduct towards Christobelle. She was the "dear companion whom she missed—the only relic of past times—the child left to comfort her age, now all the rest were gone far distant from her." Sir John Spottiswoode felt compassion and interest in her complaining affection. Christobelle knew from experience, that her mother's manner proceeded from some concealed motives, in which she herself was involved. It could not possibly proceed from any views which she might form upon Sir John's liberty, because he counted five and twenty years, and Christobelle was too young to become a speculation; but she was assured there must be some powerful reason to effect such a startling change in her manner of addressing her. Where was the "stupid, tiresome, unloveable Bell" of their last meeting? She was, like Sir John Spottiswoode, unchanged; but she was addressed as the creature who had long been the only object of her mother's cares and affection, since the marriage of Lady Kerrison. This was incomprehensible.

Sir John Wetheral accompanied them in their return to Hatton, and Mrs. Pynsent was eager to exhibit her little charge. He was summoned into the dressing-room, where the happy grandmother was seated with the babe, preparing a little soaked biscuit in a small silver saucepan.

"Come in, come in, good folks: come in, Sir John Wetheral; here's a chap for you! Don't squeeze the young dog! Sit down, Sir John. Where's Tom? I'm just making a little meal for our young dog! Tom says he shall be christened 'Rattler;' but he shan't be named after beasts that perish."

Tom Pynsent came softly forth from Anna Maria's room, and received his father-in-law's warm congratulations. Sir John took the infant tenderly in his arms, and gave it a blessing, as he had done by the child of Isabel. Tom Pynsent, almost purple in the face with happy feelings, watched every movement of its arms and eyes.

"Upon my soul, it's the prettiest thing I ever saw! I do think, upon my soul, it is!"

"It's just what you were at that age, Tommy," replied his mother, as she assisted the nurse to prepare the biscuit; "it's just such a little darling pudsey thing as you were."

Sir John was allowed to see Anna Maria for one instant, to smile at her, but not to speak. All were then driven from the dressing-room by the mandate of Mrs. Pynsent.

"Off with you now, all of you. Wait in peace till Tom's allowed to see company, and then we will have rare doings."

Lady Wetheral's visit was paid in great form, a fortnight after the birth of Anna Maria's child, and Christobelle was to return with her to Wetheral when it was concluded. Mrs. Pynsent could not endure the protracted visit of a person equally related to the parties with herself.

"Such coolness," she observed to Sally Hancock, who was sent for to see Tom's child—"such cool ways of going on did not suit her ideas; and be hanged if my Lady Wetheral should see either mother or child!"

When her ladyship arrived at Hatton, Sir John Spottiswoode and Christobelle were in the drawing-room. She entered with graceful composure, and in excellent spirits.

"My dear Bell, I come with increased pleasure, knowing I am to run away with you. Sir John Spottiswoode, how do you do? Drawing, both of you, I see. Sir John's sketches must be your models, my love. I hope to be favoured with a sight of those sketches during your promised visit at Wetheral, my dear sir."

"I was giving Miss Wetheral a few hints on perspective."

"How very kind! My dear Bell, I hope you do credit to your instructor. I hurried here rather earlier than I generally drive out, in the hope of seeing Anna Maria for a few minutes. My Sir John assures me it is a lovely infant. I am happy she is doing so well; no fever, I hear; quite well, and with an appetite."

A polite and playful conversation was kept up between her ladyship and Sir John Spottiswoode, till Mrs. Pynsent appeared. She entered the room with the short, sharp step which always marked her dislike to the visitor.

"So you are come at last, my Lady Wetheral? A fortnight is a long time to keep away from one's flesh and blood!"

Lady Wetheral appeared perfectly collected, and unconscious of Mrs. Pynsent's rebuke. She bowed with polite good-humour.

"I trust I shall find my daughter awake. I long to be introduced to my grandson—my first grandson, Mrs. Pynsent, for I have not yet seen Isabel's boy."

"I would not have let a fortnight pass without seeing my grandson at Brierly," replied Mrs. Pynsent.

"My dear daughter can perhaps receive me now," said Lady Wetheral, rising. "I am anxious to see her."

"Your dear daughter is fast asleep, and so is her infant."

Lady Wetheral reseated herself.

"A few minutes may find her awake. I may be fortunate enough to remain till she wakes."

"I don't think you will. Anna Maria has fallen into her first sleep to-day, and I hope it will last. The child is asleep with her, and Tom watches over them."

"Her sleep is quiet and refreshing, I hope?"

"We take great care of our invalids at Hatton. We don't leave them a fortnight to be nursed by other people."

Lady Wetheral affected innocence of all covert meanings. She addressed Sir John Spottiswoode.—

"My daughter tells me you saw the Ennismore party at Florence. Did you see my daughter, Lady Ennismore, to speak? Did she trouble you with any letters or messages for her friends?"

"I saw Lady Ennismore—your Lady Ennismore—twice; each time she was accompanied by the Countess and Colonel Neville, and our interview was short. Lady Ennismore was looking very lovely."

"You mentioned your intended return to England to her."

"I did; but no letters were consigned to my care by her ladyship."

"It is very strange," returned Lady Wetheral, "that only one letter has reached us from Italy within twelve months!"

"Every body expected it!" said Mrs. Pynsent.

"I do not understand—I cannot quite comprehend your remark," replied her ladyship, bending gently forward, and sinking gracefully into her first attitude.

"Every body knew you had given your daughter to a weak man, governed by his mother; and every body expected the poor girl would be carried from her friends. Who ever heard of the old Lady Ennismore, and did not learn that she was a tartar!"

Lady Wetheral changed the subject.

"You have probably brought some beautiful specimens of the different arts, Sir John? Italy is full of rare antiquities."

"I have brought home a few things—a few pictures, and so forth, as all travellers are expected to do," replied Sir John Spottiswoode. "I hope Miss Wetheral will accept a little drawing of Naples, which I mean to present on one knee."

Lady Wetheral smiled.

"My dear Bell will receive your polite offering, with a determination to persevere in drawing, I am sure, Sir John."

"And our friend, Sir Jacky, is upon sale too," cried Mrs. Pynsent. "Here he stands, framed and glazed, for manoeuvring mothers to contemplate!"

"Sir John Spottiswoode is worthy many manoeuvres," answered her ladyship. "Every lady will be forgiven for wishing her daughter happily engaged to worth and high principle."

Sir John bowed low, and looked gratified by the compliment. Certainly Lady Wetheral ably sustained her claims to good generalship. She addressed Mrs. Pynsent.

"Perhaps my daughter may be awake; may I be allowed to enter her room?"

"No one enters her room but Tom. She is not awake: I hope she will not think of it these two hours."

Lady Wetheral acted upon her own often-expressed principle of never contending with "vulgar people;" she, therefore, rose to depart, and Christobelle unwillingly rose to accompany her. She begged her kindest love to her son and daughter.

"Yes, my Lady Wetheral, I'll tell my daughter Tom, you have called at last," interrupted Mrs. Pynsent.

"Her kindest love to Mr. and Mrs. Tom Pynsent, and she hoped to be more fortunate at a future visit."

"I'll tell Mrs. Tom, you will call in another fortnight, my lady." Mrs. Pynsent advanced, and took both Christobelle's hands. "You are a good, clever, handsome, gawky girl, and I am very sorry to lose you. Come whenever you like, and stay as long as you like; you will be very welcome at Hatton. You don't understand manoeuvring yet, and I hope you never will. Never lose your blushes, and never sell yourself to the Evil One. Good bye, my dear, honest Miss Bell."

Mrs. Pynsent shook Christobelle's hands as warmly at taking leave, as she had done at her entrance to Hatton; and her young friend departed in lowness of spirits. Mrs. Pynsent had shown her great kindness; and whenever her warm heart interested itself, it was impossible to resist her roughly expressed, but continual demonstrations of good will. Sir John Spottiswoode observed Christobelle's distress, as he led her to the carriage, after having deposited her mother.

"You are loth to depart, Miss Wetheral," he said, with feeling.

Christobelle did not answer. The tears which fell uncontrolled witnessed that she did feel unwilling to quit the happy party. She entered the carriage in a deplorable state of weeping. Mrs. Pynsent looked from the window, which Tom had long named the "screaming window."

"I say, Miss Bell, don't cry, and come again soon. Don't be down-hearted; your sister shall always see you."

Christobelle heard no more, for the carriage moved on, and she caught only one glance of Anna Maria's window, as they drove round the wooded knoll, which shut out the last glimpse of Hatton.