Lady Wetheral's reception of Sir John Spottiswoode was most flatteringly kind. His arrival had certainly taken great effect upon her spirits, for she rose, at a bound, from listless, irritable apathy, into the lively and amusing hostess. Her mind appeared again full of employment, and capable of every exertion. Sir John Spottiswoode was at once inducted into all the mysteries of Wetheral; and his peculiar tact in quietly amalgamating with the different elements of which they were composed, was admirably exhibited in his visit. Sir John became Christobelle's tutor in many accomplishments; he argued literary points with her father; and he was the depository of her mother's sentiments and complaints. Such a visitor was worshipped at Wetheral.

It was a new existence to Christobelle to enjoy perfect liberty—to be allowed to enter freely into conversation in the boudoir—to be even consulted—and to roam through the grounds with Sir John Spottiswoode, without fearing harsh and unkind remarks. On the contrary, her intimate and improving acquaintance with Sir John was encouraged, and even urged forward, by Lady Wetheral. She approved the hours devoted to drawing, to music, and to botany; she smiled at their application, and thanked, in grateful terms, "the polite consideration of such a man as Sir John Spottiswoode, devoting his hours to the education of a perfect schoolgirl."

Christobelle certainly had never known happiness unconnected with her father's library till now. Never, till Sir John Spottiswoode arrived at Wetheral, had she entered the precincts of the boudoir without fear; and never, till his arrival, had she felt the enthusiastic pleasure of associating with a companion who could accompany her in her wanderings, and lead her taste, as an equal and a friend. She did truly love and venerate the kind, considerate Sir John Spottiswoode—the guide of her talents, and the companion of her walks and rides. She no longer lingered in the library, and listened for her father's step. She had now to fulfil the allotted tasks of her new instructor, and his praise was the goal of happiness to her young mind. She only dreaded his departure from Wetheral; but Sir John still lingered, and he did not talk of Worcestershire.

The concerns of Ripley were now becoming the engrossing topic of the neighbourhood. Clara's haughty temper would not endure her husband's domination, and the scenes which now constantly occurred at Ripley, began to threaten some direful termination. Since Sir Foster Kerrison's interdiction of her mother's society, Clara's spirit had increased in audacity, and a separation was hinted at, among the reports of the hour. Sir John Wetheral heard the general rumour, and he sought an interview with Sir Foster, some time after the arrival of Sir John Spottiswoode at Wetheral. Sir Foster received him with great politeness. Sir John at once opened the subject to his son-in-law, and spoke most feelingly and sorrowfully upon the nature of the reports which had caused his visit to Ripley. Sir Foster winked his eye during the gentle remonstrance, and he tapped his boot with quickness, when the propriety of a separation was alluded to.

"Let her go—glad to get rid of a she-devil," was Sir Foster's laconic observation, as Sir John concluded his remarks.

"I think, Sir Foster, a separation would be advisable, since you cannot live together in peace."

"Take her back with you, Sir John—devilish glad!"

"There was no settlement, Sir Foster; but you will make your lady an allowance out of your ample fortune?"

"Not a penny," chuckled Sir Foster; "not a halfpenny, by G—!"

"You will not allow your wife to be a burthen to her friends, Sir Foster, since you received ten thousand pounds as her portion?"

"Let her stay at home, then, and behave."

"My daughter is wrong, Sir Foster; I cannot excuse Lady Kerrison, but I am willing to receive her at Wetheral, to prevent the unpleasant recurrence of domestic quarrels. You will make your lady a stated allowance?"

"Take her clothes—nothing more, Sir John."

"This is a most painful and disagreeable task," observed Sir John; "but I must insist upon an allowance for Lady Kerrison, before I withdraw her from Ripley."

Sir Foster chuckled and winked, as he repeated, "not a halfpenny—not a penny; let her take her clothes, and set off."

"I cannot take Lady Kerrison from your house, without a proper understanding that an allowance shall be paid to her regularly, Sir Foster."

"Then let her stay at home, and behave."

Since the resolutions of Sir Foster could not be shaken, her father resolved to seek an interview with Clara, and represent to her reason the turpitude of her conduct as a wife, and the punishment which must accrue to her in the lost affections of her husband, and the disesteem of her friends. Lady Kerrison was accordingly summoned to meet him in her husband's presence.

Clara entered the room with an air of haughty defiance, which vanished at the sight of her father. She rushed to him with open arms. "My dear father, take me away from this ruffian—I beseech you to take me away!"

Sir Foster winked and tapped his boot at the sight of his lady, but he offered no opinion during the dialogue which ensued between the father and daughter. It seemed as if Sir Foster Kerrison had no power to understand, or feeling to be interested in any thing which had not a direct reference to himself. Sir John Wetheral led Clara to a chair, and spoke in tones of deep sorrow upon the subject which concerned so nearly her respectability and happiness.

"I did not think, Lady Kerrison, I should be doomed, by a child's forgetfulness to her duty, to become a party against her. Report has loudly declared what I have unfortunately witnessed more than once at Ripley—that it has become the scene of a wife's altercation with her husband."

"It is the scene of a brute's treatment of an unfortunate creature in his power," retorted Clara—"it is the scene of violence, blasphemy, and disgust. I desire to be taken from this hateful place, and I will never see it more!"

"What has made you so forgetful of the duty you decided so rashly upon assuming, Clara, when you fled from your father's house?..."

"I know I did—I know I did!" shrieked Clara—"God help me! I did leave my father's house, but my mother helped my flight, and beset me with her persuasions to marry that monster. She caused the mischief, and she must bear the blame. Who else had power to lead me into this horrible snare, or direct my thoughts to wretchedness?"

Sir John Wetheral was greatly distressed.

"Clara, it matters little now who guided you into this luckless marriage. You have vowed, at the altar, to obey the man you married, and your submission to Sir Foster is your duty and your vow."

"I vow to detest him all the days of my life!" answered Clara, with scornful energy.

"Then," said her father, rising, "farewell, Clara. I have no feelings to throw away upon a disobedient wife—I can be of no use."

"Stay—stay," exclaimed Clara, rushing forward, and detaining him—"stay, my dear father, and hear me! You never taught me to marry for this world's wealth—you never taught me to barter happiness for a miserable title—for a low-minded, disgusting creature like that"—she pointed to Sir Foster with a shudder.—"You were always good and gentle, so stay and hear me."

"I beseech you, Clara, to command yourself, and do not use this intemperate language," replied her father, "or I cannot return: be calm, and be rational."

"I will be so, papa; I should be very calm, if I did not see that man before me."

"I will not listen to such improper, such wicked language, Clara: hear me!"

"I do, papa."

"I have learned the fearful news of your wretched and open quarrels, from common report; and public opinion is against you, Clara, as it ever will be against the daring and insolent wife."

Clara's neck and face became suffused with crimson, but she was silent.

"The world, Clara, saw your determination, when you eloped with Sir Foster; let it see your determination to remain constant and obedient, now that he is your husband."

Clara burst into tears, and her head sank upon her clasped hands, as she stood before her father. She seemed struggling for composure. Sir John seated her, and spoke strongly and feelingly upon her situation. "Loved by none, and respected by none, how was an imperious wife to pass her remainder of existence, condemned to opprobrium and contempt? How could a woman presume to hope for happiness, when she was breaking down the proprieties of life, and offending her God by broken vows and unholy thoughts?" Clara cast her weeping eyes upon Sir Foster, as he sat buried in his easy chair, winking his eye, and appearing perfectly unconcerned at her distress. Her spirit rose again like the whirlwind at his sight—she started up. "Let the world talk on—let it upbraid me with every crime under heaven, I care not; but I will not live with him—I will not look upon him—my brain will not bear the constant misery of living in this place—this wretched place—the home of him who disgusts me so horribly! Oh, take me away for ever!"

"Would you return to Wetheral, Clara?"

"No, no, no, not to Wetheral; my mother is there. She only loves the wealthy and the high; and she drove me to all this! As I hope to meet with mercy, she drove me into this!"

"Be still, Clara, and listen to me once more," said her father.

"Nay, hear me," cried Clara, "and hear what months of misery have passed away under the influence of wine and laudanum. I have drank wine, and I have drank laudanum, but it only stills for the time! It is worse and worse to my brain! Oh, take me home, or take me somewhere—but here I cannot, will not stay!"

Sir John was anxious to remove Clara for a few days from her home of wretchedness, and he appealed again to the heart of Sir Foster Kerrison. He begged to take Lady Kerrison, for change of air, to Wetheral. A few days only, he would ask for his daughter's society: a few days might be a short but beneficial visit to her own family. Sir Foster chuckled.

"Take her home—never come back, I can tell her."

"I will return!" exclaimed Clara, with impetuosity; "I will never be turned out of your home: it was too great an honour ever to have entered it, but I will enter it now, whenever I please."

"Go along, you she-devil!"

Clara's violent spirit was not to be controlled. She struck Sir Foster upon the face, with the whole force of her delicate hand. The blow was trifling in itself, but it raised the equally strong passions of the person on whom it was directed. Sir Foster rose furious with passion, and kicked his lady with brutal and senseless anger. This scene determined her father no longer to endure his daughter's situation at Ripley. He ordered his carriage round, without a moment's delay, to withdraw Clara from the presence of her husband. It was a scene of horror to his excellent and indulgent mind.

Both parties had acted wickedly and weakly. Clara deserved punishment for her insolent and unfeminine action, in striking her husband; but it was unbecoming and dreadful in Sir Foster, to wreak his fury upon a defenceless woman. Ripley was not the proper home for Clara: since Sir Foster and herself could not preserve even the decencies of appearance, it was better to part at once. Sir John would place Lady Kerrison in his own house—under his own protection; and if Sir Foster persevered in declining to allow her a proper maintenance, the law should decide the question. The carriage drew up, but Clara was not in a condition to be moved. The violence of her anger, combined with her screams of terror, had ruptured a blood-vessel, and she sunk at her father's feet, deluged with the blood which streamed from her mouth. Clara was carried to her bed by her father and Sir Foster, who had rushed from his seat, and now winked his eye with astonishment and regret; he bore his suffering lady in silence to her room; and, though in spite of the chastening hand which had dealt the calamity, Clara twice endeavoured to push him from her, Sir Foster remained by her bed-side in nervous distress.

Sir John ordered the carriage to proceed instantly for his lady, who was desired to set out without any delay, and an express was sent to summon Dr. Darwin. All was confusion at Ripley. Sir Foster, except when his eye caught the blood-stained dress of Clara, who lay almost insensible, could scarcely remember the events of the hour: he did not utter a word, or join in the orders which were issued by Sir John Wetheral; but his usual habit of winking and making low short coughs, indicated his satisfaction that some one did act for himself and the unfortunate Clara.

Dr. Darwin arrived first, and his prompt mind applied the proper remedies which the sufferer's case required. He remained that day and night at Ripley. Lady Wetheral had most unexpectedly encountered the Hatton carriage as she drove out of the Wetheral lodges; and, deeply as she deprecated Mrs. Pynsent's boisterous and offensive conduct towards herself, she now gladly availed herself of her useful and more powerful mind, under the emergency of the moment. The kind-hearted Mrs. Pynsent listened to her ladyship's statement, and took instant measures to render herself of use to the shocked and distressed mind of her companion.

She entered Lady Wetheral's carriage, and, sending her own back to Hatton, with a message to her son, she prepared to assist in the melancholy charge of Clara. She was well aware of her ladyship's perfect helplessness in situations which required promptness of thought and action; she was equally well assured that the dreadful circumstance must have originated in Clara's alarming explosions of temper. Mrs. Pynsent was therefore prepared to act the Christian part of adviser and nurse to the ill-fated Clara, and to the woman she despised. In the hour of need, Mrs. Pynsent developed all the real excellence of the female character.

Clara lay silent and exhausted, when Mrs. Pynsent and her mother entered her room. Her eyes rested with an expression of satisfaction upon the former, as she preceded her weeping companion to the bed-side; but they flashed with emotion when she perceived the figure of the author of her misery. She waved her hand, and would have risen in her bed, but Mrs. Pynsent prevented the movement. She placed Clara's hands with gentleness beneath the bedclothes, and signed to her, by placing her finger on her lips, that silence was absolutely necessary on her part. Clara again raised her hands, to wave her mother away, and exclaimed, in low and thick accents, "Don't let her come here. Is she coming to lecture me about my misery?—it was her own doing."

"Hush, hush," whispered Mrs. Pynsent, "no one is come to lecture you—only to nurse you."

"I saw my mother, just now; I know she is come to upbraid and jeer me. She made me marry a ruffian—and it roused my nature. I might have been better; but she would have me do it."

"Hush, hush!" repeated Mrs. Pynsent, signing to Lady Wetheral to withdraw; "there is no one here but Dr. Darwin and myself."

"Is there not?" said Clara, faintly.

"Lady Wetheral is not here, Lady Kerrison. Be calm, and be silent, I entreat you."

"I will," replied Clara, "but don't leave me. Stay with me, Mrs. Pynsent."

Mrs. Pynsent remained by the side of Lady Kerrison, till she slept; and her place was taken silently, and at a late hour, by the doctor, who enjoined the strictest quiet to be preserved. At eight o'clock the following morning, Clara woke from a slumber produced by narcotics. Dr. Darwin named to his patient, Lady Wetheral's wish to watch by her bed-side, in the gentlest manner, and he approached her name with great caution; but Clara shuddered and became feverish.

"Let no one speak of my mother," she said, "unless they want to kill me."

It was useless to contend with Clara's wishes. The very allusion to her mother's name raised a discordant spirit, and threw her into almost convulsive alarms. Mrs. Pynsent, therefore, fixed herself at the bed-side of Lady Kerrison. Clara slumbered through the day, and appeared so calm, that the doctor quitted Ripley for a few hours. Mrs. Pynsent was all-sufficient to meet any little change which might take place before his return, but he did not anticipate any thing to give alarm, provided she was kept in profound quiet. A change, however, did occur. Clara woke suddenly, with very feverish and alarming symptoms. "She had dreamt of her father, and she wished to see his kind face. She could not rest again, unless she beheld him." Mrs. Pynsent renewed the dose of laudanum, and Clara again slumbered.

Sir Foster Kerrison suffered as much agitation as his nature was capable of enduring. He sat close to Lady Wetheral, in the sitting-room, and did not offer to resume his daily round of occupation. He did not visit the stable, or enter the kitchen; and his attention was riveted upon Lucy, as she glided to and fro, between the dressing-room and sitting-room, to give from time to time the last accounts of the progress in the sick chamber.

Sir John Wetheral waited, in calm acquiescence, the issue of that day's events. He believed Clara to be beyond all hope of a permanent recovery, but he prayed in silence to the Giver of all good, that her life might yet be spared, to become a penitent, and gain self-command by her trials. Lady Wetheral wept severely, but she could not believe her own hands had prepared her child's sorrow. "It was harsh and ill-judged of Clara to decline her own parent, and accept the attentions of a comparative stranger, especially after the efforts she had made to procure her present eligible position. She deserved more gratitude at the hands of her children—but she had done her duty, and the world would do her justice." Nevertheless, her ladyship wept, and suffered sincere distress at her banishment from her daughter's couch.

Mrs. Pynsent was Clara's watchful and most kind attendant; from her hands she received her medicines without a murmur, and forbore to agitate herself with asking questions, according to her expressed wish. Towards evening, however, fever again rose high, and Mrs. Pynsent felt that all hope was over, and that her patient must sink under its raging influence. Clara again demanded to see her father; and, from her excited state, Mrs. Pynsent deemed it prudent to acquiesce. Her exertions were the feverish and uncertain effects of a roused, though dying spirit, which would terminate fearfully and suddenly, when its strength should exhaust. When her father entered the chamber, Clara rose up in her bed, and extended her arms towards him. "Dear, good papa, you are come to see me"—her thoughts took another and more distressing direction; and her eyes, flashing with scorn, became gradually heavy and half-closed, as she spoke.

"Look at poor Clara, wedded to riches, and see her state now! Where is she? Where is Lady Kerrison, of Ripley? Where is the mother who sacrificed her child, and why does she not come to look upon me? Let her look—I am here, struck down—dying!" A copious hemorrhage succeeded the last words, and Clara never more spoke. Before Dr. Darwin returned to Ripley, Lady Kerrison was gone to her rest.

And this was the fate of Clara Wetheral! the young and beautiful Clara! Scarcely passed the bounds of childhood, her days were sacrificed to the false light of ambitious hope, which, like the delusive Will-o'-the-wisp, led her only into the darkest and most impassable paths. Like the Will-o'-the-wisp, it lured her on, and deserted her in her hour of need. Few and evil were the married days of Clara. Her maid disclosed, at the death of her mistress, the secrets of the dead. Clara had habituated herself to the fatal influence of laudanum, upon every dissention with her husband; and she had endeavoured to drown the remembrance of her error, in potent and destroying libations. Her father remembered that she had alluded to the baneful practice, on the morning of his last visit.

Sir Foster Kerrison winked with more nervous rapidity than was his usual custom, when Mrs. Pynsent announced to him the death of his wife; but his mind appeared relieved by the knowledge that she would no more appear before him, to reproach and annoy. Mrs. Pynsent's remarks to Sir Foster, immediately after her announcement of the event, was either unheard or unheeded.

"Now you have killed two wives, you be quiet, and don't bring a woman to Ripley again, for they can't live in peace here. I wonder how you had the face to marry at all; but your first wife's family shut you up, and hid your coat, that you mightn't be off on the wedding-day; and we all know how the second wife was managed, so you are a poor thing, in spite of your temper. When the girls marry you in spite of yourself, be quiet and temperate, like Bobby."

Clara's funeral was attended by few, and it took place by torch-light, in the church of Ripley. Sir Foster sat perfectly quiet in his easy chair, and allowed Sir John Wetheral to superintend the arrangements of his lady's last removal from his home. He would not hear of any attendance, or indite an invitation to his friends; but he followed the cortÈge to the church, and remained watching the workmen as they closed up the vault. The following day, Sir Foster was busily employed dragging the lake, with his servants.

Lady Wetheral had a severe illness upon her removal from Ripley, which threatened fatal consequences. Again, Mrs. Pynsent appeared as the good Samaritan, and assisted Christobelle in long and fatiguing watches. Sir John Spottiswoode also remained at Wetheral, and his attentions were very soothing to his friends. Christobelle feared lest Anna Maria should feel the constant absence of her mother-in-law, who daily visited Wetheral, and remained even through the night, when her ladyship relapsed; but Mrs. Pynsent set aside all her fears. "Tom was left to take care of his wife and child, and poor Bobby, who was half another. Tom, God bless him! was like the Irishman's bird—he could be in two places at once. She had great pleasure in being useful to her poor, dear, honest Bell, who got more kicks than halfpence from my lady, and come she would."

Lady Wetheral recovered very slowly, but her spirits were severely depressed, and nothing appeared to give pleasure to her mind. The Boscawens came to Wetheral, upon Sir John's departure, for it was thought their presence might rouse her attention. Isabel, truly happy in maternal cares, looked the picture of animated health, as Mr. Boscawen proudly and silently watched her erratic movements, and gloried in his lively, sweet-tempered wife. But her mother looked heavily and unconsciously upon the scene, and did not notice the gambols of her grandchild. Even the sight of Anna Maria failed to take effect upon her attention.

It was thought prudent to change the air and scene. By her medical attendant's advice, Sir John resolved to quit, for some time, the scenes which brought the fate of her daughter before her mental sight; and it was hoped a perfectly new situation, new people, and a complete change in every point, would effect a gradual restoration of her faculties and health. It was decided Lady Wetheral should spend two or three years at Fairlee. Scotland was remote from all recollections and painful reminiscence—there was nothing at Fairlee which could be connected with the departed; and, perhaps, among the grander scenery of the North, its bracing air, and novel inhabitants, Lady Wetheral might forget her banishment from the deathbed of the child who had reproached her as the cause of her bitter sufferings and untimely death. When her ladyship was able to leave her room without effort, the family set forth on their distant journey.

The Boscawens parted with Christobelle under many regrets, and they promised to join them at Fairlee, the ensuing year. Christobelle wept over her sisters—she wept over the little ones she must leave far behind—but her father was with her, and he would again be her companion, as he had been for thirteen years, in the happy tranquillity of Wetheral library. Mrs. Pynsent promised to correspond with Christobelle, and give her the news of the neighbourhood. She prophecied respecting Sir Foster Kerrison.

"That fellow will be run down again, in spite of his two wives dying. You may depend upon it, the fellow will be married again, without his own consent, or being consulted in the matter. The deuce was in the mothers!"

Mrs. Pynsent also winked her eye at Mr. Boscawen, and assured him, "Jacky Spottiswoode had an eye to Miss Bell—she could see that. Jacky would wait three or four years, and then pop. She thought my lady had another trial to endure; for she was not Pen Pynsent, if that poor Lady Ennismore came to good. What with the tartar Countess, that poor wizen Lord, and the fine-looking Colonel, Julia would be the next sacrifice;—every thing would come home to my Lady Wetheral."

How Christobelle wept as she drove away from the scenes of her youth, and the hearts she loved! How Christobelle wept when she could see no more the woods of Wetheral Castle!

END OF VOL. II.

LONDON:
F. SHOBERL, JUN., 51, RUPERT STREET, HAYMARKET,
PRINTER TO H. R. H. PRINCE ALBERT.