The next morning, notwithstanding its being Sunday, was fixed for the departure of the Eltondales for Cheltenham; as, in addition to Lady Eltondale's dread of passing a Sunday evening at the Hall, the hallowed day was one usually set apart by her and her obedient lord for travelling.

The whole of Sir Henry's household, unused to such an appropriation of the Sabbath, was thrown into disorder. The arrival of the post horses; the bustle and importance of the servants who were departing, with the confusion of those who were to remain; the enumeration of the packages by Madame La Fayette, who was, if possible, a finer lady than her mistress; and the awkward, and perhaps not quite unintentional, mistakes of her aides-de-camp the house-maids, in their arrangement, presented altogether a scene of clamour that totally dismayed poor quiet Sir Henry: and even Mrs. Galton could scarcely refrain from expressing a part of her discomposure, at perceiving the slow progress, that was actually making in the work of preparation, would effectually prevent either the domestics or themselves joining their worthy pastor in his public worship. At last Lady Eltondale appeared, to partake of what she called the early breakfast; and before this affair, always so important to the Viscount, was concluded, the different forms of farewell had been gone through, and the last part of the train had fairly moved from the door, the greatest portion of the morning was elapsed. Selina stood at the library window, watching the rapid motion of the carriages, and the spirited action of the postilions; as, cracking their whips over the horses' heads, they turned out of the long avenue, and disappeared down the hill. She listened for some time, involuntarily wishing to hear again the sound of the carriage wheels; then turning suddenly round, and casting her eye hastily over the dark damask hangings and massy furniture of the room, wondered why she had never before seen it look so gloomy as it now appeared. Mrs. Galton, who had silently marked the changes of that countenance, which so eloquently depicted every passing idea, now abruptly asked her, what she had been thinking of. Selina started and colored. But, as yet, she had never been conscious of a thought she would not wish to own; and, with her usual ingenuousness, replied—"I wonder, Aunt, what sort of place Cheltenham is? How I should like to go there!"—"I dare say, Lady Eltondale would gladly have taken you there, Selina," replied Mrs. Galton, with a look of sadness, blended with anxiety.—"But you don't think, surely, I should like to leave you and Papa behind?—no; if you, and Papa, and Augustus, would all come with me, I should be delighted to go! but not else." So saying, she threw her polished arms round Mrs. Galton's neck, and kissing her cheek with an effusion of affection, gave a gratifying and unequivocal proof of the sincerity of her assertion.

Meantime, Sir Henry had strolled out, leaning on the arm of Augustus: at last, after a silence unusually prolonged, the Baronet exclaimed, "Good Lord! bless my heart, who would have thought, this day se'ennight, that Bell and Lord Eltondale would have been come and gone again by this time?"—"She must have been very beautiful," returned Mordaunt. "Aye, she was once very handsome indeed," replied Sir Henry.—"Bless my heart, how time passes on! I remember the winter she was presented at Court, how much she was admired! and good Lord! how things come about: every body said she was to have been married to your uncle, Lord Osselstone, though, I believe, there was never any truth in the report. That was the very year you were born, Augustus, two-and-twenty years ago, last Michaelmas. I have never been in London since; and, please God, never shall!" Augustus had attended more to his own thoughts, than to Sir Henry's observations; and would perhaps have continued his reverie, had not the old man's silence had the effect of rousing him, which his conversation had not. "I think," said he, at last, "Selina is very like her aunt: her eyes, to be sure, sparkle more, and her countenance is more animated, but her figure is nearly the same, if she were but a very little taller."—"Aye," returned Sir Henry, with a sigh, "Selina will grow a great deal yet, I dare say.—Well, to be sure, who would have thought it? Bless my heart, she was but a child the other day: and then," he added, after a few moment's pause, "I wonder what sort of a chap that Frederick Elton is? I wonder will he like to play backgammon with me of an evening, as Selina does? Poor girl! he mustn't think of taking her to London, it would be the death of me, God help me!"

"Frederick Elton!" rejoined Augustus, "Good God, sir! what do you mean?" "Aye, Augustus, I thought you would be surprised. Bless my heart! why, I never should have thought of it myself. Do you know, Bell and Lord Eltondale came all this way out of their road to ask my consent to Selina's marrying his son Frederick Elton? It was very kind of them to think of it, to be sure; but I had rather they hadn't troubled themselves." "Well, sir, well surely, Sir Henry, you didn't give it?" "Bless my heart! well, to be sure, what makes you stare so?—to be sure I gave it. What had I to say against the young man? and Bell told me he would always like to live here." "And Selina, Miss Seymour, has given her consent too?" "Oh, poor child! she knows nothing about it yet;—I haven't told her a word of it.—But what makes you shiver so? Are you cold? Why, Augustus, boy, you look as pale as ashes! Good Lord!—Bless my heart, what's the matter with you?" "Nothing, sir, I've only a confounded head-ache, which a ride will cure." So saying, he turned abruptly from Sir Henry, who had by this time reached the hall door, and resumed his knotty cane. "Good Lord! well to be sure, he's not half so happy about it as I expected he would have been. I wonder what Mrs. Galton will say." And the doubt of the possibility of her not approving the plan, as he knew she was not partial to Lady Eltondale's plans in general, made him at first hesitate about informing her. But the habit he had acquired of consulting her on all occasions, and a certain restless anxiety, which persons of weak minds always feel to have their opinions or actions sanctioned by others, at last preponderated; and he retired to his study, after sending to request to speak to Mrs. Galton, fortifying himself, previous to her appearance, with as many of Lady Eltondale's arguments as he could recal to his disturbed memory.

Mrs. Galton was not as entirely unprepared for the communication as poor Augustus had been. She knew enough of Lady Eltondale's character to surmise, that her sudden re-appearance at Deane Hall could neither have been unpremeditated or without design; and, from some hints which Lady Eltondale had casually dropped in the course of conversation, her penetration had led her to form some tolerably accurate surmises on the subject. When, therefore, she entered the study, she was more grieved than surprised at the looks of painful emotion, with which Sir Henry received her. The poor old man, embarrassed with his own thoughts, began with more circumlocution than explicitness, to relate the circumstances, and ended a most perplexed speech by abruptly informing Mrs. Galton of the proposal. "It is as I expected," calmly replied she. "Aye! aye!" exclaimed the delighted Baronet, "I knew if any one would guess it you would.—I should never have thought of it myself." "But have you given your consent, Sir Henry?" "Given my consent—Good Lord! what do you mean! Well to be sure, all the world's run mad to-day, I think! Why, bless my heart! didn't you say it was what you expected?" "I could not expect; my dear sir, that you would give your consent to any proposal on which the future happiness of Selina's whole life depends, without deliberation, and a proper understanding and consideration of her feelings on the subject." "But, good Lord! I tell you again I have given my consent." "Not irrevocably, I hope, Sir Henry; you know nothing of Mr. Elton's character, taste, or disposition; you know nothing.—" "God forgive me for being in a passion," interrupted Sir Henry, "but the perverseness of women is enough to provoke a saint, which, the Lord help me, I'm not.—But you know, Mrs. Galton," continued he, in a more moderate tone, "you know Frederick Elton is a connection of our own;—and as for our not being acquainted with him—don't you remember he came here from school one Easter holidays, and gave Selina the measles by the same token, poor child!" "Forgive me, Sir Henry," calmly replied Mrs. Galton, "but I do not think that is knowing him well enough to decide on his title to Selina's esteem; and, believe me, that dear girl will never be happy unless she marries a man she not only esteems but loves." "Well, and didn't Lady Eltondale tell me Selina would certainly love Frederick Elton? She says he is twice as handsome as Augustus Mordaunt; which, good Lord! is unnecessary, for Augustus, poor boy, is as fine a young man as ever I saw in my life." "Aye, poor Augustus!" sorrowfully exclaimed Mrs. Galton, "he would indeed have been happy with Selina, and God knows, he is the character that of all others would best have suited her." "Augustus Mordaunt, Mrs. Galton! Well to be sure! Good Lord! who would have thought of that! However, poor boy, though I don't give him Selina, I'll take care to give him something else—he shall never be dependent on that old uncle of his."

Mrs. Galton saw it was in vain to contend at that moment with the Baronet, who was fully convinced that his promise was irrevocable, and that after all it was the best thing he could do, for Bell had told him so. All that Mrs. Galton could procure was a promise no less positive, that he would not give Selina the most distant hint of the project, by which she hoped not only to prolong her present days of peace, but also faintly flattered herself, that something might occur to prevent their union, between then and the time of Mr. Elton's return from abroad.

In the mean time Augustus prosecuted his useless ride—

Finding solitary reflection rather increased than cured his malady, he at last determined to open his heart, to his reverend friend, Mr. Temple; and, alighting at the parsonage, sent his servant back to the hall, to say he should not return to dinner—an intimation which considerably increased the gloom which pervaded the countenance of each individual of the trio, that was seated in silence round the dinner-table. Sir Henry and Mrs. Galton were each occupied by their own reflections; and Selina felt depressed, not only by the unusual absence of Augustus, but also from the effects of that vacuum, which the departure of guests, however few in number, always makes in a country house. After dinner she strolled listlessly from one room to another; took up and laid down, alternately, all the books that lay on the library table; sauntered to the harpsichord, and played parts of several anthems, without finishing any, and stopping every five minutes, in the vain belief that she heard the trampling of Mordaunt's horse. At last, at an hour long before her usual bed-time, she retired to her room, wondering what could keep him so late, and thinking she had never spent so long, so tiresome an evening; whilst she involuntarily contrasted it with the hours winged on swiftest pinions, which the fascinations of Lady Eltondale's manners had so delightfully beguiled the night before.