"What is her name to be?" asked Sir John, as he fondled the infant in his arms, and kissed its cheek.
"Call her what you please, Sir John; she is to be your care now, not mine. If you think a name necessary, let it be your own choice."
"Then I name her Christobel, after my good old aunt, Gertrude."
"A delightful name, my love, and after an excellent model. Christobel was a heavenly-minded, frightful old maid, and your fifth daughter may resemble her in every respect."
"Let it be so. My aunt was a woman of strong affections, and of powerful abilities, and, if this child possesses half her excellence, she will be a treasure to me in my old age."
"I dare say she will be a great comfort to you, love," said Lady Wetheral, in a sleepy tone, "but, suppose the nurse is summoned for Miss Christobel—I am inclined to sleep."
The child was soon taken from Lady Wetheral's arms, and consigned to the distant apartment which constituted the nursery. Sir John also rose to depart, but his lady's languid voice detained him.
"Sir John!"
"Yes, dear."