A pressure of the hand, and a look of pleased expression, gave Isabel courage, and raised her spirits to nearly their pristine height.
"I dare say you will go with us, dear Boscawen, won't you? and Chrystal will like to see the babe admired all over the town. You shall have plenty of gingerbread-nuts, dear Chrystal: the darling babe will be so admired. I know you will come with us, Boscawen, won't you now?"
Mr. Boscawen gave a grim smile of acquiescence, and accompanied the smile with a corresponding squeeze of the hand.
"I declare, Boscawen, you have hurt my poor little fingers," exclaimed Isabel, with an affected scream.
"Let me examine them," said her husband, trying to gain possession of her hand. Isabel withheld it playfully.
"Oh, no, Boscawen, I declare I gave it you in poor Wetheral chapel: don't you remember how amused I was, and how I laughed when you put on the ring?"
"Would you give it me again as willingly, if we were to renew our vows, Isabel?" asked Mr. Boscawen, with soft seriousness, as he caught her hand, and stroked it with his long unshapely fingers.
"Oh yes, indeed I should now, because you are so good, and I should not know what to do without you. You know you protect me from...." Isabel's voice sunk into a whisper, which reached her husband's ear alone; but her eyes were directed towards Miss Boscawen, who appeared intently occupied with her worsted work. Mr. Boscawen smiled and patted her hand, as if in correction. Isabel went laughingly on.
"I always like people who love me, but I don't know how it is, some persons are not pleasant, though they are kind. Mamma was very kind sometimes, but still, however, I love you, dear Boscawen, very much. I suppose I always liked you, but you frightened me so."