Isabel flew to Miss Boscawen. "I have not offended you, dear Tabitha, have I? No one is ever offended with me long, for I am so sorry to give offence. A thousand pardons, dear Tabitha, if I have unintentionally hurt you, but what could it be?"
"No, sister, you have not offended."
Isabel was free from offence, therefore her thoughts could dwell upon her child; she did not suspect or observe Miss Boscawen's manner.
"Oh, well, then, let us set off, for I am dying to hear my child admired. Now, Chrystal, you are head-nurse, so attend my babe in front, and I will follow with dear Boscawen, to hear and see every body's admiration. Now, Mr. Boscawen, don't let us linger."
Isabel took her husband's hand, and he suffered her to drag him in her lively playful way to the door. Isabel was becoming the happy Isabel of former days rapidly. Her sprightly laugh, at that moment, sounded like the joyous tones which had captivated her husband upon their first acquaintance; she was aware of it herself.
"I declare I am laughing as heartily as I used to do, when we were engaged, dear Boscawen, and you look so like yourself when I first saw you, and when you thought all I did was right."
"I think so now, Isabel," said Mr. Boscawen, drawing her to him, and looking tenderly in her face.
Mr. Boscawen's person and cast of features could never assume a sentimental expression, but Isabel was equally unsentimental herself. If her husband looked kindly, and behaved indulgently, she was happy; and, while her child continued well, eating his meals heartily, and stretching out his little arms at her approach, no sorrow could reach the heart of its devoted mother. Isabel would forget all grief at the cradle of her darling babe, in whatever form it might assail her.
They were sallying forth from the Crown, when a post-chaise drove rapidly through the north gate, and came with speed towards the inn. For a moment they stood still to watch its progress. The horses were panting with fatigue, but they were quickly unharnessed, as a well-known voice called out with energy, "Horses instantly to Brierly." It was Thompson.
Christobelle's fears instantly told her she was to receive a summons from Wetheral, but she had spent three happy months with Isabel, and could not in justice complain of its hurried and unexpected arrival. The last letters, however, from Sir John, had not alluded to any such intention. Mr. Boscawen had a powerful presentiment that something was wrong at Wetheral, and they hurried to the side of the chaise. Christobelle caught Thompson's eye.