"Very well, my love; if I live, I will be your counsellor; but if your father is taken from you, beware of marrying for any motive of worldly considerations. Marry with esteem; and, if you believe a man to be religious, performing his duties as a son and brother with kindliness and affection, then love him, for he will deserve your affection. Beware of marrying for affluence alone; your fate will be then as Julia's or Clara's fate."
Sir John Wetheral's voice sunk into low, pathetic tones as he concluded, and Christobelle was silent from an awful feeling which stole over her frame, and forbade remark. A tap at the door roused them from the silence of many minutes; it was Thompson with a message from Lady Wetheral, requesting her daughter's presence. Christobelle looked at her father with alarm; her hour was arrived, when the things of this world must no longer appear like a vision of beauty; her life, in future, would be a lengthened chain of annoyances, and she must bend to the destiny which awaited her. She followed Thompson to her mother's apartments, where she had secluded herself since Lady Kerrison's marriage, in terror; but Sir John had smiled upon the movement, and Christobelle could not escape her lot. She was certain of an unpleasant reception, but restrained her tears from flowing. Lady Wetheral was seated near her work-table, upon which six wax-lights stood burning. She looked up.
"Oh! you are come, Bell: there, sit down, for I can't bear any one to come near me, heating the atmosphere. I think you are grown tall and gawky with your visit; it's very odd you should be so much plainer than your sisters. I suppose Isabel is very busy with her boy, poor thing! I hope all her children will be boys; girls are great plagues. Your father will not allow me to see poor dear Clara, and there is no settlement made upon her, which worries me to death. Suppose Sir Foster dies, and Clara should become a widow without any provision; I can't be troubled with any of you again. I can't be annoyed with daughters returning upon me, when I have taken such pains to establish them. I am extremely worried about Clara, and my spirits are sinking fast; not a soul to take care of me. Thompson on the eve of marrying!—nonsensical stuff! Servants, of all people, marrying! Daniel can't settle fifty pounds upon Thompson, and so I tell her, simpleton!"
Christobelle had nothing to offer in the way of consolation; she was always under a spell before her mother. Her tone of voice, too, was irritable, and the fear of offending closed her daughter's lips from answering. Lady Wetheral proceeded.
"You are awkward and dumb as ever, Bell: don't wriggle in your chair, and look so intolerably stupid. I thought Boscawen would have talked or read you into something like ease of manner. I shall be tired to death with your abrupt motions revolving round me. I must make you useful in your influence over your father, Bell; and you must contrive to gain his consent to our visiting at Ripley. Your poor father is become very selfish in many things. I meant to pay a visit of a few weeks to Bedinfield, but the dowager has sent me a letter I can't understand. Your father says the purport of it is to decline my company, but I could see no purport at all. The Pynsents are in France, and I never liked Boscawen; therefore I ought not to be refused my poor Clara's society. This is dreadful seclusion, and I have this little illumination to drive away blue devils. I never see Sir John now; my influence is quite gone."
It was necessary Christobelle should now endeavour to enter into conversation, and assist, as far as lay in her power, to console and amuse the disquietudes of her mother's mind. She, therefore, inquired if it was a true report concerning Anna Maria's return to England.
"Yes, Anna Maria is on the point of returning from Paris, very much against my wishes; she will be only a secondary person at Hatton, and their complaints are very foolish about that fine city. I think every thing has gone wrong since my daughters married; I have not been well or happy since Clara left me, and never shall be again."
"I hope you will, mamma; I will do all I can to please you."
"What can you do?" replied her mother, quickly, and with considerable irritation in her tone; "you are too young to establish, or to think about it these three years; how can you please me? I am declined at Bedinfield by the dowager, who, I am sure, manages her son and his wife, for neither of them added a line to regret my postponement, if it was one; but I could not understand it. My daughter Pynsent cannot ask me to Hatton when she returns; she will be a guest herself. I must not see Clara; and if I did, she has no settlement. What pleasure has accrued to me from their splendid matches?"
None, certainly, as far as Christobelle could judge from her mother's complaints, but surely Brierly was a home of happiness; she told her so.