"Yes, Bell will amuse you, dear Boscawen, and you will not miss me. You can talk away upon history and the arts and sciences, and enjoy the novelty of a clever companion, for once. I am only fit to nurse my children."
"You are only fit to be a very excellent creature, and to be my dear little roundabout wife," exclaimed Boscawen; and Isabel looked so happy! It was delightful to witness the joyous expression which revelled in her looks, whenever she spoke with her husband and children. It was such a contrast to the Isabel whom Christobelle remembered, low-spirited, in her dressing-room at Wetheral, pining over "Burnet's Reformation!" It was such a contrast to the Isabel who watched in alarm the fond, but searching, glance of her excellent, elderly husband!—Christobelle told her so, when they were alone. She laughed.
"I remember, Bell, how frightened I used to be, and there was no cause for it! Boscawen was always kind, only I was so unwilling to receive improvement, and then I fancied his anxiety was annoying. When Miss Tabitha left Brierly, every thing was comfortable to me; for then, you know, there was no one to point out my faults. But, Chrystal, tell me now all about John Spottiswoode. Boscawen told me not to be curious, but I am very curious. I want to know how it all began, and why mamma is so foolish about Lord Farnborough."
Christobelle recapitulated her story to Isabel, who wondered, and was pleased, and wept, by turns, as her sister recounted all her sufferings. She clasped her arms round Christobelle.
"Never mind, Chrystal, never mind; and every thing will end as it should do. Every body knows mamma's matches have turned out shockingly; and John Spottiswoode is so loved by all his relations, so good to his mother and sister, that you are fortunate in attracting him; but you are so very handsome, dear Chrystal, you would attract every one, high and low. People are now scandalizing poor Julia, and pointing at her and Colonel Neville; but I will never believe that Julia would do wrong, though I dare say she is very unhappy, poor dear girl."
"What does Boscawen think, Isabel?"
"Oh, Boscawen never thought that match would answer. He did not like the Dowager's manners and character; and he said to me, at Julia's wedding, that if my sister fell from her high estate, the two mothers would answer for it hereafter. He said, too, that Julia was the victim of two machinating Machiavels. Of course, he meant mamma and the Dowager. Lord Selgrave was always disliked as a cruel, disagreeable boy, I hear; so he would have made you a sad husband, in spite of being Earl of Farnborough, and a trumpery Duke in expectancy."
Isabel's remarks only corroborated the observations of Spottiswoode, and Christobelle believed herself indeed saved from ruin, though she paid a severe penalty for her escape, in the angry prohibition of her mother's disappointed views. Her present pain, she felt assured, was far more bearable than the misery of an unhappy matrimony; and she was grateful beyond expression to know that she was given to a man, so loved and so well appreciated as Spottiswoode was, among her nearest friends. Their approbation must be balm to her heart; and, when her mother heard how all lips concurred to praise him, would she continue her ungenerous dislike to her presence? Would she persist in holding back her consent, and still pertinaciously revenge upon her head her dismissal of a man so little respected as Lord Farnborough? Christobelle hoped not in fear and trembling; she would hope. As her dear father observed, she had a right to hope that her prayers would be heard and answered, if she persevered in the path of principle.
Christobelle's spirits were considerably improved, by viewing the happy lot of Isabel, in the enjoyment of those tranquil domestic scenes which were so adapted to her taste and nature. In Mr. Boscawen, she met the highly-informed mind which imparted knowledge with a flow so gentle, that it did not startle or confound the listening neophite. His was a mind which fertilized as it stole along, improving all, and delighting every ear, but the ear of Isabel. To her the stream of his intellect flowed by, without a wish to understand, or kindle under its influence, one spark of sympathetic fire. Yet she gloried in her husband, and their life was peaceful and happy.
It is temper which creates the bliss of home, or disturbs its comfort. It is not in the collision of intellect, that domestic peace loves to nestle. Her home is in the forbearing nature—in the yielding spirit—in the calm pleasures of a mild disposition, anxious to give and receive happiness. In the sweet humility of Isabel, and in the indulgent forbearance of Boscawen, peace dwelt undisturbed by rival animosity; and she did not suffer those alarms which chase her timid presence from the hearth of the contentious, and from the bosom of the envious. Such was the blessed comfort and true charm of Brierly.