"They had great good nature, I suppose."
"They had great wealth, Bell, or they never could have held any position in society. Four hundred thousand pounds drew the first gentlemen in the county to Lidham."
Christobelle chatted till the Lidham woods rose in sight, and then she became silent. Every thing connected with the name of Spottiswoode held a powerful interest in her heart, and concentrated her thoughts upon himself. She had heard from him once since her arrival at Brierly, and then he spoke so cheerlessly of her mother's spirits, that he lingered to assist and console her father. He knew, he said, that he was giving her pleasure by attending upon her father, and he hoped so much from his assiduities! Dear Spottiswoode, how much more sanguinely than herself did he expect a change in her mother's sentiments!
As the carriage drove through the lodges, a gentleman on horseback galloped towards them. "Here comes Charles full of news," said Boscawen; "and he is riding fast, I suppose, to carry it fresh into Shrewsbury. A little news is a passport among one's neighbours."
Christobelle bent forward to observe Charles Spottiswoode; but no, it was not Charles Spottiswoode. Her heart beat thickly, and her eyes strained to gaze. She knew the horseman from afar: she knew the air, the figure, and the style of riding, well. Was her lover winging his way to her?—was he thinking of Brierly, and one there who loved him better than herself? Christobelle caught her brother's hand. "Boscawen, it is not him, it is John Spottiswoode! what brings him so soon from Fairlee?"
"God bless me!" cried Boscawen, "it is indeed our friend from the north, and I must stop him, or he will never condescend to look at us." He put his head out of the carriage-window, and waved his hand: Sir John Spottiswoode heeded not the movement. He was riding rapidly by, and would have passed with a slight inclination of the head, had not Christobelle caught his eye. His handsome face glowed with surprise and delight, while her own feelings, so very suddenly called into action, completely took away her powers of speech. She could only hold out her hand, as he checked his horse, and wheeled round to the window, but it was pressed so fondly—and he looked so bright and happy!
"Why, Spottiswoode, what fair lady are you scampering after, that you nearly passed by us?" exclaimed Boscawen, shaking him by the hand.
"Never mind, I am going to turn back with you. Indeed, I was galloping to Shrewsbury, to get upon the coach for Brierly. I only arrived this morning."
"My mother, Spottiswoode," uttered Christobelle, in alarm—"how is my mother?"
"On her road to Wetheral, by short stages; I am but their avant courier, Chrystal. I have brought a letter for you. You will now, perhaps, offer me a seat in your carriage to Brierly, when you return. My brother said nothing about your visit—do they expect you?"