"Are they here for any length of time?"
"I cannot tell; they attend a party to St. Mungo's Isle soon, which I am engaged to join. But you will go with me now: I shall delight in shewing you the lions of Lochleven. Shall we take a walk after dinner? I long to shew you the beauteous spots, where I have sat so often and so long, thinking of England, and wishing you were here to enjoy it with me."
"I am ready to attend you over hill and dale," replied Sir John Spottiswoode—"over mountain, and through glen."
"That is delightful. After dinner, then, we will set forth."
Christobelle had a packet of letters to read from Shropshire, entrusted to her father's care; and, till the dressing-bell sounded, she was engaged in devouring their contents. All were well in England. Isabel wrote only of her children, and she wished to exhibit them at Fairlee, if Miss Tabitha's health would only allow the visit—but she would neither die nor get well. Anna Maria detailed the delights of the winter's sport in Shropshire, and triumphed in the glory of her husband. They had thirty-seven "brushes" of the last season, which the children played with in the hall, and Tom had been in at the death of each. The eldest boy, Tom, could roar "Tally-ho" as loud as the whipper-in, and the girl climbed trees like a squirrel. Mrs. Pynsent added a short postscript of one line, "Take care of Sir Jacky, Miss Bell."
Christobelle involuntarily raised her eyes towards Sir John Spottiswoode, as she smiled at the concise charge. He was gazing earnestly upon her; her eye sank under the expression of his fixed attention, and she resumed her reading; but a deep blush painfully suffused her cheek. She had met no closely-fixed observation till this moment, and she knew Sir John Spottiswoode's eye was still upon her. She did not dare meet his glance again.