The little party sat conversing some hours on a small pile of stones raised under a tree, which, in former days, constituted the plaisance of Lochleven Castle. This spot commanded the rich plain of Kinross, the rocky hills which swelled on either side, and the houses which dotted the plain, and gleamed in the sunshine. They thought of the sufferings of Mary, when she inhabited the now-ruined building under which they reposed, not as a restless Queen of Scots, but as a captive woman, banished to an isle where her eye could only rest upon rocks and water, far from her home and friends.
Sir John Spottiswoode also told of foreign scenes, and compared the beauties of Lochleven with the gigantic lakes of the south. They could not bear comparison; yet Lochleven possessed, in its diminutiveness, every requisite for poetic beauty. It was Lochleven; and Lochleven contained a succession of captivating scenery, delighting to the eye and mind. Many might prefer the imposing immensity of Geneva, of Constance, or of Zurich; but all must admire Lochleven. He did not see the chamois bounding from cliff to cliff; but the mind loved to repose on the bold yet tranquil scene which he contemplated. He did not dread the avalanche; but the softer landscape pleased an eye, sated with precipices, glaziers, torrents, and cataracts. It was delightful to sit by the side of friends, in the midst of scenery so beautiful, and yet be able to say, "It is in our own land."
Christobelle listened, and forgot Lord Farnborough. Far more attractive to her mind was the manly conversation of Sir John Spottiswoode, than the empty compliments of a new acquaintance. How could she, for an instant, feel disappointment at the thought of being absent from Fairlee when his lordship called?
Their return to the mainland was late; it was later still when they reached Fairlee. They had lingered by the way, and every turn presented new objects to admire, and fresh subjects for discussion. The half-hour bell was pealing its tones, and the echo reverberated from rock to rock, as they gained the terrace. This incident produced another pause: Sir John described the effect of the echo among the mountains of Switzerland, and the wild cry of the Switzers. Christobelle had scarcely time to hurry into her room, and change her dress, before they were summoned into the dining-room. Lady Wetheral did not address her daughter during dinner. She directed her discourse exclusively to her husband, when any subject was intended particularly to attract Christobelle's attention; otherwise, her manners were captivating as ever, when she played the hospitable and agreeable hostess, at the head of her table.
"My dear John, the Duke of Forfar called this morning." Christobelle's colour rose, and her quick eye detected the little emotion. "I was gratified by the call: his Grace looked remarkably well, and Lady Anna Herbert as sprightly as usual. Four years have rolled by, and left their 'flowing hair' unthinned. Lady Anna looks quite as youthful as she did when a 'belle confessed,' at your mother's balls, Sir John Spottiswoode."
"She was a very fine girl, and an excellent flirt," remarked Sir John. "Charles and Lady Anna were great friends some years ago."
"I was very much pleased with Lord Farnborough," continued Lady Wetheral, addressing her husband, and passing her eyes slightly over Christobelle. "Lord Farnborough accompanied gentleman many years."
Sir John Spottiswoode made no remark; and Christobelle was silent. Sir John Wetheral asked if the great boy had grown into a fine-looking youth?
"I set Lord Farnborough down as decidedly handsome at the first glance, my love; but I forgot his beauty in his very finished manners."
Sir John made no further remark, and there was a short pause, till Lady Wetheral resumed—