"Yet we admired the scene as fervently when we chatted and sang upon the lake," observed Christobelle.
"That was eye-service, Miss Wetheral. The glorious scenery then delighted my eye, but had not reached my heart; its effects now are very soothing, yet melancholy."
"Don't let me interrupt your meditations, then," Christobelle replied, with a little feeling of offended pride, which had never risen in her bosom till that moment. She was ashamed of its existence, but it would display itself.
"I have not the sprightly and winning tongue of Lord Farnborough, Miss Wetheral. I cannot be witty and yet feel deeply."
"Lord Farnborough," replied Christobelle, colouring, "was not in my thoughts."
"I spoke unadvisedly, my dear pupil: forgive the stern schoolmaster."
Sir John Spottiswoode held out his hand, and when did Christobelle resist that affectionate title, which recalled his instructions, and their happy days at Wetheral? She gave her own hand with the delight of heart which every one experiences who renews a happy intercourse with half displeased friends. Sir John Spottiswoode held it for some moments; and when it was withdrawn gently from his grasp, they again relapsed into silence. The dressing-bell startled them from their long reverie.
"Oh, that tiresome bell!" exclaimed Christobelle, "how dismally and faithfully it summons one from mental enjoyment to the creature comforts!"
"It is wisely ordered!" replied Sir John Spottiswoode, placing her arm within his own. "I will tell you why I judge it so, as we climb this steep. We enjoy all things by comparison, and in their variety. Mental pleasures depend upon calm bodily tranquillity; and where the constitution suffers, there is little leisure for the mind to absorb itself in its own reveries. There! you have slipped, and hurt your foot!"
"But the dressing-bell—you have not yet illustrated your position!" exclaimed Christobelle, in some confusion, as her companion caught her fall, by throwing his arm round her waist, though it was instantly withdrawn.