"Fear not, my beloved. If we are true to each other, surely we can endure a little trial of patience."
Yes, he spoke truly. Christobelle could endure a long, long trial for his love. She could suffer a protracted misery, to deserve a heart so excellent. She had, too, a dear hope to sustain her, for her father approved her sentiments, and he would shelter her from the harsh reproaches meet her lover's entreaty to be patient with smiles. She told him she would endure all things with firmness—that she would not anticipate evil. She called upon him to rejoice with her in her father's approval, and she told him of her interview and confession. How swiftly did their short tête-à-tête glide by! and how delightedly did Christobelle listen to his fears respecting Lord Farnborough!
"But why did you not tell me all this? Why did you suppose such incredible things in silence—to leave me in such cruel and useless suspense? Oh, Spottiswoode, one word yesterday morning, and all this had been spared us!"
"No, I was silenced by your mother for ever, in our morning lounge upon the terrace. Had you not disclaimed all idea of Lord Farnborough this morning, and had not hope rushed into my heart unbidden, by the confession of your misery, I had never dared to breathe a word of my sentiments. I believed you loved Lord Farnborough."
"She could not tell you that! Surely my mother did not tell you so—oh! she never told you I cared for him!" Christobelle shuddered at the thought; but the encircling arms of her lover restrained the movement which impelled her to start from her chair.
"I was assured your heart was on the point of acknowledging Lord Farnborough's power, Chrystal—and your mother spoke in terms of proud approval."
"Oh, my mother, my mother!" exclaimed Christobelle, weeping at the thought of her cruel policy; "I might have been sacrificed for ever to your ambitious wishes! I should have been given in utter wretchedness to a man I did not love, and consigned to hopeless misery!"
"Weep not, dearest," said her companion, "and I will tell you how your presence shall brighten and bless the scenes of my solitary wanderings at Alverton—how it shall illumine my future life, and reward me for my patient waiting. Did you but know, my love, how I feared you would be appropriated, ere I could claim an interest in your heart, and, yet, how firmly I resolved to leave you to the working of its own resolves, you would pity and love me for my resolution."
"I do love you!" Christobelle concealed her face upon his shoulder. They were silent for some moments, but his lips were pressed upon her forehead, and she was in his arms—both too engrossed, with the certainty of being at last happy, to break the deep silence. Christobelle forgot her mother—she forgot Lord Farnborough; she thought not of his errand, or her future anger. She was in a trance:—she thought all reproach—all suffering—all unkindness, had no further power to wound, for she belonged to her lover, and he would shelter her, as he did at that moment, in his beloved embrace. The world without might struggle with deep and mighty commotion—it might drink deeply of the elements of strife, and do battle with the stirring natures of mortality—but she was safe from strife and suffering now. She had given herself, heart and soul, to the man she loved dearer than herself, or aught in creation besides. She was the promised bride of Sir John Spottiswoode!