"Nay, but Gertrude, has it been well with Julia, whom you taught to fly at quarry so distasteful? Wedded to imbecility—banished from her home and country, unseen and unheard of—is she, too, an evidence of your talent in contriving establishments?"
"I tell you," exclaimed her ladyship, "Julia is an earl's wife; and Clara's position was high and grandly placed, but her own hand plucked her down. Who can reproach me?"
"I will not reproach you, Gertrude, but I counsel you to spare this last poor child. Remember only your fatal mistakes, and do not add a third victim. I will not allow Christobelle to be sacrificed to your ambition."
"Ring for Bevan, I am very ill—ring for Bevan, but let no one else come near me. I am not hard-hearted! Clara called me hard-hearted: I am not hard-hearted! I am a disappointed, deceived mother. Where is Bevan?"
Mrs. Bevan appeared with the remedies, which time had taught her to dispense as judiciously as her predecessor, Mrs. Daniel Higgins, had done; but Lady Wetheral's attack threatened a longer continuance than usual. She would fain have retired to her own room, but Sir John perceived her inability to move without assistance: her ladyship trembled excessively. He bore her in his arms to her bed-side, and Mrs. Bevan, after assisting her lady to repose, proceeded to close the shutters, and exclude the bright sunbeams. Lady Wetheral became still more nervous.
"Bevan, let me have light—let me have light! If I cannot see the sun, it will be darkness of body and mind. Don't leave me, Bevan. Sir John, where are you?"
Sir John stood near, in a state of offended alarm: his mind was discomposed—it never became angry.
"Sir John, I cannot remain at Fairlee: take me back to Wetheral. Bell has destroyed my health. I was quite well till this wretched match, which has destroyed all my plans, and thrown down all my hopes! It has made me ill—worse than ever!"
It was not in the power of reason, much less in Sir John Wetheral's power, to check the indignant feelings which affected his lady's mind upon the subject of Lord Farnborough's refusal. Each attempt to argue away their violence did but increase the evil. Nothing could induce her ladyship to receive Christobelle at her bed-side, or hear a word pleaded in her defence. Christobelle's attachment to Sir John Spottiswoode, and her subsequent refusal to accept Lord Farnborough's proposal, appeared to destroy the ties of affection which had never been closely woven together, for his ladyship declared her daughter's presence would kill her upon the spot. The sad event which occasioned her flight from England, faded under the shock of Lord Farnborough's dismissal. Scotland would be to her sickened heart a remembrance of misery. Either Christobelle or herself must quit the shores of the now desolate and cold Lochleven, upon whose bosom she had once enjoyed such bright anticipations. All was ended, and joy had closed her brilliant wings for ever. This was an irrecoverable stroke.