"Let him remain where he is, Isabel: he has been very naughty."
"But I have taught him to steal, and I ought to suffer for him, dear Boscawen. Let me go to my child, my love!" The tears stood in Isabel's eyes, and Boscawen was still under their influence. He soothed his lady as fondly as when in earlier days she wept for the drooping ostrich feather.
"My dear Isabel, when we retire into the drawing-room, your child shall come down again. Don't weep, my love. I cannot wonder at your fondness, but he was very naughty. Wait a few moments, Isabel, and the child shall join us in the drawing-room. Don't let me see you weep—stay, I will bring him down to you."
Isabel smiled, and little Tommy was restored to her arms, as he entered the drawing-room. Mr. Boscawen felt he had acted unwisely by his child; but how could he resist Isabel in tears? Things were totally changed at Brierly. A tear from the bright blue eye of Isabel melted Boscawen's best resolves, and operated against the excellence of his own system of education. Isabel held the reins of government in her hands. She never argued with her husband—she never offered a word of opposition to his wishes—but she ruled by submission, and won his acquiescence by her tears and gentle self-upbraidings. Fortunately, her children possessed her own sweet disposition, which defied indulgence, or they might have suffered through Isabel's inability to check their budding faults. As it was, they loved her too well to persist in offending a parent so devoted; and it must have proved a very serious offence, ere the light-hearted Isabel could lament conduct which was ever palliated by her affectionate heart. She was indeed the happiest of wives and mothers.
Mr. Boscawen and Christobelle resumed their occupations instinctively, as if years had not intervened since they last walked and read together at Brierly. Isabel was delighted.
"Ah, there you go again!—read, read, talk, talk, all day long. I like to hear you argue, when I have time to devote to you both; but the children require so much attention, and the dear little things love to be with me so often, that dear Boscawen has been a great deal alone, haven't you, Boscawen? It is such a pleasure to have you here, Chrystal—my poor, dear husband won't have to endure my ignorance."
"Who says my Isabel is ignorant?" said Mr. Boscawen, patting his lady's shoulder affectionately.
"Yes, dear Boscawen, I am very ignorant, and very unfit for you; but I do very well to play with the darlings, and superintend every thing but their education—that you will do, except for poor little Bell: let her be happy and ignorant, Boscawen. If she is half as happy as her mother, she will not require knowledge—only her husband and children. I never wish for any thing beyond you and them." Isabel cast an upward and affectionate look at Boscawen, who bent his long figure to kiss his laughing wife.
Mr. Boscawen told Christobelle he had engaged to take her for a day or two to Hatton. The Pynsents were very anxious to see her, and Mrs. Pynsent had made it a point with him to bring the "tall, gawky, good-looking girl" to her, as soon as she had rested a few days at Brierly. The Charles Spottiswoodes, also, were wishing to see her again, to contemplate the improvement which five years must have effected in her appearance. The name of Spottiswoode brought blushes into the face of Christobelle.