"Certainly, certainly," said Sir John Slingsby aloud; and while Mary Clifford put her arm through Isabella's, with a heart full of kindly wishes and hopes for her cousin, the baronet led his friend into the library, and their conference commenced. As might be expected, Beauchamp met no coldness on the part of Sir John Slingsby; but after a hearty shake of the hand, an eulogium well deserved upon his daughter, and an expression of his entire satisfaction and consent, the baronet's ear was claimed for the tale of Beauchamp's previous life. It did not produce the effect he expected; for although he had some acquaintance with Sir John's character and habits, he certainly did not anticipate the bursts of laughter with which the old gentleman listened to events which had rendered him miserable. But there are two sides to every thing, and Sir John had all his life taken the risible point of view of all subjects. He laughed then, heartily declared it an exceedingly good joke, but no marriage at all; and it was only when he found that counsel learned in the law had pronounced it to be valid, that he began to look at the matter more seriously. As soon, however, as he heard the intelligence which Beauchamp had lately received from Paris, he started up from his chair, exclaiming, "Well, then, she is dead and that's an end of it. So now I congratulate you, my dear lord, and say that the sooner the marriage is over the better. I shall tell Isabella so, and she has no affectations, thank God. But come, let us go to her. I must kiss her and give her my blessing." The whole conversation had occupied nearly an hour, and when Sir John Slingsby and Beauchamp entered the drawing-room they found it only tenanted by Isabella and good Doctor Miles. Her face was uncommonly serious, one might say sad, and the worthy clergyman's was not gay. "What is it, doctor?" cried Sir John Slingsby, "you look as grave as ten judges. Whose cat is dead?" "James Thomson's," said Dr. Miles drily, "and thereupon I wish to speak with you, Sir John, for I suppose you will attend the funeral." "You are a funny fellow, Doctor Miles," replied the baronet; "I'll talk to you in a minute, but I must first give my daughter a kiss--the first she has had this morning, for she played truant, and is going to do so again." So saying, he pressed his lips upon Isabella's cheek, and whispered a few words that made her colour vary, and then linking his arm in that of Dr. Miles, led him from the room, leaving his daughter and her lover alone together. Isabella's face looked sadder and graver than Beauchamp had ever seen it; and to say the truth his heart began to beat somewhat uneasily, especially as for a moment or two she did not speak, but remained with her eyes bent down. "Isabella," he said at length, "Isabella, you look very sad."