"You are agitated, my love," observed her husband, putting his arm round her waist, and speaking kindly. "Do not be flurried, my dear Isabel, you shall see and speak to no one. Clara will be kind enough to tell Sir John how you feel. You tremble very much; try to gain firmness, my love." Poor Isabel was placed in her carriage, half fainting, without the power to speak or move. Mr. Boscawen was hurt and alarmed for the effects of this agitation upon his lady's health; but his mind was decided to persevere in removing Isabel. He deputed Clara to explain to her father how much emotion her sister evinced at the thoughts of taking leave; and bowing to Lady Wetheral and Miss Kerrison, Mr. Boscawen took his place by the side of Isabel, whose head reclined against the side of the carriage, nor did she raise it to look her adieus. She appeared too exhausted and sick at heart to make an effort of any kind. How differently she quitted Wetheral upon her nuptial morning! Sir Foster Kerrison did actually call at Wetheral some hours after the Boscawens' departure. Clara was soothed and flattered, her mother charmed, by the visit. Sir Foster sat silent till he was spoken to. "My dear sir, this is courteous, indeed," Lady Wetheral began; "I feel much honoured by your polite attention to my wish." Sir Foster winked his eye and tapped his boot, but he did not seem to comprehend the purport of her ladyship's speech. "Umph, eh?" "Papa, you received Lady Wetheral's note, of course?" said Miss Kerrison. "Eh, what?" "Lady Wetheral's note, papa--the note you received yesterday from Wetheral!" Sir Foster sat winking, but could not remember any note. "Oh, papa, you received a note, and I am sure it is in your pocket. Pray, let me look into the recesses of your enormous pockets?" Miss Kerrison playfully emptied her father's pockets, and Lady Wetheral's note appeared with its seal unbroken, accompanied by sundry letters, straps, nails, and a shoeing horn. Clara's eyes flashed indignation, but her mother's smiled sweetly. "My dear Sir Foster, I must not complain of your very absent mind, since I only suffer with the rest of the world. Upon my word, this is very amusing! See, my dear Lucy, how entertaining this assemblage of articles promises to be!" Sir Foster stared, while the ladies laughed over the miscellaneous contents of his pocket. Clara alone sat dignified and offended. Lady Wetheral explained the purport of her note, and begged the company of Miss Kerrison for a longer and indefinite period. Sir Foster hummed an air and tapped his boot during her complimentary and lengthy speech. "Papa always implies consent when he hums and taps, Lady Wetheral, so that is delightfully arranged: but why, papa, did you call here this morning?" "Where's Boscawen?" "They have left some hours, to return to Brierly, papa. Did you want to see Mr. Boscawen?" A smile curled Sir Foster's handsome lip.