In such interesting subjects, Christobelle's attention was deeply fixed; and, whether they rode or walked, she generally found herself by the side of Sir John Spottiswoode. Mrs. Pynsent winked her eye, if their glances met upon these occasions, but she refrained from making any remark, except by implication. "I say, Miss Bell, if you would rather not ride to-day with an elderly man, give me a hint, and I'll get you off." "Here, hollo, Miss Bell, don't do any thing disagreeable to your mind. Shall Tom give you his arm to-day? I dare say, like the rest of us, you prefer variety." Mrs. Pynsent would not allow Christobelle to return to Wetheral at the appointed time. "She was a steady tight kind of a lass, and the deuce a step should she make towards her dull home. She need give herself no trouble. _She_ would settle the concern with Sir John. Christobelle should stay over Tom's confinement--he would suffer quite as much as his little wife--and Jacky Spottiswoode should stay too. It would make Tom comfortable, when madam was in the straw." So it was decided to be, and both continued at Hatton, enjoying long walks, and assisting each other in dispelling gloomy apprehensions from the mind of the affectionate and anxious husband. Tom Pynsent's apprehensions increased as Anna Maria's hour drew near, and his mother taxed her memory for calming and comfortable precedents. "Tom, don't drop your lip, like Sally Hancock. Why, there's Kitty Barnes, with fifteen enormous purple-faced children: she is alive at this moment. And look at Polly Mudge, the whipper-in's wife, who they thought must die; isn't she hanging out the clothes, and handing the baskets along, as brisk as your three year olds?" "Anna Maria is so delicate; one can't compare her with Polly Mudge," said Tom Pynsent, in doleful tones. "Well, then, what do you say to Betty Smoker, who always wanted bacon and greens, an hour after her troubles were over. She was a poor sickly-looking thing!" "I hope my poor girl will do the same, if it's a good thing for her," replied Tom, in more cheerful accents. "Let her eat and drink just what she likes, Tom. I won't have her contradicted in any thing." At length, the day arrived which was to decide the fate of Tom Pynsent. The moment Anna Maria complained of feeling ill and restless, her husband fled to the kennel, and insisted upon some one bringing him intelligence every ten minutes of his wife's health. Polly Mudge was deputed to relieve guard with Christobelle; and for nearly thirteen hours they were employed as carrier-pigeons, to announce bulletins from Mrs. Pynsent to the kennel, where Tom pertinaciously resolved to remain. It was the only spot where his mind could receive amusement, or which had power to distract his attention from the idea that his wife would not survive her confinement. He took no nourishment. He continued constantly employed with his men in examining the dogs, and suggesting improvements for their convenience.