All was tranquil health and untamed spirits in Clara's beautiful face. Christobelle persuaded herself she could _not_ have seen her sister in the avenue, and that she was yet ignorant of Sir Foster's intention to accompany them to Brierly, and bid high for the blood-mare. When the family separated for the night, Lady Wetheral coolly wished her youngest daughter a happy meeting with her friends at Brierly: she should not be up, and begged Christobelle would not rattle at her door with her awkward fingers, under pretence of leave-taking. She was to give her love to Mrs. Boscawen, and bid her remember the baize-door for the nursery. Clara advanced and kissed her sister: she spoke laughingly. "You need not visit my room, Bell, to-morrow, because I shall be very busy; but I wish you lots of happiness, if there is such material at Brierly. How long do you remain?" "Papa says, till you are all at Fairlee." "Oh, well, a happy meeting to us all at Fairlee; but, Bell, before we meet again, "'I'm o'er the border, and awa' Wi' Jock o' Hasledean!' "You don't understand me? Never mind--I don't think I shall like Fairlee. How you stare, Miss Bell!" Christobelle did look surprised: she could not understand Clara's gaiety upon her lover's dismissal. She retired to her room, however, and lost all recollections, in deep and sweet slumber, both of the past and present. CHAPTER XIII. Sir John Wetheral and Christobelle were speedily on their road to Ripley. The morning air was fresh and delicious, for May was on its threshold, and April had passed in smiles. The father's countenance beamed with pleasure, for he was conferring happiness--and his daughter was revelling in delight, because she was rolling towards Isabel, and should enjoy hours of amusement with the kind and patient Mr. Boscawen. All nature smiled under her eager eye, and she fancied the woods of Ripley even more beautiful than the grounds of Wetheral. They turned from the high road, through the great gates of Ripley Park, and wound for nearly two miles by the side of a lake, magnificent in her estimation at that time, and lovely in its stillness, now. The grey towers of Ripley burst upon the sight, as they turned rapidly from the beautiful sheet of water to enter the deep shrubbery which led to its entrance, and Christobelle could not help exclaiming--"Oh, papa, how beautiful this is!" "Yes, Christobelle, it is lovely; and all, save the spirit of man, is divine," replied her father, patting her shoulder. "That was a quotation, papa, from Lord Byron, which you read to me yesterday. Oh, see what a collection of beautiful plants are ranged in the conservatory!" Christobelle was engrossed with the sight of the numerous flowering shrubs, when the carriage stopped, and four servants advanced to the hall-door. Sir John inquired if their master was at home. Sir Foster had been from home since half-past five o'clock that morning. "When was he expected to return?"