Isabel, in smiles and tears, began the preparation for her child's comforts. The nurse was summoned, and it was fed before her, as she gazed delightedly at its movements: the face and figure of Isabel received its greatest charm from her maternal solicitude. Her enthusiastic nature was interestingly and beautifully illustrated in the devotion of her heart to this one most loved object, and the _insouciance_ of Isabel Wetheral was buried in the deep love of her offspring. Christobelle never remembered her so captivating as she appeared at this moment, when her attention was engrossed in watching her child. The tears of grateful remembrance were upon her cheek, yet smiles were chasing every emotion from her heart, but those of tenderness and a mother's pride. Mr. Boscawen looked on, enchanted. Isabel, in the fullness of her heart, turned for the first time since her arrival to Miss Boscawen. "Ah, Tabitha, I am sure you will be one of our party round the Castle Hill, to enjoy my babe's crowing delight. Do put away your work, and join us." Miss Boscawen did not look up from her work, as she drily replied, "No, thank you, sister." Mr. Boscawen thought a little promenade would be very pleasant after a long drive, and he joined in his lady's wish that she would attend them. "No, thank you, brother." Miss Boscawen fixed her eyes pertinaciously upon her work: she sat like a wax figure, motionless, and apparently sightless. "I am afraid you are ill, Tabitha," observed Isabel. "Do let me order you a glass of wine and a biscuit. A glass of wine, dear Boscawen, would not that do Tabitha good?" "No, thank you, sister." "A biscuit, Tabitha." "No, thank you, brother." Miss Boscawen's answers to many affectionate inquiries were equally laconic. Something was wrong, but the cause was equally unintelligible to her brother and sister. The walk, however, was to take place, and, if Miss Boscawen would not be prevailed upon to add to the little party, she would, probably, be kind enough to put off dinner another hour. This change in the dinner arrangement was met with perfect assent by Miss Boscawen. "Certainly, brother." Mr. Boscawen looked earnestly at his sister; but there was no ripple on the surface of the water, to detect its agitation: the voice was dry in its tones, but the eye was placid, and the manner quiet and composed; one strong symptom betrayed the disease within to her brother, and upon that symptom he spoke. "Tabitha, you are vexed about something--tell me what it is." "I am not vexed, brother." Mr. Boscawen smiled. "I am sure all is not right, Tabitha; you have made no objection to a single plan proposed, since we entered this room, therefore, you are not pleased with some one of us." "I am not displeased with you, brother." "Then my wife has unfortunately offended you."