Christobelle's heart was wrung with the seriousness of her father's words, and the peculiar tone in which they were uttered: it seemed that he was preparing to leave for ever the home, and the study, which had sheltered her youth from every storm, and had been the scene of their daily and long communion together. If her father was no more, who besides Isabel would cherish his companion, and love her as he had done? Who would save her from her mother's irony, and soothe her increasing irritability towards her? Christobelle became wild with the idea of his early death, and, clasping her hands, cried, "Oh! dearest papa, don't talk so--don't frighten me, and promise not to leave me." "Nay, Chrystal," he replied, soothingly, "do not alarm yourself; I am here in present health; and I trust, for some years to come, to be allowed to watch over you. I _speak_ seriously, because my words will be remembered by you hereafter, when I may not be near to give counsel; and I _think_ seriously, because Clara's unhappy marriage may affect her conduct and character: she is too young to escape the contamination of passing her life with Sir Foster Kerrison." Sir John became agitated as they turned into Ripley Park, and drew near the house which held his unfortunate daughter: he wished to gain firmness with gentleness for the approaching interview, and he muttered several times, quickly, "I hope I shall not forget myself!--God help me, I hope I shall not forget myself!" He was agitated even to nervousness, when they drove past the conservatory, and the bells pealed their arrival; but Christobelle was then too young and inexperienced to be useful, or even to understand the depth of a parent's agony. She followed him in silence to the hall and into the sitting-room, where Clara lay extended upon a chaise-longue, with a bandage round one arm, and a severe bruise upon her eye. She rose, upon their entrance, with self-possession, and, apparently, with utter oblivion regarding the past, for her eyes flashed with angry feelings, and she spoke only of the present moment, and of her own distress. "You are come to witness a pretty scene at Ripley, papa, and to congratulate Sir Foster, of course, upon being the greatest brute in Shropshire. Pray see if 'brute' is not legibly stamped upon my arm, and written upon my left eye. Look at this, papa." Clara drew the bandage from her arm, and a dreadful sight presented itself: her anger rose as she gazed upon it. "If my absence should give _one_ qualm to that brute, I would never see his face again; but I will plague his heart out!"