"Chrystal, it is time for me to take some steps towards removing you from such examples. I shall accompany you to Brierly to-morrow, and place you, for the present, under Boscawen's care. He will take charge of you till I can claim you in peace. When I have deposited you in safety, I shall remove from Wetheral for ever. Your mother and sister will accompany me into Scotland, as I shall reside in future at Fairlee." Nothing could exceed Lady Wetheral's terror at these words, spoken so calmly and so decidedly. She rushed towards her husband, and seized his arm with nervous trepidation. "Don't go into Scotland, John! oh, don't go there, to horrid Fairlee! I shall die there--no, no; say you will not take me from Wetheral, and I will promise any thing, John!" Her ladyship's alarm became very powerful, and she sank to the ground. Christobelle would have flown to the bell to summon Thompson, but her father forbade the action; he begged that such scenes might never be disclosed to the eyes of the household. He raised her, and laid her on a sofa, but it was some time ere her senses returned. She wandered evidently for some hours in her conversation, and was at length placed in bed, under the influence of a powerful narcotic. Christobelle watched by her as she slept. Sir John Wetheral felt all this most painfully; but he was now awake to the weakness of his conduct in placing such implicit confidence in his lady's system of education; he felt too late how indolently he had succumbed to her tears and reproaches against his own better judgment, even to the sacrifice of Julia; and now he was resolved to save Clara, at the risk of sacrificing for ever all future hopes of domestic felicity. Her ladyship's fearful apprehensions of Fairlee threatened an illness: but Sir John was firmly resolved to quit Shropshire; to leave at once the scene of deception which irritated his mind; to save, if possible, the fate which awaited Clara, should her evil genius give her into the power of Sir Foster Kerrison. Christobelle was still watching in her mother's room, when she opened her eyes, and faintly called for Thompson. Christobelle did not reply, but walked softly to the side of her bed, to inquire how she felt after her long sleep. Her eyes were heavy, for she closed them as she spoke. "Is that you, Thompson? I have had such horrible dreams: your master is going into Scotland, and poor Miss Clara will be taken away from Sir Foster, after all my trouble." "It is me, mamma," whispered Christobelle. "Well, well," replied her mother, petulantly, "never mind who it is, you are equally included in this dreadful Fairlee business. I shall never live to reach Scotland: the dullness of the place--no neighbourhood--all old married men--not a match there fit for Clara--altogether it will kill me." A silence of some moments ensued, and she spoke again in low complaining tones.