"I have managed to withdraw you from a walk, Bell. I dislike those walks. Your name would soon become coupled with Sir John Spottiswoode, which I will not allow. If Lord Farnborough calls to-day, every thing is in its proper order. Place a chair for the reader, between your father and myself, my love: our ears are older than your youthful members." "I thought the Clanmoray party called yesterday, mamma?" "They did so--and yet I have a presentiment that Lord Farnborough will appear again to-day. Remember, Bell, I do not extend my prohibition to Lord Farnborough. You may walk with Lord Farnborough." "That would give offence to Sir John Spottiswoode, mamma." "Leave _me_ to manage Sir John Spottiswoode, my love." "I shall not wish to walk; I shall remain at home to-day, if you please, mamma." "I do not prescribe your hours, my dear Bell. Walk when and where you like, so you are not conspicuous with Sir John Spottiswoode. I warn you in time, that I will listen to no proposal which does not emanate from Lord Farnborough; and no plea from yourself, which has reference to our present guest. You are warned in time, remember!" "I should never think of, or hope to attach, Sir John Spottiswoode," Christobelle replied, calmly; "I only wish to be allowed free liberty to enjoy his conversation." "There is a very homely adage, Bell, which says, 'Prevention is better than a cure.' Lay its meaning to your heart." Christobelle did not continue the dialogue. She gave her whole attention to her netting, till the gentlemen returned, and till Sir John Spottiswoode commenced his reading: her whole soul was then engrossed in the fate of the fair and gentle Ellen. Gradually her hands relaxed their grasp, as the story proceeded--gradually her eyes turned upon the reader, and her netting fell disregarded upon the carpet. She was listening to the scene where Malcolm hears the praises of Ellen from the lips of Douglas: "If a father's partial thought O'erweighed her worth and beauty aught-- Well might the lover's judgment fail To balance with a juster scale; For with each secret glance he stole, The fond enthusiast sent his soul." The eyes of Sir John Spottiswoode rested upon Christobelle as he spoke these lines, and she felt a pain at her heart before unknown, and now indescribable. Lady Wetheral caught the mutual expression, and was struck by the sudden paleness of her daughter's countenance. She turned to Sir John Spottiswoode. "You will smile at a lady's nerves, and decide us to be incomprehensible beings; but the continual flow of your voice vibrates upon my nerves in a peculiar manner. I _must_ feel unwell, since a voice like your own creates nervousness. I will retire, for a short period, to appeal once more to camphor-julep. My dear Bell will give me her arm." Sir John Spottiswoode rose in alarm.