Christobelle thought Lord Farnborough handsome--very handsome, that morning. If Sir John Spottiswoode had not arrived at Fairlee--if Lady Wetheral had not tortured her heart, by _compelling_ its obedience--by endeavouring to lower her opinion of the friend she esteemed--if, a thousand ifs--Christobelle had perhaps admired his lordship, and fallen a victim to her mother's wishes. But, now!--a thousand Lord Farnboroughs could not fill up the sum of her preference to the society of Sir John Spottiswoode. Love was a deity unknown, unwished for. She only prayed to pass her existence with her father, and to see sometimes the friend she so greatly venerated. Lord Farnborough remained some hours at Fairlee; and when Christobelle's confusion, which arose at Sir John Spottiswoode's scrutiny, had subsided, she could also join in the passing conversation. Many complimentary nothings fell from Lord Farnborough's lips, to which she replied with a banter which arose from the collision of their wits--not from a heart gratified by empty verbiage. Christobelle was at rest from reproach; and her spirits rose from their contact with lively observations and sprightly repartee. Sir John Spottiswoode did not join in the wordy war, but her father smiled in pleased approbation, and often rescued his daughter from the horns of a dilemma. Lady Wetheral's satisfaction lay deep in her heart, but she sat composedly silent, as the brilliant scintillations of wit played round her. It was after the departure of Lord Farnborough, that she spoke her feelings in one concise, but too dangerous, sentence. "Bell, walk _now_ when and where you please, with Sir John Spottiswoode." Christobelle was again at liberty to walk by the side of her friend--again free to claim his society, without reproachful looks and unkind expressions! How joyfully did she avail herself of the blessed privilege! Her mother smiled at their repeated absence, and expressed no curiosity to learn their subjects of conversation. Christobelle drew fearlessly to the side of Sir John Spottiswoode, or leaned upon his arm with confidence, as they watched the sun's decline from the terrace. She was the happiest creature breathing, till the day of their engagement to Clanmoray. And yet Christobelle fancied there were symptoms of reserve on the part of her companion. Conversation became, she thought, less gaily free, less continuous. There were repeated and long pauses, which she could not break, and Sir John Spottiswoode appeared to covet. They sat one morning in their rocky seat, without exchanging a single word, till Sir John suddenly exclaimed,-- "This is, indeed, perfect happiness." Christobelle smiled. "We are _silent_ adorers of Nature; but our feelings are not the less sincere." "Powerful admiration is in the heart, not upon the lips," replied her companion, sighing. "Yet we admired the scene as fervently when we chatted and sang upon the lake," observed Christobelle.