"Do not speak so recklessly, so heartlessly, I beseech you!" "I never was suspected of heartlessness, Sir John Spottiswoode!" Christobelle also turned away, for proud tears rose at the unexpected attack. She was quitting the room. "Stay one moment, and say you forgive me," he cried with energy. "Forgive me, Miss Wetheral--forgive me, my generous pupil!" Christobelle turned at the last expression, and her emotion was apparent, for he caught her in his arms. "I cannot support this sight! What right had I to presume to give pain! What right had I to breathe a harsh expression towards a creature all heart, and all nobleness!" "I am not angry," she replied, withdrawing from his embrace--"I am not angry, Sir John Spottiswoode; only I do not deserve the appellation of heartless. I spoke in sincerity and truth." "I know you did. I was wrong to speak as I did--forgive me!" "I do forgive you," she answered, smiling, and another long pressure of the hand attested their reconciliation. "Calm a penitent spirit by a stroll on the terrace, and talk to me, that I may forget my fault and its cause. Let me hear your voice again, and let me hear it till Lord Farnborough arrives." The friends walked nearly an hour together. Christobelle's spirits were again elevated, and she chatted with renewed vivacity. Sir John Spottiswoode walked smilingly by her side, listening to her anticipations of his illness dispersing in the fresh air of Lochleven; but he was not himself. He replied to her remarks, and lent his powers in playful conversation; but they were not _given_. He often sighed, and repeatedly compelled his companion to bespeak his attention. "You tell me to chat, and your mind is far away," she said, at last, weary with receiving no reply. "But I have not lost a word. I hear you with the most vivid attention, because you will not long honour me." "Why so, I pray you, gentle coz?" "You will be engrossed by Lord Farnborough!" "That, then, will be your own fault!" He looked earnestly in Christobelle's face, and shook his head. "Say it once more, my pupil." "It will be your own fault, if _any one_ engrosses my attention. Why should I be inattentive to my naughty schoolmaster?" Lord Farnborough bounded from the drawing-room window upon the terrace, and advanced towards them. Christobelle felt her companion's arm relax; she looked reproachingly towards him. "You wish already to get rid of your poor pupil?" "Never, never!" was the subdued reply; but Lord Farnborough stood before them. "You are ready, I see. Is not this a glorious day? Clanmoray is in a proper bustle, and the lake never looked so beautiful. Miss Ponsonby declares she will be the 'Lady of the Lake,' and dress in costume as you do, Miss Wetheral. She hopes some 'Malcolm' of Lochleven will start forth and woo her, but she rather despairs of such good fortune. Malcolm will be attracted elsewhere."