The vivacious Captain Ponsonby called the party round him, and they seated themselves on the mounds which were scattered thickly round the chapel. The Greys formed the centre of the groupe, and their full voices wafted along the waters that beautiful glee of Calcot's, "Desolate is the dwelling of Morna." The effect was truly delicious. Desolate, indeed, was the ground upon which they sat; and silent, indeed, were the sounds which in former times burst from the shores of Lochleven. The harmony and its wildly poetic words accorded well with the scene before and around them. "Yet, a few years, and the blast of the desert comes," fell upon Christobelle's ear, and roused a thousand emotions. It seemed to describe in one short sentence the tale of life; and it too truly illustrated her own wretched position. She could not repress the tears which flowed at the thought, that even in her early youth, care was beginning to do its work. She turned involuntarily to look upon Fanny Ponsonby, the author of her wretchedness. She was seated a little apart, and her head had sunk upon her breast, as though the harmonious sounds had lulled her into deep repose; but Christobelle saw the heavings of her bosom, and knew she wept. The Greys concluded their song, and Captain Ponsonby was called upon to lend his talents towards the harmony of the scene. The young officer was nothing loth: with inexpressible softness, and in excellent taste, he sung: "There's something in that bonny face, I never saw before, lassie; Your actions a' have sic a grace, I gaze and I adore, lassie." Captain Ponsonby turned towards Christobelle, as he concluded the last line of the first stanza, and he pressed his hand gallantly upon his heart, as he gave the last verses: "Sweet is the spring, and sweet the rose, When moistened by the shower, lassie; Bright on the thorn the dew-drop glows, At morns refulgent hour, lassie: But brighter, purer far than these Thou art, and charm'st me more, lassie, Than tongue can tell; I wondering gaze, I gaze and I adore, lassie." Christobelle blushed deeply at the general notice which Captain Ponsonby's manner attracted towards her, and Lady Wetheral thought it prudent to break up the party, lest the offended countenance of Lord Farnborough should deepen, and produce results in his conduct, which would overthrow her dearest plans. She turned to Miss Ponsonby. "My dear Miss Ponsonby, are not those clouds threatening? I have observed them some minutes with fearful forebodings: my dear Bell, fold your plaid round you, the air is becoming fresh." The attention of the party was turned anxiously to the west, and General Ponsonby advised an immediate return to the opposite shore. Captain Ponsonby went forward to order the boatmen to their oars, and Lord Farnborough took his vacant place by the side of Christobelle. His lordship spoke with much vehemence of manner.