"You have been bored with your neighbour, Miss Wetheral, yet you have preferred him to me." "Captain Ponsonby did not weary me, my lord." "I hate those talking fellows, yet ladies love to be attended by them. I can't think why all ladies like Ponsonby to run after them." Christobelle was offended by Lord Farnborough's expressions. When his lordship attended her from Lochleven Castle to Fairlee Cove, all was courtesy and gallant bearing--but his lordship had become overbearing, and, if she might so express it, he was actually offensive in St. Mungo's Isle. She made no reply. "Allow me to take charge of you to the shore, Miss Wetheral," continued his lordship. Christobelle hesitated. "Captain Ponsonby, I believe--I rather think...." "Of course I must give way," replied his lordship, drily, "of course every thing must give way to Captain Ponsonby." Captain Ponsonby came up, to announce all was in readiness; and the party rose to prepare for departure. Lady Wetheral approached her daughter. "Bell, you are devoting yourself very publicly to Captain Ponsonby. I intreat you to be cautious, and accept Lord Farnborough's offer of attendance." "Mamma, I am offended with Lord Farnborough." "Do not be silly, Miss Wetheral; this is not the moment to exhibit offended feelings. I wish you to walk with my lord, and return under his charge." Lady Anna Herbert passed, leaning on Mr. Grey's arm. "Be quick, fair ladies, for there is every chance of rain," she exclaimed; "the boatmen prognosticate weather before we reach the main land." There was much bustle in hurrying into the boats, and the wind rose suddenly, sweeping in gusts over the lake, ere the party left the island. Christobelle was hurried rapidly into the little vessel, between Lord Farnborough and Captain Ponsonby, and the rain began to descend in torrents, as they placed her, in the confusion, between Sir John Spottiswoode and Fanny Ponsonby. "On, on, for your lives!" cried Captain Ponsonby, addressing the boatmen, and the party were launched upon the waters of Lochleven. Christobelle was by the side of Sir John Spottiswoode, and her mind was tranquil as they rowed rapidly towards Clanmoray. He held an umbrella over her head; and endeavoured to guard her from the storm, by spreading his cloak round her feet and knees. She felt distressed and uncomfortable at the thought of his own exposure to the rain and wind. She intreated him to suffer her to return the cloak, without which he must be cold and comfortless. "No," he replied gravely, "I do not consider my own feelings, I wish to secure your comfort." "But I have _no_ comfort in depriving you of warmth and shelter: you will catch a severe cold." "Never mind, Miss Wetheral; my mother and Sophia will nurse me well at Alverton." "At Alverton!" exclaimed Christobelle, in astonishment, "at Alverton!" "Why not, Miss Wetheral?" he asked in low tones, and his fine dark eyes were fixed upon her with such deep expression!