"Why are you here so early?" continued Sir John Spottiswoode, in gentle accents, as Christobelle still leaned against him; "and why are your spirits so agitated, and your rest broken? If such is your present state, what will your affectionate heart endure hereafter? Your delicate frame is unequal to contend with such deep emotions!" Christobelle made a strong effort to check her weeping fit, and she became more tranquil. Sir John Spottiswoode's arm still surrounded and supported her; but she felt that, when its dear support should be withdrawn, she would be cast upon the wide world for ever. "Your friends are round you," resumed her companion, "and you shall be the arbitress of _my_ movements. I will not quit Lochleven while I can be of use to its dear inmate. Oh, my dear Christobelle! how the schoolmaster will guard his pupil! But when," he added, hesitatingly, drawing her closer to him, and even clasping her to his heart--"when will he be here again?" "Whom do you speak of? Captain Ponsonby?" she exclaimed; "he wearies me, and every body wearies me!" "I do not speak of him. I do not speak of Captain Ponsonby," replied Sir John Spottiswoode, withdrawing his arm hastily, and moving a few paces. "I mean another and happier man. You know whom I would name." He advanced again to the window, where Christobelle remained rooted. "You know whom I allude to, Miss Wetheral." "Lord Farnborough?" she articulated, with difficulty. Sir John would not meet her eye. "I did mean that person. Will he not visit Fairlee, Miss Wetheral? Will he not? no, he is not worthy of such a heart--of such powerful affection!" He walked from the window to the door, and again he turned, and approached Christobelle. "It is a severe trial to have waited and loved as I have done, and yet suffer disappointment. It was a strange fancy--was it not, my pupil?--to wait so long, and hope so perseveringly? But I will not quit Fairlee, since you bid me not." Christobelle could not comprehend Sir John Spottiswoode's emotion. She could not divine his allusions; she only grasped at his promise to remain, and even that was balm to her heart. "Oh, yes," she repeated, "stay, and take my part, for I know I shall appeal to papa and you, if I am reproached." "Who dares presume to reproach you? Who dares to offer a harsh word to you? By the heavens above, if I heard his false lips utter one syllable of unkindness to a creature too gentle and excellent for his worthless mind, I would strike him dead!" Sir John Spottiswoode's eyes struck fire, and his tall figure became still more erect. "Of whom are you talking?--whose lips are false?" asked Christobelle, in stupid amazement.