"I know him!" continued Sir John Spottiswoode, kindling as he spoke; "but I will follow him through the world, if he gives one pang to such a heart as your's, dearest and loveliest pupil, creature of my fancy and my heart! He is not worthy of you, Christobelle." He stopped, and fixed his eyes upon her with an expression so wretched, that she took his hand in terror: he snatched it from her. "Do not break my heart, Christobelle; and do not touch me, if you have mercy. Withdraw your wish, and let me quit Fairlee for ever!" "Oh, no, no," she cried, clasping her hands, and sinking into a chair; "if you go, who will stand between me and my mother?" "Your mother!" Sir John Spottiswoode gazed upon Christobelle with astonishment. "Your mother!" he repeated. "I cannot, will not marry Lord Farnborough," exclaimed Christobelle, almost bending in agonized feelings; "and who will save me from her anger!" "Christobelle!" burst from her companion. She heeded not. "I will not be driven into misery to minister to ambition. It is so cruel--so very cruel." "Christobelle!" again ejaculated Sir John Spottiswoode, "look at me!" Christobelle could not look up--she could not shake off her weight of misery. She sat with her hands pressed tightly upon her heart. "If you leave me, who will assist my father in warding off my reproaches? Who will soften her heart, and soothe my poor spirit? Who will plead for me, and save me?" Sir John Spottiswoode knelt by her side, and took her cold hands in his. "Christobelle," he said, "I will plead for you, and save you. Will you recompense me in return? Will _you_ love and cherish the heart which adores and blesses you?--which would suffer all evils, all indignities, for your dear sake?" Christobelle sat transfixed. She dared not breathe, lest the vision should vanish from her sight. "Shall I tell you, Christobelle, how I have waited for you, and lived upon the hope of making you love me, when I was far away? Shall I tell you how I watched over you, and lingered till I could ask for you?" Christobelle could only smile a reply to her lover's questions, and she was again folded in his arms. Oh, happy, thrice happy moment! "Shall I tell you," demanded her companion, "how your mother deceived me, yesterday morning, when I spoke of you upon the terrace? No, I will not allude to it now, since all my horrible fears are ended." "Tell me nothing now," she replied, "but let me return to my room, to think--to assure myself this is not a vision--to consider all things over." Miss Wetheral rose. "Will you go with me to our rocky seat, after breakfast," he asked, "if I resign you now? I am loth to lose you from my sight; stay a few moments longer, dearest." "Not now; but I will walk with you to our old place of refuge. The bell will ring, and I am too agitated to meet my mother. I could meet no one at this moment."