"Ah, you are laughing at me, now, wicked man! I believe I talk a great deal of nonsense, but little Bell will not have her mother's infirmities, I hope." "I hope she will possess all of them," replied Boscawen, "and only inherit half her mother's sweet temper. She will then have enough to raise my pride." Isabel laughed gaily, and blushed at her husband's energetic speech; but she kissed her hand, with such a happy expression of countenance, as they drove from the door! How pleasing was the sight, and how it tended to raise the spirits of Christobelle! The children did not make more noise than usual, as they drove to the Lodge; and little Bell only lost her trumpet and her temper once, during the transit. They were then deposited with the Lodge-keeper till their mamma should join them, and Mr. Boscawen proceeded on his journey. They stopped to change horses at Bridgnorth, and, as they remained some minutes at the Crown, Christobelle remembered the appearance of Thompson, at her first visit there, and the cause of her sudden recal home. It was after the luckless elopement of Clara, that she was hurried to Wetheral, to be the companion of her mother, under circumstances most annoying to herself, connected with the very marriage she had promoted so anxiously. Christobelle was now herself the object of her anger, for declining to enter into an engagement, hateful to her heart and principles! How and when would her mother's soul be divested of its ambitious worldly anxieties? Christobelle's reception at Hatton was gratifying to her feelings in the highest degree. She was surrounded by affectionate greetings and congratulations. Mrs. Pynsent wrung her hand with kind violence. "Hollo, Miss Bell, so we have got you back again, and I won't ask where Sir Jacky is, because and because. Got your blushes still, Miss Bell! So much the better--and I'll be bound you have brought back your good heart. No, not your heart, but your good temper. Here, Bobby, come and look at our new beauty. I tell you what, Miss Bell, you are a finer girl than any of your sisters; not even that unfortunate, poor Lady Kerrison came up to you in good looks." "Come, come, I'll match my little wife with the best of you," exclaimed Tom, more good-humoured, more red-faced than ever. "I'll match my little wife's bloom even against the handsome 'Bell.' Bell's fine colour comes and fades away again in an instant; but Anna Maria's cherry cheeks are everlasting. Look at them!" Tom Pynsent dragged his laughing wife before Christobelle. "Ay, ay," replied Mrs. Pynsent, winking her eye, "we know Anna Maria's bloom is the right sort--renewable at pleasure. Look at Bobby, screwing up his eyes.--What's the matter, Bobby?"