My Little Lady | Page 4

country!"
He strode along whistling, with his hands in his pockets, feeling as if he
had the world before him to explore, and in the happiest of moods.
Such a mood was not rare with Horace Graham in these youthful days,
when, by force of a good health, and good spirits, and a large capacity
for fresh genuine enjoyment, he was apt to find life pleasant enough on
the whole, though for him it lacked several of the things that go to
make up the ordinary ideal of human happiness. He was not rich; he
had no particular expectations, and but few family ties, for his parents
had both died when he was very young, and except an aunt who had
brought him up, and a married sister several years older than himself,
he had no near relations in the world. He was simply a medical student,
with nothing to look forward to but pushing his own way, and making

his own path in life as best he could. But he had plenty of talent, and
worked hard at his profession, to which he was devoted for reasons
quite unconnected with any considerations of possible profit and loss.
Indeed, having just enough money of his own to make him tolerably
independent, he was wont to ignore all such considerations in his grand
youthful way, and to look upon his profession from a purely abstract
scientific point of view. And yet he was not without large hopes, grand
vague ambitions concerning his future career; for he was at an age
when it seems so much easier to become one of the few enumerated
great ones of the world than to remain amongst the nameless forgotten
multitudes; and life lay before him rather as something definite, which
he could take up and fashion to his own pleasure, than as a succession
of days and years which would inevitably mould and influence him in
their course. It is not wholly conceit, perhaps, which so assures these
clever lads of the vastness of their untried capabilities, that there are
moments when they feel as if they could grasp heaven and earth in their
wide consciousness; it is rather a want of experience and clearness of
perception. Horace Graham was not particularly conceited, and yet, in
common with many other men of his age, he had a conviction that, in
some way or other, life had great exceptional prizes in store for him;
and indeed he was so strong, and young, and honest-hearted, that he
had been successful enough hitherto within his narrow limits. He had
pleasant manners, too, and a pleasant face, which gained him as many
friends as he ever cared to have; for he had a queer, reserved,
unsociable twist in his character, which kept him aloof from much
company, and rather spoilt his reputation for geniality and heartiness.
He hated the hard work he had to go through in society; so at least he
was wont to grumble, and then would add, laughing, "I daresay I am a
conceited puppy to say so: but the fact is, there are not six people in the
world whose company I would prefer to my own for a whole day."
He found his own company quite sufficient during all his wanderings
through that long summer's day in the lovely country round
Chaudfontaine, a country neither grand nor wild, hardly romantic, but
with a charm of its own that enticed Graham onwards in spite of the hot
August sun. It was so green, so peaceful, so out of the world; the little
valleys were wrapped so closely amongst the hills, the streams came

gushing out of the limestone rocks, dry water, courses led him higher
and higher up amongst the silent woods, which stretched away for
miles on either hand. Sometimes he would come upon an open space,
whence he could look down upon the broader valley beneath, with its
quiet river flowing through the midst, reflecting white villages, forges,
long rows of poplars, an occasional bridge, and here and there a long
low island; or descending, he would find himself in some narrow ravine,
cleft between grey rocky heights overgrown with brushwood and
trailing plants, the road leading beside a marshy brook, full of rushes
and forget-me-nots, and disappearing amongst the forest trees. All day
long Graham wandered about that pleasant land, and it was long past
the four o'clock dinner hour when he stood on the top of the hill he had
seen that morning from his window, and looked across the wide view
of woods and cornfields to where a distant cloud of smoke marked the
city of Liége. Thence descending by a steep zig-zag path, with a bench
at every angle, he crossed the road and the little rivulet, and found
himself once