The Lovels of Arden | Page 7

liveliness of this
kind can lighten the load of a great sorrow.
"Come, Miss Lovel, I would give the world to see you smile. Do you
know that I have been watching for a smile ever since I first saw your
face, and have not surprised one yet? Be sure your brother is taking life
pleasantly enough in some quarter of the globe. We worthless young

fellows always contrive to fall upon our feet."
"If I could believe that he was happy, if I could think that he was
leading an honourable life anywhere, I should not feel our separation so
much," the girl said mournfully; "but to be quite ignorant of his fate,
and not to be allowed to mention his name, that is hard to bear. I cannot
tell you how fond I was of him when we were children. He was seven
years older than I, and so clever. He wanted to be a painter, but papa
would not hear of that. Yet I think he might have been happier if he had
been allowed to have his own way. He had a real genius for art."
"And you too are fond of art, I suppose?" hazarded the traveller, more
interested in the young lady herself than in this reprobate brother of
hers.
"Yes, I am very fond of it. It is the only thing I really care for. Of
course, I like music to a certain extent; but I love painting with my
whole heart."
"Happy art, to be loved by so fair a votary! And you dabble with
brushes and colours, of course?"
"A little."
"A true young lady's answer. If you were a Raffaelle in glacé silk and
crinoline, you would tell me no more than that. I can only hope that
some happy accident will one day give me an opportunity of judging
for myself. And now, I think, you had better put on your hat. Our train
will be in almost immediately."
She obeyed him; and they went out together to the windy platform,
where the train rumbled in presently. They took their places in a
carriage, the gentleman bundling in his rugs and travelling-bags and
despatch boxes with very little ceremony; but this time they were not
alone. A plethoric gentleman, of the commercial persuasion, was
sleeping laboriously in one corner.
The journey to Holborough lasted a little less than an hour. Miss Lovel

and her companion did not talk much during that time. She was tired
and thoughtful, and he respected her silence. As she drew nearer home,
the happiness she had felt in her return seemed to melt away somehow,
leaving vague anxieties and morbid forebodings in its stead. To go
home to a father who would only be bored by her coming. It was not a
lively prospect for a girl of eighteen.
The dull cold gray dawn was on the housetops of Holborough, as the
train stopped at the little station. The traveller alighted, and assisted
Clarissa's descent to the platform.
"Can I see about your luggage, Miss Lovel?" he asked; but looking up
at that moment, the girl caught sight of a burly gentleman in a white
neckcloth, who was staring in every direction but the right one.
"Thank you very much, no; I need not trouble you. My uncle Oliver is
here to meet me--that stout gentleman over there."
"Then I can only say good-bye. That tiresome engine is snorting with a
fiendish impatience to bear me away. Good-bye, Miss Lovel, and a
thousand thanks for the companionship that has made this journey so
pleasant to me."
He lifted his hat and went back to the carriage, as the stout gentleman
approached Clarissa. He would fain have shaken hands with her, but
refrained from that unjustifiable familiarity. And so, in the bleak early
autumnal dawn, they parted.
* * * * *
CHAPTER II.
BEGINNING THE WORLD.
"Who on earth was that man you were talking to, Clary?" asked the
Reverend Mathew Oliver, when he had seen his niece's luggage carried
off to a fly, and was conducting her to that vehicle. "Is it any one you
know?"

"O, no, uncle; only a gentleman who travelled in the same carriage with
me from London. He was very kind."
"You seemed unaccountably familiar with him," said Mr. Oliver with
an aggrieved air; "you ought to be more reserved, my dear, at your age.
A young lady travelling alone cannot be too careful. Indeed, it was very
wrong of your father to allow you to make this long journey alone.
Your aunt has been quite distressed about it."
Clarissa sighed faintly; but was not deeply concerned by the idea of her
aunt's distress. Distress of mind, on account of some outrage of
propriety on the part of her relatives, was