The Lovels of Arden | Page 8

indeed almost the normal
condition of that lady.
"I travelled very comfortably, I assure you, uncle Oliver," Clarissa
replied. "No one was in the least rude or unpleasant. And I am so glad
to come home--I can scarcely tell you how glad--though, as I came
nearer and nearer, I began to have all kinds of fanciful anxieties. I hope
that all is well--that papa is quite himself."
"O, yes, my dear; your papa is--himself," answered the parson, in a
tone that implied that he did not say very much for Mr. Lovel in
admitting that fact. "Your papa is well enough in health, or as well as
he will ever acknowledge himself to be. Of course, a man who neither
hunts nor shoots, and seldom gets out of bed before ten o'clock in the
day, can't expect to be remarkably robust. But your father will live to a
good old age, child, rely upon it, in spite of everything."
"Am I going straight home, uncle?"
"Well, yes. Your aunt wished you to breakfast at the Rectory; but there
are your trunks, you see, and altogether I think it's better for you to go
home at once. You can come and see us as often as you like."
"Thank you, uncle. It was very kind of you to meet me at the station.
Yes, I think it will be best for me to go straight home. I'm a little
knocked up with the journey. I haven't slept five minutes since I left
Madame Marot's at daybreak yesterday."

"You're looking rather pale; but you look remarkably well in spite of
that--remarkably well. These six years have changed you from a child
into a woman. I hope they gave you a good education yonder; a solid
practical education, that will stand by you."
"I think so, uncle. We were almost always at our studies. It was very
hard work."
"So much the better. Life is meant to be hard work. You may have
occasion to make use of your education some day, Clary."
"Yes," the girl answered with a sigh; "I know that we are poor."
"I suppose so; but perhaps you hardly know how poor."
"Whenever the time comes, I shall be quite ready to work for papa,"
said Clarissa; yet she could not help wondering how the master of
Arden Court could ever bring himself to send out his daughter as a
governess; and then she had a vague childish recollection that not tens
of pounds, but hundreds, and even thousands, had been wanted to stop
the gaps in her father's exchequer.
They drove through Holborough High Street, where there was the faint
stir and bustle of early morning, windows opening, a housemaid
kneeling on a doorstep here and there, an occasional tradesman taking
down his shutters. They drove past the fringe of prim little villas on the
outskirts of the town, and away along a country road towards Arden;
and once more Clarissa saw the things that she had dreamed of so often
in her narrow white bed in the bleak dormitory at Belforêt. Every
hedge-row and clump of trees from which the withered leaves were
drifting in the autumn wind, every white-walled cottage with
moss-grown thatch and rustic garden, woke a faint rapture in her breast.
It was home. She remembered her old friends the cottagers, and
wondered whether goody Mason were still alive, and whether Widow
Green's fair-haired children would remember her. She had taught them
at the Sunday-school; but they too must have grown from childhood to
womanhood, like herself, and were out at service, most likely, leaving
Mrs. Green's cottage lonely.

She thought of these simple things, poor child, having so little else to
think about, on this, her coming home. She was not so foolish as to
expect any warm welcome from her father. If he had brought himself
just to tolerate her coming, she had sufficient reason to be grateful. It
was only a drive of two miles from Holborough to Arden. They
stopped at a lodge-gate presently; a little gothic lodge, which was gay
with scarlet geraniums and chrysanthemums, and made splendid by
railings of bronzed ironwork. Everything had a bright new look which
surprised Miss Lovel, who was not accustomed to see such, perfect
order or such fresh paint about her father's domain.
"How nice everything looks!" she said.
"Yes," answered her uncle, with a sigh; "the place is kept well enough
nowadays."
A woman came out to open the gates--a brisk young person, who was a
stranger to Clarissa, not the feeble old lodge-keeper she remembered in
her childhood. The change, slight as it was, gave her a strange chill
feeling.
"I wonder how many people that I knew are dead?" she thought.
They drove into the park, and here too, even in