The Rovers Secret | Page 2

received with an affectionate embrace and kiss--which I always
somewhat timidly returned--and the words, "Lionel, my son, how are
you?"
When the greeting reached this stage of positive warmth, it usually
happened that, instead of being consigned at once to the arm-chair and
the picture-book, I was lifted to my father's knee, when, laying aside
palette and brushes, he would proceed to ask me all sorts of questions,
such as, What had I been doing lately; where had I been, and what had I
seen worthy of notice; did I want any new toys? and so on; enticing me
out of my reserve until he had coaxed me into talking freely with him.
On these especial occasions he had a curious habit of wheeling round in
front of us a large mirror which constituted one of his studio
"properties," and into this, whilst talking to me, he would intently gaze
at his own reflected image, and mine, laying his cheek beside mine so
as to bring both our faces to the same level, and directing me also to
look into the mirror. Sometimes this curious inspection terminated
satisfactorily; in which case, after perhaps an hour's chat on his knee, I
was tenderly placed in the easy-chair, in such a position that my father
could see me without his work being materially interfered with; our
conversation was maintained with unflagging spirit on both sides; and
the day was brought to a happy close by our dining together, and
perhaps going to the theatre or a concert afterwards. There were
occasions, however, when this pleasant state of affairs did not obtain--

when the ordeal of the mirror did not terminate so satisfactorily. It
occasionally happened that, whilst gazing at my father's reflected
features, I observed a stern and sombre expression settling like a heavy
thunder-cloud upon them; and this always sufficed to speedily reduce
me to silence, however garrulous I might before have been. The
paternal gaze would gradually grow more intense and searching; the
thunder-cloud would lower more threateningly; and unintelligible
mutterings would escape from between the fiercely clenched firm white
teeth. And, finally, I would either be placed--as in the last-mentioned
instance-- where my father could look at me whilst at work--and where
he did frequently look at me with appalling sternness--or I was at once
dismissed with a short and sharp "Run away, boy; I am busy."
Looking back upon the first eight years of my existence, and
contemplating them by the light of my now matured knowledge, I am
inclined to regard them as quite an unique experience of child-life; at
all events I would fain hope that but few children have suffered so
keenly as I have from the lack of paternal love. And yet I cannot say
that I was absolutely unhappy, except upon and for a day or two after
those chilling dismissals from my father's presence to which I have
briefly referred; the suffering, although it existed, had by long usage
become a thing to which I had grown accustomed, and it consisted
chiefly in a yearning after those endearments and evidences of affection
which I instinctively felt were my due. The conviction that my
father--the one to whom my childish heart naturally turned for
sympathy in all my little joys and sorrows--regarded me coldly--for his
demonstrations of affection were indeed few and far
between--exercised a subduing and repressive influence upon me from
which, even now, I have not wholly recovered, and which will probably
continue to affect me to the latest hour of my life. What made my
position decidedly worse was that my father had, so far, not deemed it
necessary to send me to school; and I had, therefore, no companions of
my own age, none of any age, in fact, except Mary, the nursemaid
aforementioned, and Mrs Wilson, the housekeeper; the latter--good
motherly body--so far compassionating the state of utter ignorance in
which I was growing up that, in an erratic, unmethodical sort of way,
she occasionally devoted half an hour or so of her time of an evening to

the task of forwarding my education. In consequence of this state of
things I often found it difficult to effect a satisfactory disposal of the
time left to lie somewhat heavily on my hands.
I have said that Mrs Wilson was kind enough to undertake my
education; and very faithfully and to the best of her ability, poor soul,
she carried on the task. But nature had evidently intended the old lady
to be a housekeeper, and not an instructress of youth; for whilst she
performed the duties of the former post in a manner which left
absolutely nothing to be desired, it must be confessed that in her self-
imposed task of schoolmistress she failed most lamentably. Not
through ignorance, however,