The Two Vanrevels | Page 4

A Voice in a Garden The Room in the Cupola
The Tocsin The Firm of Gray and Vanrevel When June Came "Those
Endearing Young Charms" The Price of Silence The Uniform The Flag
Goes Marching By "Good-by"

CHAPTER I
A Cat Can Do More than Look at a King
It was long ago in the days when men sighed when they fell in love;
when people danced by candle and lamp, and did dance, too, instead of
solemnly gliding about; in that mellow time so long ago, when the
young were romantic and summer was roses and wine, old Carewe
brought his lovely daughter home from the convent to wreck the hearts
of the youth of Rouen.
That was not a far journey; only an afternoon's drive through the woods
and by the river, in an April, long ago; Miss Betty's harp carefully
strapped behind the great lumbering carriage, her guitar on the front
seat, half-buried under a mound of bouquets and oddly shaped little
bundles, farewell gifts of her comrades and the good Sisters. In her left
hand she clutched a small lace handkerchief, with which she now and
then touched her eyes, brimmed with the parting from Sister Cecilia,
Sister Mary Bazilede, the old stone steps and all the girls: but for every
time that she lifted the dainty kerchief to brush away the edge of a tear,

she took a deep breath of the Western woodland air and smiled at least
twice; for the years of strict inclosure within St. Mary's walls and still
gardens were finished and done with, and at last the many-colored
world flashed and danced in a mystery before her. This mystery was
brilliant to the convent-girl because it contained men; she was eager to
behold it.
They rumbled into town after sunset, in the fair twilight, the dogs
barking before them, and everyone would have been surprised to know
that Tom Vanrevel, instead of Mr. Crailey Gray, was the first to see her.
By the merest accident, Tom was strolling near the Carewe place at the
time; and when the carriage swung into the gates, with rattle and clink
and clouds of dust at the finish, it was not too soon lost behind the
shrubbery and trees for Tom to catch something more than a glimpse of
a gray skirt behind a mound of flowers, and of a charming face with
parted lips and dark eyes beneath the scuttle of an enormous bonnet. It
happened--perhaps it is more accurate to say that Tom thought it
happened- -that she was just clearing away her veil when he turned to
look. She blushed suddenly, so much was not to be mistaken; and the
eyes that met his were remarkable for other reasons than the sheer
loveliness of them, in that, even in the one flash of them he caught,
they meant so many things at one time. They were sparkling, yet
mournful; and they were wistful, although undeniably lively with the
gayest comprehension of the recipient of their glance, seeming to say,
"Oh, it's you, young man, is it!" And they were shy and mysterious
with youth, full of that wonder at the world which has the appearance,
sometimes, of wisdom gathered in the unknown out of which we came.
But, above all, these eyes were fully conscious of Tom Vanrevel.
Without realizing what he did, Mr. Vanrevel stopped short. He had
been swinging a walkingstick, which, describing a brief arc, remained
poised half-way in its descent. There was only that one glance between
them; and the carriage disappeared, leaving a scent of spring flowers in
the air.
The young man was left standing on the wooden pavement in the midst
of a great loneliness, yet enveloped in the afterglow, his soul roseate,

his being quavering, his expression, like his cane, instantaneously
arrested. With such promptitude and finish was he disposed of, that,
had Miss Carewe been aware of his name and the condition wrought in
him by the single stroke, she could have sought only the terse Richard
of England for a like executive ability, "Off with his head! So much for
Vanrevel!"
She had lifted a slender hand to the fluttering veil, a hand in a white
glove with a small lace gauntlet at the wrist. This gesture was the final
divinity of the radiant vision which remained with the dazed young
man as he went down the street; and it may have been three-quarters of
an hour later when the background of the picture became vivid to him:
a carefully dressed gentleman with heavy brows and a handsome high
nose, who sat stiffly upright beside the girl, his very bright eyes quite
as conscious of the stricken pedestrian as were hers, vastly different,
however, in this: that they glittered, nay, almost bristled,