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.