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Sophia spent that particular afternoon at home, illuminating the new gothic texts for her schoolrooms at Arden. She had been seated at her work about an hour after Clarissa's departure, when the door opened behind her, and her father walked into the room.
"For Rosalind, with the wish that she may meet the hard things of life as bravely, and find as much happiness by the way, as did her namesake in the Forest of Arden. From her friend, Louis A. Sargent." "Meet the hard things of life as bravely " Maurice's face grew hot. "You wouldn't have thought there was any good in that." The touch of scorn in Rosalind's tone stung as he recalled it.
When by chance I speak awhile With our professor, you appear in haste, Full cry to sight again the missing hare. Away ideas! All that's divinest flies! I have to bear in mind how young you are. ARDEN: You have only to look up to me four years, Instead of forty! ASTRAEA: Sir? ARDEN There's my misfortune! And worse that, young, I love as a young man.
The leaves were falling silently in the woods about Arden, and the whole scene wore that aspect of subdued mournfulness which is pleasant enough to the light of heart, but very sad to those who mourn. Clarissa Lovel was not light-hearted. She had discovered of late that there was something wanting in her life. The days were longer and drearier than they used to be.
To his sharp "Who goes there?" a familiar voice made answer, and Arden paused until his friend and leader came up with him. "A common road and a common goal," spoke Nevil. "Ay! common fools!" answered the other. "Who hearing of gray geese, must think, forsooth, of a swan whose plumage turned from white to black!
Lake Torrens being due north of Mount Arden would, if I had taken that line, have been direct in my way, and I should have had to turn either its eastern or its western flank.
But one never knows what may happen; I have really seen such wonderful changes come to pass among friends and acquaintances of mine, that scarcely anything would astonish me no, Clary, not if I were to see you mistress of Arden Court."
They discussed the quiet rural scenery around them, the deep green valley of Arden, shut in by an almost unbroken circle of hills, and Zelma told of a peculiar silvery mist which sometimes floated over it, like the ghost of the lake which, it was said, once filled it; they spoke of wood, stream, moor, and waterfall, sunsets and moonlight and stars, poetry and love; floating slowly, and almost unconsciously, down the smooth current of summer talk and youthful fancies, toward the ocean of all their thoughts, whose mysterious murmurs already filled one heart at least with a tender awe and a vague longing, which was yet half fear.
Giles Arden, having ridden far as required the tale of miles from the tavern of the Triple Tun, came, upon a sunshiny afternoon of early spring, to an oak knoll where one might halt to admire a fair picture of an old house set in old gardens.
Grasping him by the collar, by a strong turn of his arm he threw him on his back, and then he held him while he himself trod water, and assisted himself to float with his left hand. "Don't be alarmed, now, Arden, my dear fellow; keep your arms quiet and you will float easily," he exclaimed.
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