"It is very encouraging indeed, sir," said Clara, dryly, but with no semblance of irony,--"very encouraging. There is, then, really no reason that one day I might not be a rope-dancer."

"Clara," cried Mrs. Morris, severely, "you must curb this habit, if you will not do better by abandoning it altogether. The spirit of repartee is the spirit of impertinence."

"I had really hoped, mamma," said she, with an air of simplicity, "that, as all Mr. Stocmar's illustrations were taken from the stage, I had caught the spirit of his examples in giving one from the circus."

"I'll be sworn you're fond of riding," cried Stocmar, eager to relieve a very awkward crisis even by a stupid remark.

"Yes, sir; and I am very clever in training. I know the whole 'Bauchet'

system, and can teach a horse his 'flexions,' and the rest of it.--Well, but, mamma," broke she in, apologetically, "surely my guardian ought to be aware of my perfections; and if _you_ won't inform him, _I_ must."

"You perceive, sir," said Mrs. Morris, "that when I spoke of her flippancy, I was not exaggerating."

"You may rely upon it, Mr. Stocmar," continued Clara, "mamma's description of me was only justice."

Stocmar laughed, and hoped that the others would have joined him; but in this he was unhappily disappointed: they were even graver than before; Mrs. Morris showing, in her heightened color, a degree of irritation, while Clara's pale face betrayed no sign of emotion.

"You are to leave this to-morrow, Clara," said Mrs. Morris, coldly.

"Very well, mamma," was the quiet answer.

"You don't seem very eager to know for whither," said Stocmar, smiling.

"Are all places alike to you?"

"Pretty much so, sir," said she, in the same voice.

"You were scarcely prepared for so much philosophy, I 'm sure, Mr. Stocmar," said Mrs. Morris, sneeringly. "Pray confess yourself surprised."

"Call it ignorance, mamma, and you'll give it the right name. What do _I_ know of the world, save from guide and road books? and, from the little I have gleaned, many a village would be pleasanter to me than Paris."

"More philosophy, sir. You perceive what a treasure of wisdom is about to be intrusted to your charge."

"Pray bear that in mind, sir," said Clara, with a light laugh; "and don't forget that though the casket has such a leaden look, it is all pure gold."

Never was poor Stocmar so puzzled before. He felt sailing between two frigates in action, and exposed to the fire of each, though a non-combatant; nor was it of any use that he hauled down his flag, and asked for mercy,--they only loaded and banged away again.

"I must say," cried he at last, "that I feel very proud of my ward."

"And I am charmed with my guardian," said she, courtesy-ing, with an air that implied far more of grace than sincerity in its action.

Mrs. Morris bit her lip, and a small red spot on her cheek glowed like a flame.

"I have explained fully to Mr. Stocmar, Clara," said she, in a cold, calm tone, "that from to-morrow forward your allegiance will be transferred from _me_ to _him_; that with him will rest all authority and direction over you; that, however interested--naturally interested--I must continue to feel in your future, _he_, and _he_ alone, must be its arbiter. I repeat this now, in his presence, that there may be no risk of a misconception."

"Am I to write to you, mamma?" asked the girl, in a voice unmoved as her own.

"Yes, you will write; that is, I shall expect to hear from you in reply to my letters. This we will talk over together."

"Am I to correspond with you, sir?" said she, addressing Stocmar in the same impassive way.

"Oh! by all means. I shall take it as the greatest of favors. I shall be charmed if you will honor me so far."

"I ask, sir," continued she, "because I may chance to have companions in the place to which I am going; and, even to satisfy _their_ scruples, one ought to have some belongings."

There was not the shadow of irritation in the manner in which these words were spoken; and yet Stocmar heard them with a strange thrill of pity, and Mrs. Morris grew pale as she listened to them.

"Clara," said Mrs. Morris, gravely, "there are circumstances in our relations to each other which you will only learn when we have parted. I have committed them to writing for your own eye alone. They will explain the urgency of the step I am now taking, as much for _your_ sake as for _mine_. When you have read and carefully pondered over that paper, you will be convinced that this separation is of necessity."

Clara bowed her head in assent, but did not speak.

"You will also see, Clara," resumed she, "that it is very far from likely the old relations between us will ever again be resumed. If we do meet again,--an event that may or may not happen,--it will be as some distant cousins,--some who have ties of kindred between them, and no more."

Clara nodded again, but still in silence.

"You see, sir," said Mrs. Morris, turning towards Stocmar, while her eyes flashed angrily,--"you see, sir, that I am handing over to your care a model of obedience,--a young lady who has no will save that of those in authority over her,--not one rebellious sentiment of affection or attachment in her nature."

"And who will ever strive to preserve your good opinions, sir, by persevering in this wise course," said Clara, with a modest courtesy.

If any one could have read Mr. Stocmar's heart at that moment, he would have detected no very benevolent feelings towards either mother or daughter, while he sincerely deplored his own fate at being in such company.

"Don't you think, mamma," said the girl, with an easy smile, "that, considering how recently we have known this gentleman, we have been sufficiently explicit and candid before him, and that any pretence of emotion in his presence would be most unbecoming? He will, I am sure, forgive us the omission. Won't you, sir?"

Stocmar smiled and bowed, and blushed and looked miserable.

"_You_ have been very candid, at all events, Clara," said Mrs.

Morris; "and Mr. Stocmar--or I mistake him much--must have acquired a considerable insight into the nature of his charge. Sir William expects to see you at dinner to-day, Clara," added she, in an easier tone. "He hopes to be well enough to come to table; and as it will be your last evening here--"

"So it will," said the girl, quickly; "and I must fetch down Beethoven with me, and play his favorites for him once more."

Mrs. Morris raised her eyebrows with an expressive look at Stocmar, and led him from the room. Scarcely had the door closed, when the girl threw herself, half kneeling, on the sofa, and sobbed as if her very heart was breaking.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. VERY OUTSPOKEN ON THE WORLD AT LARGE

And there came a next morning to all this. Oh, these same next mornings of life!--strange leaves in that book of our daily existence, now dark and black-lettered, now bright in all the glories of golden tracery!

For so is it, each day is a fresh page to be written "with chalk or charcoal," as it may be.

Two travelling-carriages took their way from Florence on that morning,--one for Bologna, with Mr. Stocmar and Clara; the other for Rome, with the Heathcotes, Captain Holmes having his place in the rumble. Old soldier that he was, he liked the open-air seat, where he could smoke his cigar and see the country. Of all those who journeyed in either, none could vie with him in the air of easy enjoyment that he wore; and even the smart Swiss maid at his side, though she might have preferred a younger companion, was fain to own, in her own peculiar English, that he was full of little bounties (bontes) in her regard. And when they halted to bait, he was so amiable and full of attentions to every one, exerting the very smallest vocabulary to provide all that was needed; never abashed by failure or provoked by ridicule; always good-tempered, always gay. It was better than colchicum to Sir William to see the little fat man washing the salad himself at the fountain, surrounded by all the laughing damsels of the hostel, who jeered him on every stage of his performance; and even May, whose eyes were red with crying after Clara, had to laugh at the disasters of his cookery and the blunders of his Italian. And then he gossiped about with landlords and postboys, till he knew of every one who had come or was coming; what carriages, full of Russian Princes, could not get forward for want of horses, and what vetturinos, full of English, had been robbed of everything. He had the latest intelligence about Garibaldi, and the names of the last six Sicilian Dukes shot by the King of Naples. Was he not up, too, in his John Murray, which he read whenever Mademoiselle Virginia was asleep, and sold out in retail at every change of post-horses?

Is it not strange that this is exactly the sort of person one needs on a journey, and yet is only by the merest accident to be chanced upon?

We never forget the courier, nor the valet, nor the soubrette, but the really invaluable creature,--the man who learns the name of every village, the value of all coinage, the spot that yields good wine, the town where the peaches are fullest of flavor, or the roses richest in perfume; we leave him to be picked up at hazard, if picked up at all. It is an unaccountable prejudice that makes the parasite unpopular. For who is it that relieves life of much of its asperities,--who is it that provides so unceasingly that our capon should be well roasted and our temper unruffled,--who, like him, to secure all the available advantages of the road, and, when disasters _will_ occur, to make them food for laughter?

How patient, how self-sacrificing, how deferential to caprices and indulgent to whims is the man whose daily dinner you pay for! If you would see humanity in holiday attire, look out for one like _him_.

How blandly does he forgive the rascalities of _your_ servants and the robberies of _your_ tradesmen! No fretfulness about trifles disfigures the calm serenity of his features. He knows that if the travelling-carriage be thought heavy, it is only two leaders the more are required; if the wine be corked, it is but ordering another bottle.

Look at life from his point of view, and it is surprising how little there is to complain of. It would be too much to say that there was not occasionally a little acting in all this catholic benevolence and universal satisfaction, but no more, perhaps, than the fervor of a lawyer for his client,--that _nisi prius_ enthusiasm marked five guineas on the brief.

The Captain understood his part like an artist; and through all the condescending forgiveness he bestowed on the shortcomings of inns and innkeepers, he suffered, ever half imperceptibly, to peer out the habits of a man accustomed to the best of everything, who always had been sedulously served and admirably cared for. His indulgence was thus generosity, not ignorance, and all irritability in such a presence would stand rebuked at once.