ALL ALONE.
By the simplicity of Venus' doves.
_Merchant of Venice_.
That Sunday was spent by Aurelia at the Bear Inn, at Reading. Her
journey had been made by very short stages, one before breakfast,
another lasting till noon, when there was a long halt for dinner
and rest for horse and rider, and then another ride, never even in
these longest summer days prolonged beyond six or seven o'clock at
latest, such was the danger of highwaymen being attracted by the
valuable horses, although the grooms in charge were so well armed
that they might almost as well have been troopers.
The roads, at that time of year, were at their best, and Aurelia
and Mrs. Dove were mounted on steady old nags, accustomed to pillions.
Aurelia could have ridden single, but this would not have been thought
fitting on a journey with no escort of her own rank, and when she
mounted she was far too miserable to care for anything but hiding
her tearful face behind Mr. Dove's broad shoulders. Mrs. Dove was
perched behind a wiry, light-weighted old groom, whom she kept in
great order, much to his disgust.
After the first wretchedness, Aurelia's youthful spirits had begun to
revive, and the novel scenes to awaken interest. The Glastonbury thorn
was the first thing she really looked at.
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