Englefield Grange Part 12

The brother and sister were overflowing with health and spirits on this clear wintry day, and stepped quickly on till they drew near their destination; then Freddy subsided into a more sober pace. The first visit to a new school has rather a depressing influence upon the boyish feelings at eight years old. Freddy's manner excited Mary's sympathy, it was therefore with a very demure look that she led her little brother to the entrance and knocked.

As they stood waiting for admission several boys older than Freddy entered the gate, and pa.s.sed round the house by a side way to the schoolroom entrance. Of course such a proceeding would have been at that moment too trying for Freddy's nerves, but he cast furtive, inquiring glances at his future schoolfellows, which they returned fearlessly and with interest.

So intent was the child that the opening of the door startled him, and he did not quite recover till he found himself alone with Mary in the drawing-room of Englefield Grange. How often in after years Mary recalled that visit! and how little she antic.i.p.ated, as she stood admiring the prospect which had so attracted her mother, that its consequences would be interwoven with the whole thread of her future life!

Mrs. Armstrong had been unwilling to send her boy too soon after the close of the Christmas holidays. More than a week had pa.s.sed, and yet the boarders were returning rather slowly.

"School is all very well," they argued, "in summer, when we can have cricket and games in the playground till bedtime." And we are quite willing to own that winter evenings at school are a trial to a boy who compares them with the warm carpeted parlour, the blazing fire, and the freedom of home, with no lessons to learn.

The arrangements at Dr. Halford's in winter were, however, very homelike. The boys sat on winter evenings in a comfortable cla.s.s-room, with two fireplaces, not stoves, in which genial fires, protected by wire guards, blazed pleasantly, and large gas burners increased the warmth and created light and cheerfulness.

Still, during the first week or two after the holidays the restless boy-spirit often rebelled against the necessary restraint, without which or the presence of a master the room would very soon have become a modern Babel, or something worse, in noise and tumult.

On this Monday morning Mrs. Halford was busy in the dormitory, arranging, with the a.s.sistance of the wardrobe-keeper, the clothes of those boys who had arrived during the preceding week.

The door opened hastily, and Kate Marston entered. Mrs. Halford has changed very little since we saw her at the tea-table some years before, listening to Dr. Mason's letter. She looked up hastily and smiled as her niece said, "Aunt, is the key of the wardrobe room in your key-basket? I cannot find it anywhere." She advanced to the table on which the basket lay, and began to turn over the contents.

"I have the key, my dear," said her aunt, putting her hand into her pocket. "I found it in the door last evening, and took possession of it."

"Oh! Harry, Harry," exclaimed Kate, laughing, "you are incorrigible; how earnestly the dear old fellow did promise me to put the key back in its place! I expect I shall find the drawers open and every sash of the wardrobe pushed back."

Mrs. Halford smiled. "No, my dear," she said, "I went in and put everything to rights before I locked the door."

The kind, loving mother had found doors and wardrobe open, and the usual neatness of everything destroyed by her boy in his anxiety to discover a missing vest, which after all was found in his own bedroom.

Henry Halford has changed very little in character during the years that have elapsed since the receipt of Dr. Mason's letters. He has made great progress in his studies, and when he left Dr. Mason's care, about three years before the Christmas-time of which we write, his father, who had just parted with a cla.s.sical a.s.sistant, found Henry quite capable of supplying his place.

Dr. Halford felt also the truth of Thomson's words--

"Teaching we learn, and giving we retain, The birth of intellect, when dumb, forgot."

And Henry Halford so thoroughly understood the advantage to himself that he entered into his task with interest and zeal. Young as he was, he soon gained the honour and respect of his father's elder pupils, who were not slow to discover the real value of their young teacher's knowledge.

But Henry Halford at the age of twenty-two was far beyond that age in appearance as well as knowledge. His figure, though tall and rather slight, had a manliness of carriage seldom seen before twenty-five. The clear olive complexion looked even fair by contrast to the thick dark whiskers and eyebrows that adorned it. A beard and moustache were not then, as now, considered necessary ornaments, or we might say useful appendages for the mouth, neck, and throat. At all events, Harry Halford was p.r.o.nounced handsome by those who were sufficiently intimate with him to observe the play of features, the mobile mouth, and the intelligent sparkling of the deep blue eyes while conversing, although the former was large and displayed want of firmness, and the nose scarcely escaped being p.r.o.nounced a snub.

Such was the young tutor who now sat in the cla.s.s-room of the Grange, reading some Greek author, and quite oblivious to the unchecked noise made by the early arrival of day pupils and the boarders in the room.

He had a wonderful power of concentrating his mind on any one subject in spite of surroundings which would have driven some students crazy. The bra.s.s bands or a grinding organ might have paraded London streets in peace so far as Henry Halford was concerned. And his sister and cousin would often practise together for hours in winter, in a room close to his little study, uncomplained of by him even when a boy.

As he grew older, and after f.a.n.n.y left home on her marriage, he would often say to Kate Marston, "Why don't you practise, Kate? I a.s.sure you it will not disturb me."

But Kate, after his return from Dr. Mason's, seldom touched the piano while he was in the house; her love of music was so true that she could not understand the possibility of not being disturbed in any mental employment by the _practice_, not the _perfect_ performance of a piece of music.

Well and correctly played, a beautiful air falls on the ear as melodious harmony without disturbing any mental effort then occupying the mind; but to a true musician every false note, every break of tune or measure, jars upon the senses, and attracts other mental powers beyond the mere sense of hearing, and totally breaks up for a time the disturbed train of thought.

But Henry Halford was no musician, and therefore not liable to interruptions of this kind, nor indeed of any other, as his present oblivion in the cla.s.s-room plainly indicates.

Even the opening of the door failed to disturb him, and it was only when a sudden silence fell on the rebels that the voice of his father made itself heard.

Henry started from his seat, closed the book, and followed Dr. Halford, who beckoned him out of the room.

"Mrs. Armstrong is in the drawing-room, Henry. I suppose she has brought her little boy. Will you go and see her? I fear she will detain me. The clock has struck nine, and I will get these boys into order while you are gone."

Dr. Halford always took this "getting into order" upon himself; it was one of the duties he could not delegate to his son.

Dr. Halford had understood from the maidservant who admitted Mary and her brother that _Mrs._ Armstrong had brought the little boy, and Henry pa.s.sed on to the drawing-room, prepared to be detained by a long story of the requirements of her child and the injunctions of a fond mother.

It must be owned he opened the door rather reluctantly, but it was to start with surprise, and for a few moments to lose all self-possession.

A young, handsome, and elegant girl rose as he entered, and bowed also with slight confusion. Her mother had described Dr. Halford as a tall, pale, intellectual-looking man of sixty, with white hair and a slight stoop. Who then could this be, with his erect bearing and youthful face?

Mary Armstrong could not control the deep blush that rose to her cheek, but she quickly recovered her self-possession. Mary had been subject to too many contrasts in life and was too really well-bred to allow of any awkwardness. She took Freddy's hand and led him forward as she said, "I have brought my little brother, Frederick Armstrong, to school; he did not like to come alone on the first morning, and mamma was not well enough to bring him herself."

Henry Halford by this time had also recovered himself to a certain degree as he stammered out--

"I will tell my father, Miss Armstrong; he is in the schoolroom at present. He asked me to see--I thought Mrs. Armstrong----" and then remembering his father's fear of being detained by that lady, and of his own dread of her in consequence, he paused in helpless confusion.

Woman-like, this hesitation gave Mary courage. She could scarcely repress a smile as the young man's words explained unintentionally the cause of his evident surprise. He had expected a middle-aged lady, her mother, instead of a young girl. Perhaps this was the studious son spoken of by Dr. Halford to her mother. Bookworms were always awkward in the company of ladies, especially young ones; and as these thoughts pa.s.sed rapidly through her mind, she said with her accustomed ease and dignity--for Mary Armstrong could be dignified at times--"I need not detain you, Mr. Halford, if you will kindly take my little brother to the schoolroom and explain to Dr. Halford why mamma could not bring him herself."

"Certainly, Miss Armstrong," was all he could say, as he opened the door and followed her with Freddy downstairs to the entrance.

When they reached the door he opened it for her to pa.s.s out.

"Be a good boy, Freddy," she said, as she stooped to kiss her brother, then she bowed to Henry Halford and descended the steps. On the gravel path she turned to give Freddy one more encouraging look. Henry Halford still stood at the open door, holding Freddy's hand in a firm clasp. Of course she could only bow to him again, but as she pa.s.sed through the gate into the high road she reflected that this young man who held the child's hand so kindly would no doubt be kind to their little Freddy.

But of the thoughts which had been pa.s.sing through Henry Halford's mind during that short interview Mary Armstrong was quite unsuspecting; neither had she the least idea that he stood at the open door watching her for some minutes, to Freddy's surprise, and until a movement of the child recalled him to the duties of the hour.

Hastily taking Freddy to the schoolroom and telling his father the child's name, he brought his mind to bear upon the duties of his cla.s.s with his usual power of concentration. No sooner, however, had morning school closed than he retired to his own little sanctum, but not to his usual studies. A new object of study was occupying his mind, and he threw himself into his chair, and folding his arms, thought over again his adventure of the morning. How clearly every movement, every look, even every article of dress worn by the visitor was photographed on his memory! He could see again the tall graceful figure, the fair expressive face, the large blue eyes, the bright auburn hair, one or two locks as usual escaping under the hat.

He recalled the blush which added brilliance to the face, and knew that in action, word, and movement the young girl before him was a true gentlewoman. Even the dress, so suitable to the season and the hour, showed this--warm and dark and soft, only brightened by an ermine m.u.f.f and furs, and red ribbons in the hat. And the boy too, young as he was, had more of the _savoir faire_ about him than many of the sons of rich merchants who attended the school, and yet the father of these young people was a tradesman. Henry Halford was puzzled. He had been brought up with the foolish prejudice against trade then so prevalent. Both his parents had been well born and were well connected. His father's sister had married into a good family, although, like many of these old families, they had little to boast of in the way of money. And then the young student grew bewildered. Hitherto his books had so occupied every thought that any idea of falling in love had never entered his mind.

Perhaps he had too much poetry and imagination in his heart connected with the subject of marriage to allow him to do so easily. In him there existed a refined and spiritualised sense of what a woman should be in the different phases of her existence, as daughter, sister, wife, and mother. Marriage to him was too holy, and the pure love of a woman too ethereal, for either to be trifled with, or made the means of merely obtaining a home or a settlement.

As he thus reflected he began to wonder that the mere meeting with a stranger could arouse in his mind such thoughts as these. Henry Halford had certainly never given the subject such deep consideration before in his life as now. He had met with many young ladies, sisters or relations of the boys under his father's care, and also among his own relations; but none had ever so struck him as Miss Armstrong. What and how did she differ from others? Most certainly there was something about her he could not define.

These conflicting thoughts no doubt arose from ignorance of the world.

Perhaps also the mind, fatigued by teaching and study, required more frequent relaxation. Indeed, his mother felt this necessary, and often urged him to accept invitations which he had refused, but without success. Be this as it may, before Henry Halford had been sitting an hour in his little study the old habits a.s.serted themselves. He started up. "Well, I wonder if I am suffering from premonitory symptoms of softening of the brain?" he said to himself. "What have I to do with falling in love or marriage for years to come? Such thoughts, too, just as I am about to succeed in my aims, and have matriculated at Oxford!

No, no, this will never do, Henry Halford;" and shaking himself as a dog fresh from the water, he took up Seneca and buried himself in its pages till the dinner bell rang.

CHAPTER XI.

OUR ANTIPODES.

In direct contrast to the bright frosty day we have described in the last chapter, the reader must be introduced to the clear atmosphere, cloudless sky, and bright sunshine of a midsummer day at Melbourne--almost England's antipodes. The inhabitants are enjoying a long summer's day on this 29th of January, and the surrounding country is presenting a verdant aspect and leafy foliage something akin to England in July. Midsummer when we have Christmas. Cold and frosty weather while we enjoy June sunshine; picnics and evening strolls in the calm summer moonlight, while we are shivering by the fire, or preparing for a Christmas party; midnight while we have noon, and short summer nights when with us darkness sets in at four in the afternoon and continues until eight the next morning.

Such are some of the contrasts which astronomers tell us are the consequences of the earth's varied movements on her own axis and round the sun. But in neither country are the inhabitants conscious of these differences, much less can they realise that we in England are walking feet to feet with our brethren and sisters in Australia. At Melbourne, indeed, with its broad streets, elegant shops, and n.o.ble buildings, there is too much that reminds one of England to allow of any consciousness of contrast. Cathedrals, churches, colleges, botanical gardens, and other proofs of refined civilisation mark the progress of Saxon energy and enterprise, which have already supplanted in large territories of our globe the original inhabitants.

The English are carrying with them not only civilisation and refinement, but also the principles of that "knowledge of the Lord which shall cover the whole earth as the waters cover the sea."