by F. W. Farrar
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.
THE RECONCILIATION AND THE LOSS.
The few remain, the many change and pass, Heaven's light alone remains, earth's shadows flee; Life, like a dome of many coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity, Until death shiver it to atoms.
Shelley's _Adonais_.
The termination of Wilton's sojourn at Saint Winifred's soon arrived.As yet none but the two head boys in the house knew of his detection.The thefts indeed had ceased; but the name of the offender was still amatter of constant surmise, and it was no easy task for Wilton--conscious how soon they would be informed--to listen to the strong termsof disgust which were applied to the yet unknown delinquent. Thebarriers of his conceit, his coolness, his audacity, were all brokendown; he was a changed boy; his manner was grave and silent, and healmost hid himself during those days in Kenrick's study, where Kenrick,with true kindness, still permitted him to sit.
Meanwhile it became generally known that he was going to leave almostimmediately; and as boys often left in this way at the division of thequarter, his departure, though rather sudden, created no astonishment,nor had any one as yet the most distant conjecture as to the reasonswhich led to it. It is not too much to say, that Wilton was one of thelast boys whom the rest would have suspected; they knew indeed that henever professed to be guided by any strong moral principles; but theythought him an unlikely fellow to be guilty of acts which sinned socompletely against the schoolboy's artificial code, and which brandedhim who committed them with the charge of acknowledged meanness.
On the very evening of his departure, the house was again summoned by anotice from Whalley and Kenrick to meet in the classroom afterPreparation. They came, not knowing for what they were summoned.Whalley opened the proceedings by requesting that any boy who had oflate had money stolen from him would stand up. Four or five of themrose, and on stating the sums, mostly small, which they had lost,immediately received the amount from Whalley, much to their surprise,and no less to their content.
The duty which still remained was far less pleasing and more delicate,and it was by Wilton's express and earnest request that it wasundertaken by Kenrick and not by Whalley. It was a painful moment forboth of them when Kenrick rose, and very briefly, with all theforbearance and gentleness he could command, informed the house thatthere was every reason to hope that, from that time forward, thesethefts which had caused them all so much distress, would cease. Theoffender had been discovered, and he begged them all, having confidencethat they would grant the request, not to deal harshly with him, orthink harshly of him. The guilty boy had done all that could be done bymaking full and immediate restitution, so that none of them now needremember any injury received at his hands, except Elgood, on whomsuspicion had been unjustly thrown, and whose forgiveness the boyearnestly begged.
At this part of his remarks there arose in the deep silence a generalmurmur of "Who is it? who is it?"
Wilton, trembling all over with agitation and excitement? was seatedbeside Kenrick, and had almost cowered behind him for very shame, butnow Kenrick stood aside, and laying his hand on Wilton's head,continued, "He is one of ourselves, and he is sitting here," whileWilton covered his face with both hands, and did not stir.
An expression of surprise and emotion thrilled over all the boyspresent; not a word was spoken; and immediately after Kenrick said tothem, "He is punished enough; you can understand that this is a terriblething for him. He has made reparation as far as he can, and besidesthis, he is _on this account_ going to leave us to-day. I may tell youall, too, that he is very, very, very sorry for what he has done, andhas learned a lesson that he will carry with him to his grave. May Iassure him that we all forgive him freely? May I tell him that we aregrieved to part with him, and most of all grieved for this which hascaused it? May I tell him that, in spite of all, he carries with himour warmest wishes and best hopes, and that he leaves no enemy behindhim here?"
"Yes, yes!" was murmured on all sides, and while the sound of Wilton'scrying sounded through the room, many of the others were also in tears.For this boy was popular; bad as he had been--and the name of his sinswas legion--there was something about him which had endeared him to mostof them. Barring this last fault, they were generally proud of him;there had been a certain generosity about him, a gay thoughtlessness, aboyish daring, which won their admiration. He was a promisingcricketer, active, merry, full of spirits: before he had been so spoiledby the notice of bigger fellows, there was no one who did not like himand expect that he would turn out well.
"Then my unpleasant task is over," said Kenrick, "and I have no more tosay. Oh, yes; I had forgotten, there was one very important thing I hadto say, as Whalley reminds me. It is this: You know that the Noeliteshave kept other secrets before now, not always good secrets, I am sorryto say. But will you all now keep this an honourable secret? Will younot mention (for there is no occasion for it) to any others in theschool, who it was that took the money? The matter will very soon beforgotten; do not let Wilton's sin be bruited through the whole school,so as to give him a bad name for life."
"Indeed we won't, not one of us will tell," said the boys, and they keptthe promise admirably afterwards.
"Then we may all separate. You may bid Wilton good-bye now if you wishto do so, for he starts to-night, almost at once; the carriage iswaiting for him now, and you will have no opportunity of seeing himagain."
They flocked round him and said "good-bye" without one word of reproach,or one word calculated to wound his feelings; many of them added somesincere expressions of their good wishes for the future. As for Wiltonhimself, he was far too much moved to _say_ much to them, but he pressedtheir hands in silence, only speaking to beg Elgood to pardon hisunkindness, which the little fellow begged him not to think of at all.
Charlie Evson lingered among the last, and spoke to him with frank andgenial warmth.
"How you must hate me, Charlie, for annoying you so, and trying to leadyou wrong!" said Wilton, penitently.
"Indeed I don't, Wilton," said Charlie; "I wish you weren't going toleave. I'm sure we should all get on better now."
"Don't think me as bad as I have seemed, Charlie. I was ashamed atheart all the time I was trying to persuade you to crib and tell lies,and do like other fellows. I felt all the while that you were betterthan me."
"Well, good-bye, Wilton. Perhaps we shall meet again some day, and begood friends; and I wish you happiness with all my heart."
Charlie was the last of them, and Kenrick and Wilton were left alone.For Wilton's sake Kenrick tried to show all the cheerfulness he could,as he went with him through the now silent and deserted court to thegate where the carriage was waiting.
"Have you got all your luggage, and everything all right, Raven?"
"Yes, everything," he said, taking one last long look at the familiarscene. It was dim moonlight; the lights twinkled in the studies wherethe upper boys were working, and in the dormitories where the rest werenow going to bed. The tall trees round the building stood quite blackagainst the faintly-lighted sky, waving their thinned remnant of yellowleaves in the November air. In the stillness you heard every slightsound; and the murmur of boys' voices came mingled with the plashing ofthe mountain stream, and the moaning of the low waves as they broke uponthe shore. A merry laugh rang from one of the dormitories, jarringpainfully on Wilton's feelings, as he stood gazing round in silence.
He got into the carriage, sighing heavily and grasping Kenrick's hand.
"Well, good-bye, Ken; it _must_ be said at last. May I write to you?"
"I wish you would. I shall be so glad to hear of you."
"And you will answer me, Ken?"
"Of course I will, my poor child. Good-bye. God bless you!" Theystill lingered for a moment, and Kenrick saw in the moonlight thatWilton's face was bathed in tears.
"All right, sir?" said the driver.
"Yes," said Wilton; "but it's all wrong, Ken, I think. Good-bye." Hewaved his h
and, the carriage drove off into the darkening night with thelittle boy alone, and Kenrick with a sinking heart strolled back to hisstudy. Do not pry into his feelings, for they were very terrible ones,as he sat down to his books with the strong conviction that there isnothing so good as the steady: fulfilment of duty for the driving awayof heavy thoughts.
All his time was taken up with working for the scholarship. It was ascholarship of ninety pounds a year for four years, founded by aprincely benefactor of the school, but only falling vacant biennially.There were other scholarships besides this, but this was by far the mostvaluable one at Saint Winifred's; the tenure of it was circumscribed byno conditions, and it was therefore proportionably desirable thatKenrick, who was poor, should obtain it. He had, indeed, hardly achance, as he well knew; for even if he succeeded in beating Walter, hecould not expect to beat Power. But Power, though a most graceful andfinished scholar, was not strong in mathematics, and as they countedsomething in the examination, Kenrick's chief chance lay in this, for asa scholar he was by no means to be despised; and with a just reliance onhis own abilities, he hoped, if fortunate, to make up for being defeatedin classics, by being considerably ahead in the other branches of theexamination. How he longed now to have at his command the time he hadso largely wasted! Had he but used that aright he might have easilydisputed the palm in any competition with Power himself. Few boys hadbeen gifted with stronger intellects or clearer heads than he. Butthough _fresh_ time may be carefully and wisely used, the _past_ timethat has once been wasted can never be recovered or redeemed.
And as he worked hard day by day the time quickly flew by, thescholarship examination took place, and the Christmas holidays came on.The result of the competition could not be known until the boys returnedto school.
Mrs Kenrick thought that this Christmas was the happiest she had known.They spent it, of course, very quietly. There were for them none ofthose happy family gatherings and innocent gaieties that made the timeso bright for others, yet still there was something peaceful andsomething brighter than usual about them. Harry's manner, she thought,was more affectionate, more tenderly respectful, than it often was.There seemed to be something softer and more lovable about his ways. Hebore himself with less haughty indifference towards the Fuzbeians; heentered with more zest into such simple amusements as he could invent orprocure; he condescended to play quite simply with the curate's littleboys, and seemed to be more humble and more contented. She counted thedays he spent with her as a miser counts his gold; and he, when he lefther, seemed more sorry to leave, and tried to cheer her spirits, and didnot make so light, as his wont had been, of the grief which theseparation caused.
The first event of importance on the return of the boys to school, wasthe announcement of the scholarship. The list was read from the lastname upwards; Henderson stood sixth, Kenrick third, Evson second, _Powerfirst_. "But," said Dr Lane, "Power has communicated to me privatelythat he does not wish to receive the emoluments of the scholarship, hewill therefore be _honorary_ scholar, while the scholarship itself willbe held by Evson."
Disappointed at the result, as he undoubtedly was, yet Kenrick wouldhave been glad at that moment to be able to congratulate Walter. Hetook it very quietly and well. Sorrow and failure had come on him sooften lately, that he hardly looked for anything else; so, when he hadheard the result announced, he tried to repress every melancholy thoughtand walking back to his study, resumed his day's work as though nothinghad happened.
And as he sat there, making believe to work, but with thoughts which, inspite of himself, sadly wandered, there was a knock at the door, and tohis great joy, no less than to his intense surprise, Walter Evsonentered.
"O Evson," he said, blushing with awkwardness, as he remembered how longa time had passed since they had exchanged a word; "I'm glad you'vecome. Sit down. Let me congratulate you."
"Thanks, Kenrick," said Walter, holding out his hand; "I thought we hadgone on in this way long enough. I have never had any ill-feeling foryou, and I feel sure now from your manner that you have none towardsme."
"None, Walter, none; I _had_ at one time, but it has long ceased; myerror has long been explained to me. I have done you wrong, Walter, fortwo years and more; it has been one of my many faults, and the chiefcause of them all. Can you forgive me?"
"Heartily, Ken, if I have anything to forgive. We have both beenpunished enough, I think, in losing the happiness which we should havebeen enjoying if we had continued friends."
"Ah, Walter, it pains me to think of that irrevocable past."
"But, Ken, I have come now for a definite purpose," said Walter."You'll promise me not to take offence?"
"Never again, Walter, with you."
"Well, then, tell me honestly, was it of any consequence to you to gainthis scholarship, in which, so unexpectedly to myself, some accident hasplaced me above you?"
Kenrick reddened slightly, and made no answer, while Walter quicklycontinued--"You know, Ken, that I am going to stay here another year;are you?"
"I'm afraid not; my guardian does not think that we can afford it."
"Well, then, Ken, I think I may say, without much presumption, that, asI stay here for certain, I may safely reckon on getting a scholarshipnext year. At any rate, even if I don't, my father is quite rich enoughto bear my university expenses unaided without any inconvenience. Itwould be mere selfishness in me, therefore, to retain this scholarship,and I mean to resign it at once; so that let me now congratulate _you_heartily on being Marsden scholar."
"Nay, Walter, I can't have you make this sacrifice for my sake."
"You can't help it, Ken; for this is a free country," said Walter,smiling, "and I may waive a scholarship if I like. But it's nosacrifice whatever, my dear fellow; don't say anything more about it.It gives me ten times the pleasure that you should hold it rather thanI. So again I congratulate you; and now, as you must have had enough ofme, I'll say good morning."
He rose with a smile to leave the room, but Kenrick, seizing him by thehand, exclaimed--
"O Walter, you heap coals of fire on my head. Am I never to receiveanything from you but benefits which I can never return?"
"Pooh, Ken, there are no benefits between friends; only let us not besilent and distant friends any longer. Power is coming into my study totea to-night; won't you join us as in old days?"
"I will, Walter; but can the ghost of old days be called to life?"
"Perhaps not; but the young present, which is no ghost, shall replacethe old past, Ken. At six o'clock, mind. Good-bye."
"Don't go yet: do stay a little. It is a greater pleasure than I cantell you to see you here again, Walter. I want to have a talk withyou."
"To make up for two years' arrears, eh, Ken? Why, what a pretty littlestudy you've got! Isn't it odd that I should never have been in itbefore? It seems quite natural to me to be here, somehow. You mustcome and see mine this evening; I flatter myself it equals even Power's,and beats Flip's in beauty, and looks out on the sea: such a jolly view.But you mustn't see it till this evening. I shall make Charlie put itto rights in honour of your visit. Charlie beats any fag for neatness;why did you turn him off, eh? I've made him my fag now, to keep hishand in."
"Let him come back to me now, Walter; I'm sadder and wiser since thosedays."
"That I will, gladly. I know, too, that he'll be delighted to come.Ah, Wilton's photograph, I see," said Walter, still looking about him,"I thought him greatly improved before he left."
Kenrick was pleased to see that Walter had no suspicion _why_ he left,so that the secret had been kept. They talked on very, very pleasantly,for they had much to say to each other, and Walter had, by his simple,easy manner, completely broken the ice, and made Kenrick feel at homewith him again. Kenrick was quite loth to let him go, and keptdetaining him so eagerly that more than half an hour, which seemed liketen minutes, had slipped away before he left. Kenrick looked forwardeagerly to meet him again in the evening, with Power, and Henderson,
andEden; their meeting would fitly inaugurate his return to the betterfeelings of past days; but it was not destined that the meeting shouldtake place; nor was it till many evenings afterwards that Kenrick satonce more in the pleasant society of his old friends.
When Walter had at last made good his escape, playfully refusing to beimprisoned any longer, Kenrick rose and paced the room. He could hardlybelieve his own happiness; it was the most delightful moment he hadexperienced for many a long day; the scholarship, so long the object ofhis hope and ambition, was now attained; impossible as it had seemed, itwas actually his, and, at the same moment, the truest friend of hisboyhood--the friend for whose returning respect and affection he so longhad yearned--was at last restored to him.
With an overflowing heart he sat down to write to his mother, andcommunicate the good news that he was reconciled to Walter, and thatPower and Walter had resigned the scholarship in his favour. He hadnever felt in happier spirits than just then; and then, even at the samemoment, the cup of sincere and innocent joy, so long untasted, was, withone blow, dashed away from his lip.
For at that moment the post came in, and one of his fags, humming alively tune, came running with a letter to his door.
"A letter for you, Kenrick," the boy said, throwing it carelessly on thetable, and taking up his merry song as he left the room. But Kenrick'seyes were riveted on the letter: it was edged with the deepest black,and bore the Fuzby post-mark. For a time he sat stupidly staring at it:he dared not open it.
At length he made an effort, and tore it open. It was a rude, blurredscrawl from their old servant, telling him that his mother had died theday before. A brief note enclosed in this, from the curate of theplace, said, "It is quite true, my poor boy. Your mother died verysuddenly of spasms in the heart. God's ways are not as our ways. Ihave written to tell your guardian, and he will no doubt meet you here."
Kenrick remained stupefied, unable to think, almost unable tocomprehend. He was roused to his senses by the entrance of his fag toremove his breakfast things, which still lay on the table; and with avague longing for some comfort and sympathy, he sent the boy to Walterwith the message that Kenrick wanted him.
Walter came at once, and Kenrick, not trusting his voice to speak,pushed over to him the letter which contained the fatal news. In such acase human consolation cannot reach the sorrow. It passes like the idlewind over the wounded heart. All that _could_ be done by words, andlooks, and acts of sympathy Walter did; and then went to arrange forKenrick's immediate journey, not returning till he came to tell him thata carriage was waiting to take him to the train.
That evening Kenrick reached the house of death, which was still asdeath itself. The old faithful servant opened the door to his knock,and using her apron to wipe her eyes, which were red with long weeping,she exclaimed--
"O Master Harry, Master Harry, she's gone. She had been reading andpraying in her room, and then she came down to me quite bright andcheerful, when the spasms took her, and I helped her to bed, and shedied."
Harry flung down his hat in the hall, and rushed up stairs to hismother's room, but when he had opened the door, he stood awe-struck andmotionless--for he was alone in the presence of the dead.
The light of winter sunset was streaming over her, whose life had been awinter day. Never even in life had he seen her so lovely, so beautifulwith the beauty of an angel, as now with the smiling never-broken calmof death upon her. Over the pure pale face, from which every wrinklemade by care and sorrow had vanished, streamed the last cold radiance ofevening, Illuminating the peaceful smile, and seeming to linger lovinglyas it lit up strange glories in the golden hair, smoothed in soft bandsover her brow. There she lay with her hands folded, as though inprayer, upon her quiet breast; and the fitful fever of life had passedaway. Dead--with the smile of heaven upon her lips, which should neverleave them more!
Hers had been a hard, mysterious life. In all the sweet bloom of heryouthful beauty she had left her rich home, not, indeed, without thesanction, but against the wishes of her relatives, to brave trial andpoverty with the man she loved. How bitter that poverty, how severe,how unexpected those trials had proved to be, we have seen already; andthen, still young, as though she were meant to tread with her tenderfeet the whole thorny round of human sorrow, she had been left a widowwith an only son. And during the eight years of her widowed loneliness,her relatives had neglected with cold pride both her and her orphan boy;even that orphan boy, in the midst of all his love for her, had by hispride and waywardness caused her many an anxious hour and many an achingheart, yet she clung to him with an affection whose yearning depth notongue can utter. And now, still young, she had died suddenly, and lefthim on the threshold of dangerous youth almost without a friend in thewide world; had passed, with a silence which could never more be broken,into the eternal world; had left him, whom she loved with such intensityof unspeakable affection, without a word, without a look, without a signof farewell. She had passed away in a moment to the far-off untroubledshore, whence waving hands cannot be seen, and no sounds of farewellvoices heard. How must that life expand in the unconceived glory ofthat new dawn--the life which on earth so little sunshine visited!
She was one of the most sweet, the most pure, the most unselfish, themost beautifully blameless of all God's children; and she had lived inhardship, in neglect, in anxiety, in calumny; she had lived among thosemean and wretched villagers: an angel was among them, and they knew itnot; she had tasted no other drink but the bitter waters of affliction;no hope had brightened, no love sustained, her earthly course. And nowher young orphan son, his heart dead within him for anguish, hisconscience tortured by remorse, was kneeling in that agony which no weakwords can paint, was kneeling for the last time, _too late_, beside hercorpse.
Truly life is a mystery, which the mind of man cannot fathom till theglory of eternal truth enlighten it!