Dawn

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER XVI

  Reader, we are about to see Angela again, and to see a good deal ofher; but you must be prepared for a change in her personal appearance,for the curtain has been down for ten years since last you met thechild whose odd propensities excited Pigott's wonder and indignationand Mr. Fraser's interest; and ten years, as we all know, can workmany changes in the history of the world and individuals. In ten yearssome have been swept clean off the board, and their places taken byothers; a few have grown richer, many poorer, some of us sadder, somewiser, and all of us ten years older. Now, this was exactly what hadhappened to little Angela--that is, the Angela we knew as little, andten years make curious differences between the slim child of nine anda half and the woman of nearly twenty.

  When we last saw her, Angela was about to commence her education. Letus re-introduce ourselves on the memorable evening when, after tenyears of study, Mr. Fraser, a master by no means easily pleased,expressed himself unable to teach her any more.

  It is Christmas Eve. Drip, drop, drip, falls the rain from theleafless boughs on to the sodden earth. The apology for daylight thathas been doing its dull duty for the last few hours is slowly effacingitself, and the gale is celebrating the fact, and showing its joy atthe closing-in of the melancholy night by howling its loudest throughthe trees, and flogging the flying scud it has brought with it fromthe sea, till it whirls across the sky like a succession of ghostlyracehorses.

  This is outside the vicarage; let us look within. In a well-worn arm-chair in the comfortable study, near to a table covered with books andholding some loose sheets of foolscap in his hand, sits Mr. Fraser.His hair is a little greyer than when he began Angela's education,about as grey as rather accommodating hair will get at the age offifty-three; otherwise his general appearance is much the same, andhis face as refined and gentlemanlike as ever. Presently he lays downthe sheets of paper which he has been studying attentively, and says:

  "Your solution is perfectly sound, Angela; but you have arrived at itin a characteristic fashion, and by your own road. Not but what yourmethod has some merits--for one thing, it is more concise than my own;but, on the other hand, it shows a feminine weakness. It is notpossible to follow every step from your premises to your conclusion,correct as it is."

  "Ah!" says a low voice, with a happy ripple in it, the owner of whichis busy with some tea-things out of range of the ring of light thrownby the double reading-lamp, "you often blame me for jumping toconclusions; but what does it matter, provided they are right? Thewhole secret is that I used the equivalent algebraic formula, butsuppressed the working in order to puzzle you," and the voice laughedsweetly.

  "That is not worthy of a mathematician," said Mr. Fraser, with someirritation; "it is nothing but a trick, a _tour de force_."

  "The solution is correct, you say?"

  "Quite."

  "Then I maintain that it is perfectly mathematical; the object ofmathematics is to arrive at the truth."

  "_Vox et preterea nihil._ Come out of that corner, my dear. I hatearguing with a person I cannot see. But there, there, what is the useof arguing at all? The fact is, Angela, you are a first-classmathematician, and I am only second-class. I am obliged to stick tothe old tracks; you cut a Roman road of your own. Great masters areentitled to do that. The algebraic formula never occurred to me when Iworked the problem out, and it took me two days to do."

  "You are trying to make me vain. You forget that whatever I know,which is just enough to show me how much I have to learn, I havelearnt from you. As for being your superior in mathematics, I don'tthink that, as a clergyman, you should make such a statement. Here isyour tea." And the owner of the voice came forward into the ring oflight.

  She was tall beyond the ordinary height of woman, and possessedunusual beauty of form, that the tight-fitting grey dress she wore waswell calculated to display. Her complexion, which was of a dazzlingfairness, was set off by the darkness of the lashes that curled overthe deep grey eyes. The face itself was rounded and very lovely, andsurmounted by an ample forehead, whilst her hair, which was twistedinto a massive knot, was of a tinge of chestnut gold, and marked withdeep-set ripples. The charm of her face, however, did not, as is sooften the case, begin and end with its physical attractions. There wasmore, much more, in it than that. But how is it possible to describeon paper a presence at once so full of grace and dignity, of the softloveliness of woman, and of a higher and more spiritual beauty? Therehangs in the Louvre a picture by Raphael, which represents a saintpassing with light steps over the prostrate form of a dragon. There isin that heaven-inspired face, the equal of which has been rarely, ifever, put on canvas, a blending of earthly beauty and of the calm,awe-compelling spirit-gaze--that gaze, that holy dignity which canonly come to such as are in truth and in deed "pure in heart"--thatwill give to those who know it a better idea of what Angela was likethan any written description.

  At times, but, ah, how rarely! we may have seen some such look as thatshe wore on the faces of those around us. It may be brought by a greatsorrow, or be the companion of an overwhelming joy. It may announcethe consummation of some sublime self-sacrifice, or convey the swiftassurance of an everlasting love. It is to be found alike on thefeatures of the happy mother as she kisses her new-born babe, and onthe pallid countenance of the saint sinking to his rest. The sharpmoment that brings us nearer God, and goes nigh to piercing the veilthat hides His presence, is the occasion that calls it into being. Itis a beauty born of the murmuring sound of the harps of heaven; it isthe light of the eternal lamp gleaming faintly through its earthlycasket.

  This spirit-look, before which all wickedness must feel ashamed, hadfound a home in Angela's grey eyes. There was a strange nobility abouther. Whether it dwelt in the stately form, or on the broad brow, or inthe large glance of the deep eyes, it is not possible to say; but itwas certainly a part of herself as self-evident as her face orfeatures. She might well have been the inspiration of the lines thatrun:

  "Truth in her might, beloved, Grand in her sway; Truth with her eyes, beloved, Clearer than day; Holy and pure, beloved, Spotless and free; Is there one thing, beloved, Fairer than thee?"

  Mr. Fraser absently set down the tea that Angela was giving him whenwe took the liberty to describe her personal appearance.

  "Now, Angela, read a little."

  "What shall I read?"

  "Oh! anything you like; please yourself."

  Thus enjoined, she went to a bookshelf, and, taking down two volumes,handed one to Mr. Fraser, and then, opening her copy at haphazard,announced the page to her companion, and, sitting down, began to read.

  What sound is this, now soft and melodious as the sweep of a summergale over a southern sea, and now again like to the distant stamp andrush and break of the wave of battle? What can it be but the roll ofthose magnificent hexameters with which Homer charms a listeningworld. And rarely have English lips given them with a juster cadence.

  "Stop, my dear, shut up your book; you are as good a Greek scholar asI can make you. Shut up your book for the last time. Your education,my dear Angela, is satisfactorily completed. I have succeeded withyou----"

  "Completed, Mr. Fraser!" said Angela, open-eyed. "Do you mean to saythat I am to stop now just as I have begun to learn?"

  "My dear, you have learnt everything that I can teach you, and,besides, I am going away the day after to-morrow."

  "Going away!" and then and there, without the slightest warning,Angela--who, for all her beauty and learning, very much resembled therest of her sex--burst into tears.

  "Come, come, Angela," said Mr. Fraser, in a voice meant to be gruff,but only succeeding in being husky, for, oddly enough, it is tryingeven to a clergyman on the wrong side of middle-age to be wept over bya lovely woman; "don't be nonsensical; I am only going for a fewmonths."

  At this intelligence sh
e pulled up a little.

  "Oh," she said, between her sobs, "how you frightened me! How couldyou be so cruel! Where are you going to?"

  "I am going for a long trip in southern Europe. Do you know that Ihave scarcely been away from this place for twenty years, so I mean tocelebrate the conclusion of our studies by taking a holiday."

  "I wish you would take me with you."

  Mr. Fraser coloured slightly, and his eye brightened. He sighed as heanswered--

  "I am afraid, my dear, that it would be impossible."

  Something warned Angela not to pursue the subject.

  "Now, Angela, I believe that it is usual, on the occasion of theseverance of a scholastic connection, to deliver something in thenature of a farewell oration. Well, I am not going to do that, but Iwant you to listen to a few words."

  She did not answer, but, drawing a stool to a corner of the fireplace,she wiped her eyes and sat down almost at his feet, clasping her kneeswith her hands, and gazing rather sadly into the fire.

  "You have, dear Angela," he began, "been educated in a somewhatunusual way, with the result that, after ten years of steady work thathas been always interesting, though sometimes arduous, you haveacquired information denied to the vast majority of your sex, whilstat the same time you could be put to the blush in many things by aschool-girl of fifteen. For instance, though I firmly believe that youcould at the present moment take a double first at the University,your knowledge of English literature is almost nil, and your historyof the weakest. All a woman's ordinary accomplishments, such asdrawing, playing, singing, have of necessity been to a great extentneglected, since I was not able to teach them to you myself, and youhave had to be guided solely by books and by the light of Nature ingiving to them such time as you could spare.

  "Your mind, on the other hand, has been daily saturated with thenoblest thoughts of the intellectual giants of two thousand years ago,and would in that respect be as much in place in a well-educatedGrecian maiden living before the time of Christ as in an English girlof the nineteenth century.

  "I have educated you thus, Angela, partly by accident and partly bydesign. You will remember when you began to come here some ten yearssince--you were a little thing then--and I had offered to give yousome teaching, because you interested me, and I saw that you wererunning wild in mind and body. But, when I had undertaken the task Iwas somewhat puzzled how to carry it out. It is one thing to offer toeducate a little girl, and another to do it. Not knowing where tobegin, I fell back upon the Latin grammar, where I had begun myself,and so by degrees you slid into the curriculum of a classical andmathematical education. Then, after a year or two, I perceived yourpower of work and your great natural ability, and I formed a design. Isaid to myself, 'I will see how far a woman cultivated underfavourable conditions can go. I will patiently teach this girl tillthe literature of Greece and Rome become as familiar to her as hermother-tongue, till figures and symbols hide no mysteries from her,till she can read the heavens like a book. I will teach her mind tofollow the secret ways of knowledge, I will train it till it can soarabove its fellows like a falcon above sparrows.' Angela, my prouddesign, pursued steadily through many years, has been at lengthaccomplished; your bright intellect has risen to the strain I have putupon it, and you are at this moment one of the best all-round scholarsof my acquaintance."

  She flushed to the eyes at this high praise, and was about to speak,but he stopped her with a motion of the hand, and went on:

  "I have recognized in teaching you a fact but too little known, that aclassical education, properly understood, is the foundation of alllearning. There is little that is worth saying which has not alreadybeen beautifully said by the ancients, little that is worthy ofmeditation on which they have not already profoundly reflected, save,indeed, the one great subject of Christian meditation. Thisfoundation, my dear Angela, you possess to an eminent degree.Henceforth you will need no assistance from me or any other man, for,to your trained mind, all ordinary knowledge will be easy toassimilate. You will receive in the course of a few days a partingpresent from myself in the shape of a box of carefully chosen books onEuropean literature and history. Devote yourself to the study ofthese, and of the German language, which was your mother's nativetongue, for the next year, and then I shall consider that you arefairly finished, and then, too, my dear Angela, I shall expect to reapa full reward for my labours."

  "What is it that you will expect of me?"

  "I shall expect, Angela," and he rose from his chair and walked up anddown the room in his excitement--"I shall expect to see you take yourproper place in your generation. I shall say: 'Choose your own line,become a critical scholar, a practical mathematician, or--and perhapsthat is what you are most suited for with your imaginative powers--awriter of fiction. For remember that fiction, properly understood anddirected to worthy aims, is the noblest and most far-reaching, as itis also the most difficult of the arts.' In watching the success thatwill assuredly attend you in this or any other line, I shall be amplyrewarded for my trouble."

  Angela shook her head with a gesture of doubt, but he did not wait forher to answer.

  "Well, my dear, I must not keep you any longer--it is quite dark andblowing a gale of wind--except to say one more word. Remember that allthis is--indirectly perhaps, but still none the less truly--a means toan end. There are two educations, the education of the mind and theeducation of the soul; unless you minister to the latter, all the timeand toil spent upon the former will prove to little purpose. Thelearning will, it is true, remain; but it will be as the quartz out ofwhich the gold has been already crushed, or the dry husks of corn. Itwill be valueless and turn to no good use, will serve only to feed theswine of intellectual voluptuousness and infidelity. It is, believeme, the higher learning of the soul that gilds our earthly lore. Theloftier object of all education is so to train the intellect that itmay become competent to understand something, however little, of thenature of our God, and to the true Christian the real end of learningis the appreciation of His attributes as exemplified in His mysteriesand earthly wonders. But perhaps that is a subject on which you are aswell fitted to discourse as I am, so I will not enter into it.'Finis,' my dear, 'finis.'"

  Angela's answer to this long oration was a simple one. She rose slowlyfrom her low seat, and, putting her hands upon Mr. Fraser's shoulders,kissed him on the forehead and said--

  "How shall I ever learn to be grateful enough for all I owe you? Whatshould I have been now but for you? How good and patient you have beento me!"

  This embrace affected the clergyman strangely; he put his hand to hisheart, and a troubled look came into his eyes. Thrusting her gentlyaway from him, he sat down.

  "Angela," he said presently, "go away now, dear, I am tired to-night;I shall see you at church to-morrow to say good-by."

  And so she went homewards, through the wind and storm, little knowingthat she left her master to struggle with a tempest far moretremendous than that which raged around her.

  As for him, as the door closed, he gave a sigh of relief.

  "Pray God I have not put it off too long," he said to himself. "Andnow for to-morrow's sermon. Sleep for the young! laughter for thehappy! work for old fools--work, work, work!"

  And thus it was that Angela became a scholar.