Two years later, the same pair stood in the same place at the same
season of the year. Term was over--the third term of the first year at
Cambridge.
"I haven't pleased your father," said the young man--he was slight and
boyish-looking still, but on his face there was a new stamp--he had
eaten of the tree of knowledge. "I have won no scholarships and taken no
prizes. My grand ideas about University laurels are changed. You see,
Nell, I have discovered that unless one goes into the Church a good
degree helps nobody. And, of course, it ruins a man in other ways to put
in all the time working for a degree."
"You know," said Nell, "we don't think so here."
"I know. Then you see I had to make the acquaintance of the men and to
show them that I was a person of--of some importance. A man who can play
and sing is always useful. We are an extremely social College, and
the--the friction of mind with mind, you know--it is the best education
possible for a man--I'm sure it is--much better than poring over Plato.
Then I found so many things in which I was deficient. French fiction,
for example; and I knew so very little about Art--oh! I have passed a
most busy and useful time."
He forgot to mention such little things as nap, _ecarte_, loo,
billiards, Paris, and London, as forming part of his education. Yet
everybody will own that these are important elements in the forming of a
man.
"I see," said Nell.
"But your father won't. He is all for the Senate House. You do take a
little interest in me still, Nell? Just a little interest--in an old
friend?"
"Of course I do, Will." She blushed and dropped her eyes. Their fingers
touched, but only for a moment. The touching of fingers is very
innocent. Perhaps it was accidental.
[Illustration: "HE SPOKE VERY GRANDLY."]
"Nell," said the young man, with deep feeling and earnestness, "whatever
I do--to whatever height I rise, I shall always feel"--here he stopped
because he could hardly say that she had stimulated him or inspired
him--"always feel, Nell, that it began here--it began here." He looked
about the garden. "On this spot I first resolved to become a great man.
It was on the very day when your father told me that I might be great if
I chose; of course, I knew so much before, but it pleased me; it
stimulated me. I told you here, on this spot, and you approved and
cheered me on. Well, I don't, of course, tell any of the men about my
ambitions. Mostly, I suppose, they have got their own. Some of them, I
know, don't soar above a country living--I laugh in my sleeve, Nell,
when I listen to their confessions--a country living--a house and a
garden and a church; that is a noble ambition, truly! I laugh, Nell,
when I think of what I could tell them; the rapid upward climb; the
dizzy height, the grasp of power and of authority!"
He spoke very grandly, and waved his hand and threw his head back and
looked every inch a leader--one round whom the soldiers of a holy cause
would rally. The girl's eyes brightened and her cheek glowed, even
though she remembered what at that moment she would rather have
forgotten: the words of her father at breakfast. "Challice has done
nothing," he said, "he has attempted nothing; now he will never do
anything. It is just as I expected. A dreamer! A dreamer!"
"It was here," Will continued, "that I resolved on greatness. It was on
this spot that I imparted my ambition to you. Nell, on this spot I again
impart to you my choice. I will become a great statesman. I have money
to start me--most fellows have to spend the best part of their lives in
getting money enough to give them a start. I shall be the Leader of the
House. Mind, to anyone but you this ambition would seem presumptuous. It
is my secret which I trust with you, Nell." He caught her hands, drew
her gently, and kissed her on the forehead. "Dear Nell," he said, "long
before my ambition is realized, you will be by my side, encouraging, and
advising, and consoling."
He spoke as a young man should; and tenderly, as a lover should; but
there was something not right--a secret thorn--something jarred. In the
brave words--in the tender tones--there was a touch, a tone, a look, out
of harmony. Will Challice could not tell his mistress that all day long
there was a voice within him crying: "Work, work! Get up and work! All
this is folly! Work! Nothing can be done without work--work--work!"