"So soon the boy a youth, the youth a man,
Eager to run the race his fathers ran."
Rogers' _Human Life_.
The last day at Harton came; the last chapel-service in that fair school
fabric; the last sermon, "Arise, let us go hence;" the last look at the
churchyard and the fourth-form room; the last "Speecher," and delivering
up of the monitor's keys; the last farewells to Mr Carden and the other
masters, and the Doctor, and their schoolfellows and fags; and then with
swelling hearts Julian and Lillyston got into the special train,
thronged with its laughing and noisy passengers, and during the twenty
minutes which were occupied by their transit to London, were filled with
the melancholy thought that the days of boyhood were over for ever.
"Good-bye, Frank," said Julian--"To-morrow, to fresh fields and pastures
new."
"Good-bye, Julian. We must meet next at Saint Werner's."
"Mind you write meanwhile."
"All right. You shall hear in a week. Good-bye." And Lillyston nodded
from the cab window his last farewell to Julian Home, the Harton boy.
But if there were partings, what glorious meetings there were too,
during those twenty-four hours. Ah! they must be felt, not written of:
but I am sure that no family felt a keener joy that day, than Julian's
mother, and sister, and brothers, when they saw him again, and learnt
with pride that he had won a scholarship of 100 pounds a year; even Will
and Mary, the faithful servants, seemed, when they heard it, to look up
to their young master with even more honour than before.
Bruce spent the first part of his holidays in shooting, and the latter
weeks in all the gaieties of a wealthy London family. He was naturally
self-indulgent, and as no one urged him to make good use of his time, he
devoted it to every possible amusement which riches could procure. Both
he and his parents had a boundless belief in his natural abilities, and
these, he thought, would be quite sufficient to gain him such honours as
should be a graceful addition to the public reputation which he intended
to win. A week or two before the Camford term commenced, he engaged
some splendid lodgings, the most expensive which he heard of, and,
turning out the furniture which was usually let with them, gave an
almost unlimited order to a fashionable upholsterer to see them fitted
out with due luxury and taste. When he came up as a freshman, which he
deferred doing until the last possible moment, he was himself amazed to
see how literally his orders had been obeyed. The rooms were refulgent
with splendour: glossy tables, velvet-cushioned chairs, Turkey carpets,
rich curtains, and an abundance of mirrors, made them, as the tradesman
remarked "fit for a lord;" and Bruce took possession, with no little
pride and self-satisfaction at finding himself his own master in so
brilliant an abode.
Meanwhile, the holidays had passed by with Julian very differently, but
very happily. Without tiring himself, or harassing his attention by
study, he made a rule of devoting to work some portion, at least, of
every day. Long strolls with his mother and sister in the bright summer
evenings, bathes and boating excursions with Cyril and Frank, and happy,
lonely rambles on the beach, kept him in health and spirits, and he
looked forward with eager ambition to the arena which he was so soon to
enter.
"The Harton boys have gone back by this time, haven't they?" asked
Violet, as she sat with her mother and brother on the lawn one
afternoon. "Don't you wish you were there again with them, Julian?"
"No," said Julian, "I wouldn't exchange Saint Werner's man even for
Harton boy."
"How soon shall you have to go up to Saint Werner's?" said Mrs Home.
"On October 15th; in about a fortnight's time. I mean to go up a day or
two beforehand to get settled. You and Violet must come with me,
mother."
"But is that usual? Won't you get laughed at as though you were coming
up under female escort?" asked Violet.
"Pooh! you don't suppose I care for that," said Julian, "even supposing
it were likely to be true; besides--" He said no more, but his proud
look at his sister's face seemed to imply that he expected rather to be
envied than laughed at.
Accordingly, they went up together, and, as the train drew nearer and
nearer to Camford, all three grew silent and thoughtful. They were
rightly conscious that on the years to be spent in college life depended
no small part of Julian's future happiness and prosperity. Three years
at least would be spent there; years wealthy with all blessing, or
prolific of evil and regret.
It was night when they arrived, and in the dimly-lighted streets there
was not enough visible to gratify Julian's eager curiosity. The omnibus
was crowded with undergraduates, who were chiefly freshmen, but
apparently anxious to seem very much at home. At the station, the piles
of luggage seemed interminable, and Mrs Home and Violet were not sorry
to escape from the unusual confusion to the quiet of their hotel.
Next morning, directly after an impatient breakfast, Julian started to
call on his tutor.
"Which is the way to Saint Werner's College?" he asked of the waiter.
"Straight along, sir," was the reply, and off he started down King's
Parade. In his hurry to make the first acquaintance with his new
college, Julian hardly stopped to admire the smooth green quadrangle and
lofty turrets of King Henry's College, or Saint Mary's, or the Senate
House and Library, but strode on to the gate of Saint Werner's.
Entering, he gazed eagerly at the famous great court, with its chapel,
hall, fountain, and Master's lodge; and then made his way through the
cloisters of Warwick's Court to his tutor's rooms.
On entering, he found himself in a room, luxuriously furnished, and full
of books. In a large armchair before the fire sat a clergyman, whom
Julian at once conjectured to be Mr Grayson, the tutor on whose "side"
he was entered. He was a tall, grave-looking man, of about forty, and
rose to greet his pupil with a formal bow.
"How do you do, Mr --? I did not quite catch the name."
"Home, sir," said Julian, advancing to shake hands in a cordial and
confiding manner; but the tutor contented himself with a very cold
shake, and seemed at a loss how to proceed.
Julian was burning with curiosity and eagerness. He longed to ask a
hundred questions; at such a moment--a moment when he first felt how
completely he had passed over the boundary which divides boyhood from
manhood, he yearned for a word of advice, of encouragement, of sympathy.
He expected, at least, something which should resemble a welcome, or a
direction what to do. Nothing of the kind, however, came. While Julian
was awaiting some remark, the tutor shuffled, hemmed, and looked ill at
ease, as though at a loss how to begin the conversation.