"Well, dear Home--"
"Home _only_, if you please," said Julian still more abruptly.
"Ah! I see you are in a rebellious--excuse me, dear--I mean Home,--a
rebellious spirit. I feared it would be so when I saw that godless
young clergyman with you."
Julian relieved his disgust by an expression of impatience.
"I have no doubt, dear Ju--, I mean Home--I have no doubt," he
continued, with a gusto infinitely annoying, "that you needed this rod.
I am afraid that you are as yet unconverted; that you have as yet no
saving, no vital sense of Christianity. Some sin, perhaps, needs
correction; some--"
"Confound your intolerable impudence and cant!" said Julian, starting
from his seat, aroused by his hypocritical prate into unwonted
intolerance; and he suddenly observed, by the cowering attitude which
Hazlet assumed, that the worthy youth was afraid of receiving at his
head the water-bottle, on which Julian's hand was resting. Julian
thought it best to avoid the temptation, and hoping Hazlet would take
the hint, he said, "Forgive my rudeness, Hazlet, but I am very tired and
annoyed just now; in fact, I am hardly in a condition to talk with, as
you see, and you are really _quite_ incapable of saying anything to help
me."
But Hazlet had come prepared to say his say, and did not attempt to
move.
"Ah," he said, with a sigh which seemed to express satisfaction--(some
people always sigh when they thank God)--"I am afraid you are unprepared
for the consolations of religion."
"Of such a religion as yours, most certainly," interrupted Julian, with
haughty vehemence.
"The natural man, you see--" He stopped as he saw Julian's hand
fidgeting towards the water-bottle. "Ah! well, you will have still to
sit at the sizars' table, and dine on the Fellows' leavings; perhaps it
might inscrutably be good for you to bear the yoke--"
Had the fellow come to insult him? Was he there on purpose to gratify
his malice at another's misfortune, under the pretext of pious
reflections? Half-a-dozen times Julian had thought so, and thought so
correctly. Hazlet's very little and very ignorant mind had been fed
into self-complacency by the cheering belief that he and his friends
formed a select party whose future welfare was secure, while "the world"
was very wicked, and destined to everlasting burning; and in proportion
to his gross conceit, was he nettled with the evident manner in which
Julian, though without any rudeness, avoided his company even at Ildown,
where he reigned with undisputed sway among his own admiring circle of
_gynaikazia_. (Excuse the word, gentle reader; it is Saint Paul's--not
mine.) Hazlet had come there, though in the depth of his hypocrisy he
hardly knew it himself, to enjoy a little triumph over Julian's pride,
and to pour a little vinegar, in the guise of a good Samaritan, on
wounds which he knew to be bleeding still.
In saying the last sentence, in which he cut Julian to the very quick,
Hazlet had seemed to his victim's excited imagination to be actually
smacking his lips with undisguised delight. "Ah, you will have still to
dine at the sizars' table on the Fellows' leavings." Julian knew that
the form of the sentence made it most maliciously and odiously false;--
and that this hypocritical son of Belial should address him at such a
moment in such a way was so revolting to his own generous spirit, that
he could endure it no longer.
"What did you say?" he asked sharply.
"Of course, my dear Ju--, Home, I mean--poverty is no disgrace to you,
you know. Some of the sizars are pious men, I have no doubt, and I dare
say the Fellows leave--"
"I swear this is too much," said Julian, using the only oath that ever
in all his life-time crossed his lips. "You canting and mean--Pshaw!
you are beneath my abuse. _Sizar_ indeed! there, take that, and
begone." He had meant to empty the tumbler in his face, but his hand
shook with passion, and the glass flew out of it, and after cutting the
top of Hazlet's head, fell broken on the floor.
With a howl of dismay Hazlet fled to his own rooms, where, having
satisfied himself that the cut had done little other harm than leaving
some red streaks upon his damp and lanky hair, he put over it some
strips of plaster as large as he conveniently could, and then with a
lugubrious expression went to hall, and gratified his malice by buzzing
and babbling among his fellows all sorts of lies and exaggerations about
Julian's conduct and state of mind. When Kennedy came in, however, he
put an abrupt end to Hazlet's calumnies by handling his own tumbler with
so significant a glance, that Hazlet assumed a look of terror, and, amid
shouts of laughter, retired with all speed out of reach of the danger.
Lillyston, always a firm and faithful friend, was grieved to the soul to
hear of Julian's condition; for, without believing half that Hazlet
said, it was at least clear that Julian had shown some violence, and, if
Hazlet was to be trusted, "had sworn at him in a manner perfectly
awful." What had come over Julian of late? Since that fit of
uncontrollable and lasting passion which had overpowered him when he was
screwed in, he did not seem to have recovered that noble moral strength
and equilibrium which was usually conspicuous in his character. The
restlessness which had prevented him from doing the paper, the half
sullen silence through the day, the horse-whipping of Brogten, the
second outburst of unchecked feeling at the loss of the scholarship, and
finally, this treatment of Hazlet, caused Lillyston a deep regret that
his friend should have strayed so widely from his usual calm and manly
course. It was as if one staggering blow had loosened all the joints of
his moral armour, and left room for successive wounds. He determined to
go and see him before chapel, and, if possible, get him to come and
spend the evening quietly with him; he was only prevented from going at
once by supposing that Julian would be dining by himself to avoid
meeting any one in hall, and he did not wish to disturb him at his
lonely meal.
Julian's head was aching with mortification, passion, and fatigue; it
seemed as if he had but one thought to which he could turn, and that
this was a thought of weariness and pain. He dwelt much less on his own
defeat than on the disappointment which he knew it would cause to Violet
and his young brothers. He knew well that Mrs Home would bear it with
equanimity, because she regarded all the events of life, however
painful, with the same quiet resignation, and trusted ever in the gentle
dealing and loving purposes of His hand who guides them all. Poor
Julian longed to be able to regard it in this light too, but he had
suffered the angry part of his nature to gain the victory, and his human
reason was now being torn by his lion heart.
Unable to endure the notion of going to hall, which would be a painful
reminder that the opportunity to which he had long looked for
emancipation from his sizarship had passed by, he determined to take
some wine, in the hope that it would support him till the evening. He
could not of course afford to give wine parties, but he always kept a
few bottles in his rooms for medicinal purposes, or to offer to any
stranger who might come to visit him. Taking out a decanter, he sat
down in his armchair, and drank a glass or two. The wine exhilarated
him; as he had scarcely tasted anything all day, it got rapidly into his
head, and in a few minutes his thoughts seemed in a tumult of delirious
emotion. Pride and passion triumphed over every other feeling; after
all, what was the scholarship to him? Tush! he looked for better things
in life than scholarships. He would discard the petty successes of
pedantry, and would seek a loftier greatness. He had been a fool to
trouble himself about such trifles. And as these arrogant mists clouded
his fancy, he broke out into irregular snatches of unmeaning song.
It was a saint's-day evening, and consequently chapel was at a quarter
past six instead of six, and the undergraduates wore surplices in chapel
instead of their ordinary gowns. On saints'-days there is always a
choral service at Saint Werner's College, and the excellence of the
choir generally attracted a large congregation. To Julian, who was fond
of music, these saint's-day services had a peculiar interest; and now
while his brain was swimming with the fumes of wine, he determined to go
to chapel, and imagined to himself the pleasure he should feel in
striding haughtily through the throng of men up the long aisle to the
sizar's seat, to show by his look and manner that his courage was
undaunted, and that his self-confidence rose superior to defeat.
Although the chapel-bell had not yet begun to ring, he put out his cap
and surplice, and sat down to drink more wine.
Just as the clock struck six, Lillyston knocked at Julian's door.
"Aha! old fellow," said Julian, "you are just in time to have a glass of
wine before chapel."
"No, thank you," said Lillyston coldly, sick at heart to see a fresh
proof of his friend's unworthy excitement, but without realising as yet
his true condition.
"Tush! you think I care about that trumpery Clerkland? Not I! Won't
you have some wine?--no? well, I shall, and then I'm going to chapel."
His flushed countenance, and excited manner, joined to the harsh tones
of his generally pleasant and musical voice, produced on Lillyston's
mind a feeling of deep pain and shame, and when with unsteady hand,
Julian endeavoured to pour out for himself a fresh glass, and in doing
so spilt the wine in great streams over the table, Lillyston saw that he
was in an utterly unfit state to go to chapel, and that the attempt to
do so would certainly draw upon him exposure and disgrace.
"Julian," he said gently; "you are not in a condition to go to chapel;
you must not think of it."
"What do you mean?" said Julian with a stupid stare.
"I mean," he replied slowly, "that the wine has got into your head."
A laugh, half hysterical, half defiant, was the only answer, and Julian
began to put on his surplice, wrong side out.
"Julian, I beg of you to stay here as you would avoid ruin."
"Pooh! I am not a child, as you seem to think. You are--Yes, you are a
fool, Lillyston."
Pained to the very heart, Lillyston wavered for a moment, but a glance
at Julian decided him. Five years of happy uninterrupted friendship,
five years during which he had regarded his friend's stainless character
with ever-growing pride and affection, determined him at all hazards to
save him from the effects of this temporary possession. Firmly, but
quietly, he planted his back against the door, and said--
"Dear Julian, I beseech you not to go."
The tone of voice, the mention of his own name recalled Julian for a
moment, but the sound of the chapel-bell renewed his determination, and
he answered, "Nonsense. Come, make room."
"You _shall not go_, Julian."
"But I will," shouted he angrily; "how dare you prevent me; stand
aside."
Lillyston did not stir, and rendered furious by opposition, Julian
grappled with him. It required all Lillyston's strength to retain his
position against this wild assault, but he managed to do so without
inflicting any hurt; and when Julian paused, Lillyston noticed with a
sense of relief that the chapel-bell had ceased to ring.
"I WILL go," said Julian, madly renewing the struggle. But with all his
efforts he could not stir Lillyston from the door, and only succeeded in
tearing his surplice from the neck downwards. He paused, and, baffled
of his intention, glared at his opponent.
"The clock has now struck," said Lillyston calmly, "and the doors will
be shut. You are too late to get in." Julian stamped impatiently on
the floor, and prepared to close with Lillyston again, but now Lillyston
stepped from the door, and as he slowly went out, turned round and
said--
"Julian, do you call this being brave or strong? Can you let one
disappointment unman you so utterly?"
"Be brave, and honest, and pure, and God will be with you." The words
flashed into light from the folded pages of Julian's memory, and with
them the dim image of a dead face, and the dying echo of a father's
voice.