At noon the next day, London stole upon them, through a gloomy, thick,
oppressive atmosphere. For where is it that we can say London _bursts_
on the sight? It stole on them through one of its fairest and most
gracious avenues of approach--by the stately gardens of Kensington--along
the side of Hyde Park, and so on toward Cumberland Gate.
Leonard was not the least struck. And yet, with a very little money, and
a very little taste, it would be easy to render this entrance to London
as grand and imposing as that to Paris from the _Champs Elysees_. As
they came near the Edgeware Road, Helen took her new brother by the hand
and guided him. For she knew all that neighborhood, and she was
acquainted with a lodging near that occupied by her father (to _that_
lodging itself she could not have gone for the world), where they might
be housed cheaply.
But just then the sky, so dull and overcast since morning, seemed one
mass of black cloud. There suddenly came on a violent storm of rain. The
boy and girl took refuge in a covered mews, in a street running out of
the Edgeware Road. This shelter soon became crowded; the two young
pilgrims crept close to the wall, apart from the rest; Leonard's arm
round Helen's waist, sheltering her from the rain that the strong wind
contending with it beat in through the passage. Presently a young
gentleman, of better mien and dress than the other refugees, entered,
not hastily, but rather with a slow and proud step, as if, though he
deigned to take shelter, he scorned to run to it. He glanced somewhat
haughtily at the assembled group--passed on through the midst of
it--came near Leonard--took off his hat, and shook the rain from its
brim. His head thus uncovered, left all his features exposed; and the
village youth recognized, at the first glance, his old victorious
assailant on the green at Hazeldean.
Yet Randal Leslie was altered. His dark cheek was as thin as in boyhood,
and even yet more wasted by intense study and night vigils; but the
expression of his face was at once more refined and manly, and there was
a steady concentrated light in his large eye, like that of one who has
been in the habit of bringing all his thoughts to one point. He looked
older than he was. He was dressed simply in black, a color which became
him; and altogether his aspect and figure were not showy indeed, but
distinguished. He looked, to the common eye, a gentleman; and to the
more observant, a scholar.
Helter-skelter!--pell-mell! the group in the passage--now pressed each
on each--now scattered on all sides--making way--rushing down the
mews--against the walls--as a fiery horse darted under shelter; the
rider, a young man, with a very handsome face, and dressed with that
peculiar care which we commonly call dandyism, cried out,
good-humoredly, "Don't be afraid; the horse shan't hurt any of you--a
thousand pardons--so ho! so ho!" He patted the horse, and it stood as
still as a statue, filling up the centre of the passage. The groups
resettled--Randal approached the rider.
"Frank Hazeldean!"
"Ah--is it indeed Randal Leslie!"
Frank was off his horse in a moment, and the bridle was consigned to the
care of a slim prentice-boy holding a bundle.
"My dear fellow, how glad I am to see you. How lucky it was that I
should turn in here. Not like me either, for I don't much care for a
ducking. Staying in town, Randal?"
"Yes, at your uncle's, Mr. Egerton. I have left Oxford."
"For good?"
"For good."
"But you have not taken your degree, I think? We Etonians all considered
you booked for a double first. Oh! we have been so proud of your
fame--you carried off all the prizes."
"Not all; but some, certainly. Mr. Egerton offered me my choice--to stay
for my degree, or to enter at once into the Foreign Office. I preferred
the end to the means. For, after all, what good are academical honors
but as the entrance to life? To enter now, is to save a step in a long
way, Frank."
"Ah! you were always ambitious, and you will make a great figure, I am
sure."
"Perhaps so--if I work for it. Knowledge is power!"
Leonard started.
"And you," resumed Randal, looking with some curious attention at his
old school-fellow. "You never came to Oxford. I did hear you were going
into the army."
"I am in the Guards," said Frank, trying hard not to look too conceited
as he made that acknowledgment. "The Governor pished a little, and would
rather I had come to live with him in the old Hall, and take to farming.
Time enough for that--eh? By Jove, Randal, how pleasant a thing is life
in London? Do you go to Almack's to-night?"
"No; Wednesday is a holiday in the House! There is a great parliamentary
dinner at Mr. Egerton's. He is in the Cabinet now, you know; but you
don't see much of your uncle, I think."
"Our sets are different," said the young gentleman, in a tone of voice
worthy of Brummel. "All those parliamentary fellows are devilish dull.
The rain's over. I don't know whether the Governor would like me to call
at Grosvenor-square; but pray come and see me; here's my card to remind
you; you must dine at our mess. Such nice fellows. What day will you
fix?"
"I will call and let you know. Don't you find it rather expensive in the
Guards? I remember that you thought the Governor, as you call him, used
to chafe a little when you wrote for more pocket-money; and the only
time I ever remember to have seen you with tears in your eyes, was when
Mr. Hazeldean, in sending you L5, reminded you that his estates were not
entailed--were at his own disposal, and they should never go to an
extravagant spendthrift. It was not a pleasant threat, that, Frank."
"Oh!" cried the young man coloring deeply, "It was not the threat that
pained me, it was that my father could think so meanly of me as to fancy
that--well--well, but those were school-boy days. And my father was
always more generous than I deserved. We must see a good deal of each
other, Randal. How good-natured you were at Eton, making my longs and
shorts for me; I shall never forget it. Do call soon."
Frank swung himself into his saddle, and rewarded the slim youth with
half-a-crown; a largess four times more ample than his father would have
deemed sufficient. A jerk of the rein and a touch of the heel--off
bounded the fiery horse and the gay young rider. Randal mused; and as
the rain had now ceased, the passengers under shelter dispersed and went
their way. Only Randal, Leonard, and Helen remained behind. Then, as
Randal, still musing, lifted his eyes, they fell full upon Leonard's
face. He started, passed his hand quickly over his brow--looked again,
hard and piercingly; and the change in his pale cheek to a shade still
paler--a quick compression and nervous gnawing of his lip--showed that
he too recognized an old foe. Then his glance ran over Leonard's dress,
which was somewhat dust-stained, but far above the class among which the
peasant was born. Randal raised his brows in surprise, and with a smile
slightly supercilious--the smile stung Leonard; and with a slow step
Randal left the passage, and took his way toward Grosvenor-square. The
Entrance of Ambition was clear to _him_.
Then the little girl once more took Leonard by the hand, and led him
through rows of humble, obscure, dreary streets. It seemed almost like
an allegory personified, as the sad, silent child led on the penniless
and low-born adventurer of genius by the squalid shops, and through the
winding lanes, which grew meaner and meaner, till both their forms
vanished from the view.