"But that Conscience makes me firm.
The boon companion, who her strong breastplate
Buckles on him that feels no guilt within,
And bids him on and fear not."
Dante, c. xxviii.
"Qui s'excuse s'accuse." "If a character can't defend itself, it's not
worth defending." "No one was ever written down, except by himself."
These, and proverbs like these, express the common and almost
instinctive feeling, that self-defence under calumny is generally
unsuccessful, and almost always involves a loss of dignity. Partly from
this cause, and partly from penitence for his real errors, and partly
from scorn at the malice that misrepresented him, and the Pharisaism of
far worse offenders that held aloof from his misfortune, Walter said
nothing to exculpate his conduct, or to shield himself from the silent
indignation, half real and half affected, which weighed heavily against
him.
The usual consequences followed; the story of his misdoing was repeated
and believed in the least mitigated form, and this version gained
credence and currency because it was uncontradicted. The school society
bound his sin upon him; they retained it, and it was retained. It
burdened his conscience with a galling weight, because by his fellows it
remained long unforgiven. At the best, those were days of fiery trial
to that overcharged young heart. He had not only lost all immediate
influence, but as he looked forward through the vista of his
school-life, he feared that he should never entirely regain it. Even if
he should in time become a monitor, he felt as if half his authority
must be lost while this stigma was branded so deeply on his name.
Yet it was a beautiful sight to see how bravely and manfully this young
boy set himself to re-establish the reputation he had destroyed, and
since he could not "build upon the _foundations_ of yesterday," to build
upon its _ruins_; to see with what touching humility he accepted
undeserved scorn, and with what touching gratitude he hailed the
scantiest kindness; to see how he bore up unflinchingly under every
difficulty, accepted his hard position among unsympathising
schoolfellows, and made the most of it, without anger and without
complaint. He could see in after years that those days were to him a
time of unmitigated blessing. They taught him lessons of manliness, of
endurance, of humility. The necessity of repairing an error and
recovering a failure became to him a more powerful stimulus than the
hope of avoiding it altogether. The hour of punishment, which was
bitter as absinthe to his taste, became sweet as honey in his memory.
Above all, these days taught him, in a manner never to be forgotten, the
invaluable lesson that the sense of having done an ill deed is the very
heaviest calamity that an ill deed ensures, and that in life there is no
single secret of happiness comparable to the certain blessing brought
with it by a conscience void of all offence.
Perhaps the strain would have been too great for his youthful spirits,
and might have left on his character an impress of permanent melancholy,
derived from thus perpetually being reminded that he had gone wrong, but
for a school sermon which Mr Paton preached about this time, and which
Walter felt was meant in part for him. It was on the danger and
unwisdom of brooding continually on what is over; and it was preached
upon the text, "I will restore to you the years which the locust hath
eaten, the canker-worm, the caterpillar, and the palmerworm, my great
army."
"The past is past," said the preacher; "its sins and sorrows are
irrevocably over; why dwell upon it now? Do not waste the present, with
all its opportunities, in a hopeless and helpless retrospect. The worst
of us need not despair, much less those who may have been betrayed into
sudden error by some moment of unguarded passion. There lies the future
before you; onwards then, and forwards! it is yet an innocent, it may be
a happy, future. Take it with prayerful thankfulness, and fling the
withered part aside. Thus, although thus only, can you recover your
neglected opportunities. Do this in hope and meekness, and God will
make up to you for the lost past; He Who inhabiteth eternity will
stretch forth out of His eternity a forgiving hand, and touch into green
leaf again the years which the locust hath eaten." How eagerly Walter
Evson drank in those words! That day at least he felt that man doth not
live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth
of God.
If Walter had been old enough to be an observer of character, he might
have gathered out of his difficulties the materials for some curious
observation on the manner in which he was treated by different boys.
Many, like Harpour and Cradock, made, of course, no sort of difference
in their behaviour towards him, because they set up no pretence of
condemnation; others, like Anthony and Franklin, had been nearly as bad
as himself in the matter, and therefore their relations to him remained
quite unaltered. But there were many boys who, like Jones, either cut
him or were cold to him, not because they really felt any moral anger at
a fault which was much less heinous in reality than many which they
daily committed, but because he was, for the time, unpopular, and they
did not care to be seen with an unpopular boy. On the other hand,
through a feeling, which at the time they could not understand, a few of
the very best boys, some of the wisest, the steadiest, the noblest,
seemed drawn to him by some new tie; and in a very short time he began
to know friends among them in whose way he might not otherwise have been
thrown. Daubeny, for instance, than whom, although the boys chose to
make him something of a butt, there was no more conscientious fellow at
Saint Winifred's, sought Walter out on every possible occasion, and when
they were alone spoke to him, in his gentle and honest way, many a
cheering and kindly word. Another friend of this sort (whom Walter
already knew slightly through Kenrick, who was in the form below him),
was a boy named Power. There was something in Power most attractive:
his clear eyes, and innocent expression of face, his unvarying success
in all school competitions, his quiet and graceful manners, and even the
coldness and reserve which made him stand somewhat aloof from the herd
of boys, mixing with very few of them, firmly and unobtrusively assuming
an altogether higher tone than theirs, and bestowing his confidence and
friendship on hardly any--all tended to make him a marked character, and
to confer on his intimacy an unusual value. Walter, to whom as yet he
had hardly spoken, thought him self-centred and reserved, and yet saw
something beautiful and fascinating even in his exclusiveness; he felt
that he could have liked him much, but, as he was several forms lower
than Power, never expected to become one of his few associates. But
during his troubles Power so openly showed that he regarded him with
respect and kindness, and was so clearly the first to make advances,
that Walter gladly and gratefully accepted the proffered friendship.
It happened thus: One day, about a fortnight after his last escapade,
Walter was amusing himself alone, as he often did, upon the shore. The
shore was very dear to him. I almost pity a boy whose school is not by
the seaside. He found on the shore both companionship and occupation.
He never felt lonely there. He could sit there by the hour, either in
calm or storm, watching the sea-birds dip their wings which flashed in
the sunlight, as they pounced down on some unwary fish; or listening to
the silken rustle and sweet monotony of the waves plashing musically
upon the yellow sands on some fine day. On this evening the tide was
coming in, and Walter had amused himself by standing on some of the
lumps of granite tossed about the shore until the advancing waves
encroached upon and surrounded his little island, and gave him just room
to jump to land. He was standing on one of these great stones watching
the sunset, and laughing to himself at the odd gambols of two or three
porpoises that kept rolling about in a futile manner across the little
bay, when he heard a pleasant voice say to him--
"I say, Evson, are you going to practise the old style of martyrdom--tie
yourself to a stake and let the tide gradually drown you?"
Looking round he was surprised to see Power standing alone on the sands,
and to see also that his little island was so far surrounded that he
could not get to shore without being wet up to the knees.
"Hallo!" he said; "I see I must take off my shoes and stockings, and
wade."
But on the slippery piece of rock upon which he was standing he had no
room to do this without losing his balance and tumbling over; so Power
had in a moment taken off his own shoes and stockings, turned up his
trousers above the knees, and waded up to him.
"Now," he said, "get on my back, and I'll carry you in unwetted."
"Thanks, Power," he said, as Power deposited him on the sand; "I'm much
obliged."
Not knowing whether Power would like to be seen with him or not, he
looked at him shyly, and was walking off in another direction, when
Power, who was putting on his stockings again, said to him playfully--
"What, Walter; haven't you the grace to wait for me, after my having
delivered you from such a noyade? Excuse my calling you Walter; I hear
Kenrick and Henderson do it, and somehow you're one of those fellows
whom one meets now and then, whose Christian name seems to suit them
more naturally than the other."
"By all means call me Walter, Power; and I'll wait for you gladly if you
like," said Walter, blushing as he added, "I thought you might not like
to walk with me."
"Not like? Nonsense. I should like it particularly. Let's take a turn
along the shore; we shall just have time before roll-call."
Walter pointed out to him the droll porpoises which had absorbed his
attention, and while they stood looking and laughing at them, Henderson
came up unobserved, and patting Walter on the back, observed
poetically--
"Why are your young hearts sad, oh beautiful children of morning?
Why do your young eyes gaze timidly over the sea?"
"Where _did_ you crib that quotation from, Flip," asked Power laughing;
"your mind's like a shallow brook, and the colour of it always shows the
stratum through which you have been flowing last."
"Shallow brook, quotha?" said Henderson; "a deep and mighty river, sir,
you mean; irresistible by any Power."
"Oh, _do_ shut up. Why was I born with a name that could be punned on?
No more puns, Flip, if you love me," said Power; and they all three
walked under the noble Norman archway that formed the entrance to the
school.
"By the powers," said Henderson to Walter, as the other left them, "you
_have_ got a new friend worth having, Walter. _He_ doesn't make himself
at home with every one, I can tell you; and if he and Dubbs cultivate
you, I should think it's about time for anyone else to be ashamed of
cutting you, my boy."
"I'm quite happy now," said Walter; "with you and Kenrick and him for
friends. I don't care so much for the rest. I wonder why he likes me?"
"Well, because he thinks the fellows a great deal too hard on you for
one thing. How very good and patient you've been, Walter, under it
all."
"It is hard sometimes, Flip, but I deserve it. Only now and then I'm
afraid that you and Ken will get quite tired of me, I've so few to speak
to. Harpour and that lot would be glad enough that I should join them,
I know, and but for you and Ken I should have been driven to do it."
"Never mind, Walter, my boy; the fellows'll come round in time."
So, step by step, with the countenance of some true and worthy friends,
and by the help of a stout and uncorrupted heart, by penitence and by
kindliness, did our brave little Walter win his way. He was helped,
too, greatly, by his achievements in the games. At football he played
with a vigour and earnestness which carried everything before it. He
got several bases, and was the youngest boy in the school who ever
succeeded in doing this. Gradually but surely his temporary
unpopularity gave way; and even before he began to be generally
recognised again, he bade fair _ultimately_ to gain a high position in
the estimation of all his schoolfellows.
There was one scene which he long remembered, and which was very trying
to go through. One fine afternoon the boys' prize for the highest jump
was to be awarded, and as the school were all greatly interested in the
competition, they were assembled in a dense circle in the green
playground, leaving space for the jumpers in the middle. The fine
weather had also tempted nearly all the inhabitants of Saint Winifred's
to be spectators of the contest, and numbers of ladies were present, for
whom the boys had politely left a space within the circle. When the
chief jumping prize had been won by an active fellow in the sixth-form,
another prize was proposed for all boys under fifteen.
Bliss, Franklin, and two other boys at once stepped into the circle as
competitors, and threw off their jackets.
"You must go in for this, Walter," said Henderson. "You're sure to get
it."
"Not I. I won't go in, Flip," said Walter, who was naturally in a
desponding mood, as he looked round on those four hundred faces, and saw
among them all scarcely one sympathising glance. "_You_ go in and win.
And never mind talking to me up here, Henderson; it can't be pleasant
for you, I know, when all the other fellows are cutting me."
"Pooh! Walter. _They're_ in the wrong box; not you and I. `Athanasius
contra mundum,' as Power says. Do go in for the prize."
Walter shook his head gloomily. "I don't like to, before all these
fellows. They'd hiss me or something."
"Well, if _you_ won't, _I_ won't; that's flat."
"O do, Henderson. I'm sure you'd get it. Don't ask me to go in, that's
a good fellow."
"None but these four going in for the little jump? What, only four?"
said one of the young athletes, who carried little blue flags, and
arranged the preliminaries. "Come in some more of you."
"Here are two more," said Henderson; "stick down our names--Henderson
and Evson"; and pulling Walter forward with him inside the circle, he
sat down and began to take off his shoes, that he might run and jump
more easily on the turf.
Thus prominently mentioned, Walter could hardly draw back, so putting
the best face on it he could, he, too, flung off his jacket and shoes.
The movable spar of wood over which the boys jumped was first put at a
height of three feet, which they could all easily manage, and the six,
one after another, cleared it lightly. Even then, however, it was
pretty easy to judge by their action which was the best jumper, and the
connoisseurs on the field at once decided that the chance lay between
Henderson and Walter; Walter was by far the most active and graceful
jumper, but Henderson had the advantage of being a little the taller of
the two.
The spar was raised half an inch each time, and when it had attained the
height of three feet and a half, two of the candidates failed to clear
it after three trials.
Bliss was the next to break down. His awkward jumps had excited a great
deal of laughter, and when he finally failed, Henderson found time even
then to begin a line or two of his monody on Blissidas, which was a
standing joke against poor Bliss, who always met it by the same
invariable observation of "I'll lick you afterwards, Flip."
Only three competitors were now left--Franklin, Henderson, and Walter--
and they jumped on steadily till they had reached the height of four
feet and one inch, and then Franklin broke down, but recovered himself
in the second chance.
The struggle now became very exciting, and as Franklin and Henderson
again cleared the bar at the height of four feet four, each of them were
loudly clapped. But Walter--who jumped last always, because he had been
the last candidate to come forward--although he cleared it with an easy
bound, received no sign of encouragement from any of the boys. He
cleared it in perfect silence, only broken by Mr Paton, who was looking
on with a group of other masters, and who said encouragingly, "Very well
done, Evson; capital!"
The bar was raised an inch, and again the three boys cleared it, and
again the first two were greeted with applause, and Walter was left
unnoticed except by Power and Kenrick, who applauded him heartily, and
patted him on the back. But indeed their clapping only served to throw
into stronger relief the loud applause which the others received.
Walter almost wished that they would desist. He was greatly agitated;
and his friends saw that he was trembling with emotion. He had been
much mortified the first time to be thus pointedly scorned in so large a
crowd of strangers, and made a marked object of reprobation before them
all; but that this open shame should be thus _steadily_ and
_continuously_ put upon him, made his heart swell with sorrow and
indignation at the ungenerous and unforgiving spirit of his
schoolfellows.
Once more the bar was raised an inch. The other two got over it amid a
burst of applause, and this time Walter, who was unnerved by the painful
circumstances in which he found himself, brushed against it as he came
over, and knocked it off. The bar was replaced, and at his second trial
(for three were allowed) he jumped so well that he flew easily over it.
Always before, a boy who had recovered himself after a failure had been
saluted with double cheering, but again Walter's proceedings were
observed by that large crowd in dead silence, while he could not help
overhearing the whispered queries which asked an explanation of so
unusual a circumstance.
"Why don't they cheer him as well as the others?" asked a fair young
girl of her brother. "He looks such a nice boy."
"Because he did a very shabby thing not long ago," was the reply.
He could stand it no longer. He glanced round at the speakers more in
sorrow than in anger, and then, instead of returning to the
starting-point, he turned hastily aside, and, declining the contest,
plunged into the thickest of the crowd. "Evson's giving it up. What a
pity!" said several boys.
"No wonder he's giving it up," said Power indignantly, "after the way
you fellows treat him. Never mind them, Walter," he said, taking him by
the arm; "they will be ashamed of themselves by and by."
"You're not going to withdraw, Evson?" asked one of the chief athletes,
in a kind tone.
"Yes," said Walter, retiring still farther to hide himself amid the
crowd.
"Nonsense!" said Henderson, who had heard the answer; "come, Walter,
it'll spoil all the fun if you don't go on."
"I can't, Flip," said Walter, turning aside, and hastily brushing away
the tears which _would_ come into his eyes.
"Do, Walter, they all wish it," whispered Henderson; "be brave, and get
the prize in spite of all; here's Paton coming round; I'm sure it's to
cheer you up."
"Very well, Flip, I will, if it pleases you; but it's rather hard," he
said, fairly bursting into tears. "Remember, it's only for your sake I
do it, Flip."
"Go on, Walter; don't give way," said Mr Paton aloud, in his gentlest
and most encouraging voice, as the boy hastily re-entered the arena, and
took his place.
This time Franklin finally broke down, Henderson barely scrambled over,
and Walter, nerved by excitement and indignation, cleared the bar by a
brilliant flying leap. There was no mistake about the applause this
time. The boys had seen how their coolness had told on him. They were
touched by the pluck he showed in spite of his dejected look, and as
though to make up for their former deficiency, they clapped him as loud
as either of the others.
And now a spirited contest began between Henderson and Walter. Four
feet six and a half they both accomplished--Walter the first time, and
Henderson the third. When Henderson, at his last trial, barely
succeeded, a loud shout rose from the field, quite enthusiastic enough
to show that the wishes of the school were on his side. This decided
Walter, for he too was anxious that Henderson, who had set his heart
upon the prize, and was now quite eager with emulation, should be the
successful competitor. At four feet seven, therefore, he meant to break
down, but, at the same time, to clear the bar so nearly each time of
trial, that it might not be _obvious_ to any one that he was not putting
forth his best strength. The first time, however, he jumped so
carelessly that Henderson suspected his purpose, and, therefore, the
second time he exerted himself a little more, and, to his own
astonishment, accomplished the leap without having intended to do so.
Henderson also just succeeded in managing it, and as Walter refused to
try another half inch, the prize was declared, amid loud cheers, to be
equally divided between them, after the best competition that ever had
been known.
The boys and the spectators now moved off to the pavilion, where the
prizes were to be distributed by Mrs Lane. But when Walter's name was
called out with Henderson's, only the latter stepped forward. Walter
had disappeared; and the boys were again made to feel, by his voluntary
absence, what bitterness of heart their unkind conduct caused him.
Henderson took the prize for his friend, when he received his own. The
prizes were a silver-mounted riding-whip, and a belt with a silver
clasp, and Mrs Lane told Henderson that she was sorry for the other
victor's absence, and that either of them might choose whichever prize
he liked best. When the crowd had dispersed Henderson, knowing Walter's
haunts, strolled with Kenrick to a little fir-grove on the slope of
Bardlyn Hill, not far above the sea. Here, as they expected, they found
Walter. He was sitting in a listless attitude, with his back towards
them, and he started as he heard their footsteps.
"You let yourself be beaten, Evson Walter,
And afterwards you proved a base defaulter,"
said Henderson, who was in high spirits, as he clapped his hands on
Walter's shoulders, and continued--
"Behold I bring you now the silver prizes,
Meant to reward your _feets_ and exercises."
Even Walter could not help smiling at this sally, but he said at once,
"You must keep both prizes, Flip; I don't mean to take either--indeed I
won't; I shouldn't have gone in at all but for you."
"Oh, do take one," said Kenrick; "the fellows will think you too proud
if you don't."
"I don't care what they think of me, Ken; you saw how they treated me.
Flip, I'd take the prize in a minute to please you, but, indeed, it
would only remind me constantly of this odious jumping, and I'd much
rather not."
"I can't take _both_ prizes, Walter," said Henderson.
"Well, I'll tell you what--give one to Franklin; he jumped very well,
and he's not half a bad fellow. Don't press me, Flip; I can't refuse
you anything if you do, because you've been so very, very kind; but you
don't know how wretched I feel."
Henderson, who had looked annoyed, cleared up in a moment.
"All right, Walter; it shall be as you like. Franklin shall have it.
You've had quite enough to bear already. So cheer up, and come along."
It was soon known in the school how Walter had yielded the prize to
Franklin, and it was known, too, that next day he had gone to jump with
Henderson, Franklin, and some others, and had cleared the bar at four
feet eight, which none of them had been able to do. The boys admired
his conduct throughout; and from that day forward many were as anxious
to renew an acquaintance with him as they had previously been to break
it off.
And there was an early opportunity of testing this; for a few days after
the scene just described the champion race for boys under fifteen was
tried for, and when Walter won it by accomplishing the distance in the
shortest time that had yet been known, and by distancing the other
runners, he was received with a cheer, which was all the more hearty
because the boys were anxious to do him a tardy justice. If Walter had
not been too noble to be merely patronised, and too reserved to be
"hail-fellow-well-met" with every one, he would have fallen more easily
and speedily into the position which he now slowly but honourably
recovered.
It need hardly be said that, in his school work, Walter struggled with
all his might to give satisfaction to Mr Paton, and to spare him from
all pain. There was something really admirable in the way he worked,
and taxed himself even beyond his strength, to prove his regret for Mr
Paton's loss, by doing all that was required of him. Naturally quick
and lively as he was, he sat as quiet and attentive in school, as if he
had been gifted with a disposition as unmercurial as that of Daubeny
himself. In order to make sure of his lessons, he went over them with
Henderson (who entered eagerly into his wishes) with such care, that
they, both of them, astonished themselves with their own improving
progress. If they came to any insuperable difficulties, Kenrick or
Power gladly helped them, and explained everything to them with that
sympathetic clearness of instruction which makes one boy the best
teacher to another. The main difficulty still continued to be the
repetition, and grammar rules; but in order to know them, at least by
rote, Walter would get up with the earliest gleam of daylight, and would
put on his trousers and waistcoat after bed-time, and go and sit, book
in hand, under the gaslight in the passage. This was hard work,
doubtless; but it brought its own reward in successful endeavour and an
approving conscience. Under this discipline his memory rapidly grew
retentive; no difficulty can stand the assaults of such batteries as
these, and Walter was soon free from all punishments, and as happy as
the day was long.
One little cloud alone remained--the continued and obvious displeasure
of his tutor, and one or two of Mr Paton's chief friends among the
masters. One of these was Mr Edwards, who, among other duties, had the
management of the chapel choir. But at length Mr Edwards gave him a
distinguished proof of his returning respect. He sat near Walter in
chapel, and the hymn happened to be one which came closely home to
Walter's heart after his recent troubles. This made him join with great
feeling in the singing, and the choirmaster was struck with the strength
and rare sweetness of his voice. As he left the chapel, Mr Edwards
said to him, "Evson, there is a vacancy for a treble in the choir; I
heard you sing in chapel to-day, and I think that you would supply the
place very well. Should you like to join?"
Walter very gladly accepted the offer, partly because he hailed the
opportunity of learning a little about music, and because the choir boys
were allowed several highly-valued and exceptional privileges; but
chiefly because they were always chosen by the masters with express
reference to character, and therefore the invitation to join their
number was the clearest proof that could be given him that the past was
condoned.
The last to offer him the right-hand of forgiveness, but the best and
warmest friend to him when once he had done so, was Mr Percival. He
still passed him with only the coldest and most distant recognition, for
he not only felt Mr Paton's loss with peculiar sorrow, but was also
vexed and disappointed that a boy whose character he had openly defended
should have proved so unworthy of his encomium. It happened that the
_only_ time that Walter was ever again sent to detention was for a
failure in a long lesson, including much which had been learnt on the
morning that he was out of school, which, in consequence, he found it
impossible, with all his efforts, to master. Mr Paton saw how
mortified and pained he was to fail, and when he sent him to detention,
most kindly called him up, and told him that he saw the cause of his
unsuccess, and was not _in the least_ displeased at it, although, as he
had similarly punished other boys, he could not make any exception to
the usual rule of punishment. On this occasion, it was again Mr
Percival's turn to sit with the _detenus_, and seeing Walter among them,
he too hastily concluded that he was still continuing a career of
disgrace.
"What! you here again?" he said with chilling scorn, as he passed the
seat where Walter sat writing. "After what has happened, I should have
been ashamed to be sent here, if I were you."
After his days and nights of toil, after his long, manly, noble struggle
to show his penitence, after his heavy and disproportionate punishment,
it was hard to be so addressed by one whom he respected, in the presence
of all the idlest in the school, and in consequence of a purely
accidental and isolated failure. Walter looked up with an appealing
look in his dark blue eyes; but Mr Percival had passed on, and he bent
his head over his paper with the old sense that the past could _never_
be forgotten, the recollection of his disgrace _never_ obliterated. No
one was observing him; and as the feeling of despair grew in him, a
large tear dropped down upon his paper; he wiped it quietly away, and
continued writing, but another and another fell, and he could not help
it. For Mr Percival was almost the only master whose goodwill he very
strongly coveted, and whose approval he was most anxious to attain.
When next Mr Percival stopped and looked at Walter, he saw that his
words had wounded him to the heart, and knew well why the boy's lines
were blurred and blotted, when he showed them up with a timid hand and
downcast look.
He was touched. "I have been too hard on you, Evson," he said; "I see
it now. Come to tea with me after chapel this evening; I want to speak
with you."