Oh deeper dole!
That so august a spirit, sphered so fair,
Should from the starry sessions of his peers,
Decline to quench so bright a brilliancy
In hell's sick spume. Ay me, the deeper dole!
Tannhauser.
It was generally on Sundays that boys walked in the croft with those who
were, and whom they wished to be considered as, their most intimate and
confidential friends. To one who knew anything of the boys' characters,
it was most curious and suggestive to observe the groups into which they
spontaneously formed themselves. The sets at Saint Winifred's were not
very exclusive or very accurately defined; and one boy might, by virtue
of different sympathies or accomplishments, belong to two or three sets
at once. Still there were some sets whose outermost circles barely
touched each other; and hitherto the friends among whom Kenrick had
chiefly moved would never have associated intimately with the fellows
among whom Harpour was considered as the leading spirit.
It was therefore with no little surprise that Mr Percival, who with Mr
Paton passed through the croft on his Sunday stroll, observed Kenrick--
not with his usual companions, Power or Walter or Whalley--but arm in
arm with Harpour and Tracy, and accompanied by one or two other boys of
similar character. It immediately explained to him much that had taken
place. He had heard vague rumours of the part Kenrick had taken at the
meeting; he had heard both from him and from Walter that they were no
longer on good terms with each other; but now it was further plain to
him that Kenrick was breaking loose from all his old moorings, and
sailing into the open sea of wilfulness and pride.
"What are you so much interested about?" asked Mr Paton, as his
colleague followed the boys with his glance.
"I am wondering how and why this change has come over Kenrick."
"What change?"
"Don't you see with whom he is walking? Oh, I forgot that you never
notice that kind of outer life among the boys; on the other hand, I
always do; it helps me to understand these fellows, and do more for them
than I otherwise could."
"You observe them to some purpose, Percival, at any rate, for your
influence among them is wonderful--as I have occasion to discover every
now and then."
"But Kenrick puzzles me. `_Nemo repente fuit turpissimus_' one used to
think; yet that boy has dropped from the society of such a noble fellow
as Power, with his exquisite mind and manners, plumb into the abyss of
intimacy with Harpour. There must be something all wrong."
A very little observation showed Mr Percival that his conjectures about
Kenrick were correct. Clever as he was, his work deteriorated rapidly;
the whole expression of his countenance changed for the worse; he was
implicated more than once in very questionable transactions; he lost
caste among the best and most honourable fellows, and proportionately
gained influence among the worst and lowest lot in the school, whose
idol and hero he gradually became. His descent was sudden, because his
character had always been unstable. The pride and passion which were
mollified and restrained as long as he had moved with wise and upright
companions, broke forth with violence when once he fancied himself
slighted, and had committed himself to a course which he well knew to be
wrong. There was one who conjectured much of this at a very early
period. It was Kenrick's mother; his letters always indicated the exact
state of his thoughts and feelings; and Mrs Kenrick knew that the
coldness and recklessness which had lately marked them were proofs that
her boy was going wrong. The violence, too, with which he spoke of
Evson, and the indications that he had dropped his old friends and taken
up with new and worse companions, filled her mind with anxiety and
distress; yet what could she do, poor lady, in her lonely home? There
was one thing only that she could do for him in her weakness; and those
outpourings of sorrowful and earnest prayer were not in vain.
Mr Percival tried to make some effort to save Kenrick from the wrong
courses which he had adopted; he asked him quietly to come and take a
glass of wine after dinner; but the interview only made matters worse.
Kenrick, not undated by his popularity among the lower forms as a
champion of the supposed "rights" of the school, chose to adopt an
independent and almost patronising tone towards his tutor; he entered in
a jaunty manner, and glancing carelessly over the table, declined to
take any of the fruit to which the master invited him to help himself.
He determined to be as uncommunicative as possible; avoided all
conversation, and answered Mr Percival's questions on all subjects by
monosyllables, uttered in a disrespectful and nonchalant tone. Yet all
the while he despised himself and was ill at ease. He knew the deep
kindness of the master's intentions, and felt that he ought to be
grateful for the interest shown towards him; but it required a stronger
power and a different method from his own, to exorcise from his heart
the devil of self-will; and besides this, it cannot be denied that in
the first bloom and novelty of sin, in the free exercise of an insolent
liberty, there is a sense of pleasure for many hearts; it is the honey
on the rim of the poison-cup, the bloom on the Dead Sea apple, the
mirage on the scorching waste.
Mr Percival understood him thoroughly, and saw that he must be left to
the bitter teachings of experience. Always fond of Kenrick, he had
never been blind to his many faults of character, and was particularly
displeased with his present manner, which he knew to be only adopted on
purpose to baffle any approach to advice or warning.
"Good morning, Kenrick," he said, rising rather abruptly, while a slight
smile of pity rested on his lips.
"Good morning, sir," said Kenrick; and as he rose in an airy manner to
leave the room, Mr Percival put a hand on each of the boy's shoulders,
and looked him steadily in the face. Kenrick tried to meet the look,
not with the old open gaze of frank and innocent confidence, but with an
expression half shrinking, half defiant. His eyes fell immediately, and
satisfied by this perusal of his features that Kenrick was going wrong,
Mr Percival said only this--
"Your face, my boy, is as a book where men
May read strange matters."
Kenrick had tried to be off-hand and patronising in manner, but the
attempt had failed egregiously, and he felt very uncomfortable as he
left the room where he had so often met with kindness, and which he
_never_ entered on the same terms again.
Meanwhile our two invalids, Walter and Eden, recovered but slowly. But
for the kindness of every one about them their hours would have passed
very wearily in the sickroom. Their tedium was enlivened by constant
visits from Henderson and Power, who never failed to interest Walter by
their school news, and especially by telling of those numerous little
incidents which tended to show that although after the late excitements
there was a certain detumescence, still the general effect had been to
arouse a spirit of opposition to all constituted authority. Kenrick's
name was sometimes on their lips, but as they could not speak of him
favourably, and as the subject was a painful one, they rarely talked
much about him.
Among other visitors was Dr Lane, who, as well as Mrs Lane, showed
great solicitude about them. The Doctor, who had been told by Dr Keith
that, but for Walter's tender nursing, Eden's case might have assumed a
far more dangerous complexion, lent them interesting books and pictures,
and often came for a few minutes to exchange some kind words with them.
Mrs Lane asked them to the Lodge, read to them, sang to them, played
chess and draughts with them, and often gave them drives in her
carriage. These little gracious acts of simple kindness won the hearts
of both the boys, and hastened their convalescence.
Sometimes Walter was allowed to take Eden for a stroll on the shore
during school hours, when there was no danger of their being excited or
interrupted by the boisterous society of other boys. There was one
favourite spot where the two often sat reading and talking. It was by
the mouth of the little river--a green knoll sheltered under the rising
hills, to the very feet of which the little waves came rippling
musically as the summer tide flowed in. And here Eden would lie down at
full length on the soft grass, and doze quietly, while the gentle breeze
lifted his fair hair from his forehead with refreshful coolness; or he
would listen while Walter read to him some stirring ballad or pleasant
tale.
And thus in the course of a fortnight Walter was himself again, and
Eden, not long after, was so far recovered as to be allowed to join his
schoolfellows in the usual routine. He was, however, removed with
Walter, and Henderson, and Power, to another dormitory, which they had
to themselves; and the promise of this, relieving his mind from a
constant source of dread, helped him to recover. The boys, too,
conscious how great a wrong had been done to him, received him back
among them with unusual consideration and delicate kindness. They
pitied him heartily. It was impossible not to do so when they looked at
his wan, sad face, so changed in expression; and when they observed his
timid, shrinking manner, and the tremor which came over him at any
sudden sight or sound. So every voice was softened when they spoke to
him, and the manner of even the roughest boys became to him affectionate
and even caressing. If any had felt inclined to side with Harpour
against the monitors before, the sight of Eden went far to alter their
convictions.
Yet the poor child was never happy except when he was in Walter's
society, and in Power's study. Even there he was changed. The bright
merry laugh which once rang out incessantly was rarely or never heard
now; and a somewhat sad smile was all that could be elicited from him.
He seemed, too, to have lost for a time all his old interest in work.
The form competition had no further attraction for him; the work seemed
irksome, and he had no spirits to join in any game. Once Power kindly
rallied him on his general listlessness, but Eden only looked up at him
appealingly, and said, while the weak tears overflowed his eyes, "Don't
be angry with me, Power, I can't help it; I don't feel quite, right yet.
O, Power, I'm afraid you'll never like me again as you did."
"Why, Arty, your illness is all the more reason why I should."
"But, Power, I shall never be the same as I once was. It seems as if
some light had gone out and left me in the dark."
"Nonsense, Arty; the summer holidays will bring you round again."
But Eden only shook his head, and muttered something about Colonel
Braemar not being kind to him and his little sister.
"Do you think they would let you come and stay part of the holidays with
us?"
Eden brightened up in a moment, and promised to write and ask.