"THE HILLS FOR EVER."
The examination began and was continued amidst a profound silence on
the part of all the spectators. Necks were craned forward and ears
were at attention point. When Florence answered a question correctly
Mrs. Aylmer the less nodded her little head until the plumes which she
wore in her hair quivered all over. Mrs. Aylmer the great bridled and
glanced with her cold eyes at the proudest of the county folk, as much
as to say, "There's genius for you."
Mary Bateman's father, who sat very near Mrs. Aylmer the less, smiled
also when Florence made a correct answer, and looked with sympathy at
little Mrs. Aylmer; and when his own child Mary scored a point, as he
expressed it, a gratified flush rose to his old cheeks, and he dropped
his eyes, not caring to look at the girl whom he loved best in the
world.
But when to question after question Kitty Sharston gave a correct
reply, the _furore_ and excitement in the breasts of several of the
spectators rose to the highest pitch, for Kitty's soft voice, her
gentle answers, her correct and lady-like utterances impressed everyone
favorably. Then, too, it was an open secret that she was Sir John's
favorite; it had been whispered by more than one visitor to another
that it was on account of Kitty Sharston that this great fuss had been
made, that the Scholarship had been opened to the competition of the
school, that the girls were here, that they themselves were here--it
was all on account of this slim little girl with the big eyes and the
sweet pathetic face; and reminiscences of Sir John and Kitty's father
together side by side, shoulder to shoulder, in the trenches before
Sebastopol arose in the memory of one or two visitors present.
It was undoubtedly the wish of the guests who were assembled at Cherry
Court Park that night that Kitty should be the successful winner. And
now there were strong, more than strong hopes that such would be the
case, for although Florence's answers were full of spirit and
invariably correct, there seemed to those who listened to be a
background of substantial knowledge behind Kitty's grave remarks.
Miss Helen Dartmoor sat bolt upright, her lips firmly compressed, and a
disapproving expression in her eyes; but Miss Helen Dartmoor did not
count. It was Sir John, whose eyes followed his favorite with keener
and keener appreciation and admiration; it was Mrs. Clavering; it was
also most of the girls themselves, for beyond doubt Kitty was the
favorite. If she won the Scholarship it would give universal
satisfaction.
And now most of the examination had come to an end. The questions on
history had all been answered and duly marked by the patient professors
who had come to Cherry Court Park for the great occasion. The girls
one by one had approached the piano and played each her trial piece and
had sung her trial song, and still it seemed to everyone that Kitty led
the van; for her music, although not quite so showy and brilliant as
Florence's, was marked with true musical expression, and her song, a
sweet old English ballad, came purely and freely from her young lips.
Mary also acquitted herself extremely well in the musical examination,
and old Mr. Bateman raised his head and listened with real pleasure as
the wild warbling notes of "Annie Laurie" sounded through the old hall.
But at last the supreme test of all arrived. The three girls, Sir John
leading the way, approached the central dais. There they stood side by
side, their soft Greek draperies falling round their slim young
figures. Sir John then stepped to the front and addressed the crowd of
eager spectators.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I need not tell you with what intense
pleasure I have listened to the spirited answers our three young
friends have made to the different questions put to them. The
Scholarship, however, has yet to be won--the supreme test is now to be
given--the trial essays are now to be read. In order that fair play
should above all things be exercised on this important occasion, I have
asked my three young friends not to sign their names to the essays they
have written. The essays are in three blank envelopes, which now lie
before me on the table." Here Sir John touched three envelopes with
his hand. "I will proceed to read them aloud, taking them up
haphazard, and having no idea myself who the writer of each essay is.
I have selected as the subject of the test essay the great and
wonderful subject of Heroism, for I feel that such a theme will give
scope for the real mind, the real heart, the real soul of the young
writer. I will say no more now. After I have read the essays we will
retire into the outer hall for two or three minutes, and on our return
I shall have the pleasure of declaring on whose head I am to place the
crown of bay-leaves."
Sir John paused for a moment, the girls stood close together, they
faced the crowd standing at one side of the dais. Florence glanced
across the hall. Once again she met her mother's eyes--she saw no one
in that intense moment of her young life except the little Mummy, and
the love in her mother's eyes once again made her say to herself,
"Nothing, nothing, nothing will make me break her heart; I will go
through with it--yes, I will go through with it."
Kitty Sharston's clear eyes also gazed across the hall, but she saw no
one present--only, far, far away, a lonely man with an iron-grey head,
and a face which was the dearest face in all the world to her. She saw
this man, and felt that for his sake no effort could be too great. If
she won the Scholarship all would indeed be well; but if she failed she
could at least be good, she could at least submit. Oh, yes; oh, yes;
it would be fearfully hard, but God could give her strength.
As to Mary Bateman, she looked at her father and her father looked at
her, and then she held herself erect and said to herself, "I can but
fail, and in any case I have done my best."
Just then, the murmurs of applause having died away, Sir John took up
the first of the envelopes, opened it, unfolded the sheet of paper
which lay within, and commenced to read.
The essay on Heroism which he first read happened to be written by Mary
Bateman. It was practical, written in good English, the spelling all
correct, and also contained some fairly well-chosen allusions to great
heroes of history. The essay was thoughtful, and, although there was
little originality in it, the guests listened with marked attention.
The reading of the essay occupied exactly ten minutes, for Sir John
read it slowly, pausing often to give full weight to the words which he
read. He had a beautiful, mellow, perfectly-trained voice, and Mary's
somewhat lame utterances could not have sounded to better advantage.
When he had finished the guests applauded, but without any intense
enthusiasm. He laid the paper down before him on the table, and then
proceeded to read the second essay. This had altogether a different
note. The allusions to history were far less numerous, but the heart
of the young writer made itself felt. It was the work of an immature
mind, but here and there was a delicate touch which pointed to the
possibility of future genius. Here and there was a graceful allusion
which caused Sir John's own voice to falter, and above all things,
through each word there breathed a lofty and noble spirit.
"Only the daughter of a soldier could have written those words,"
thought Sir John; "surely this must be Kitty's work, and surely no
other essay could approach hers."
So he thought, and as he came to the last words his voice rang out
clear and full, and when he ceased the applause was great, and Kitty's
eyes shone, although she dared not meet anyone, for it was part of the
code of honor amongst the three girls that the judges should not guess
who had written each individual essay.
Then at last it came to be Florence's turn. Florence had copied Bertha
Keys' paper, scarcely taking in its meaning. She had copied it in hot
haste, with hot rage, defiance, determination in her heart. She
scarcely knew herself what the words meant, she had not taken in their
true significance. The essay was a little longer than the others, and
began in quite a different way.
Sir John paused for a moment, glanced down the page, then adjusted his
glasses, drew himself up very erect and began to read. He had not read
one sentence before he perceived that he had now quite different metal
to deal with. Although disappointment stormed at his heart, he was too
true a gentleman and too brave a soldier to allow such a feeling to
influence him even for a moment. Yes, he would do the spirited words
with which he had now to deal every justice. So he read on, the fire
in the paper communicating itself to him, and the guests who listened
soon forgot all about the Scholarship and all about the three young
candidates. They were interested in the words themselves; the words
rang out; they were not remarkable so much for the heart element as for
the strong, proud, intellectual touch.
The essay was rich in metaphor and still richer in quotation. From the
Greeks, from the Romans, from the English, from America, from
Australia, from all parts of the globe did the young writer cull
incident and quotation. She used a brief and telling argument, and she
brought it to a successful and logical conclusion. Finally she quoted
some words from Tennyson, aptly and splendidly chosen, and when Sir
John's voice ceased the entire hall rose up in a body and cheers and
acclamations ascended to the roof.
Florence's face was white as death.
Sir John laid down the paper.
"We will now," he said, turning to his fellow-judges, "retire for a few
moments to decide on the winner of the Scholarship."
Sir John and the other judges immediately left the hall, and the girls,
still standing in that strained and painful position, waited with
lowered eyes for the result. Amongst the three, however, all doubt was
over. Mary Bateman knew that her poor and lame words had not the
slightest chance. Kitty would not have taken the Scholarship even if
it had been offered to her. Could Mary have written that brilliant
essay? Could it by any possibility be the work of Florence? But
whoever had written it deserved the Scholarship, deserved it by every
rule which had been laid upon the young competitors.
So she thought, and Florence, who did not dare to meet Bertha's eyes,
who did not dare at this moment even to look at her mother, wished with
all her heart that the ground might open and swallow her up.
Could she take this undeserved honor? The words were crowding to her
lips, "Oh, don't, for heaven's sake, give it to me; I could never have
written it," but she did not speak the words.
Just then there was a pause amongst the crowd of spectators, and Sir
John and the other judges returned. The judges sat down in their seats
and Sir John came slowly forward. His face was very white.
"The examination for the Cherry Court School Scholarship is over," he
began. "With one accord we have adjudged the prize. The three young
competitors have all done admirably. The questions have been so
universally well answered that there would have been a difficulty in
giving the prize to any one when all three so very nearly had earned
it, were it not for the trial essay; but the trial essay has removed
all doubt. The Scholarship, by every test of learning, of high
endeavor, of noble thought, belongs to the girl whose motto on her
paper has been 'The Hills for Ever.' She has indeed gone to the hills
for her breezy thoughts, for her noble and winged words. May she to
the longest day she lives retain all that she now feels, and go on
truly from strength to strength. The names of the competitors are not
attached to the essays, therefore I must request the girl who has
adopted the motto, 'The Hills for Ever,' to come forward, for she is
the winner of the Scholarship."
Sir John paused and looked down the room. He did not dare to glance at
Kitty, for he knew only too well that, clever and sweet as she was, she
had not written those words.
There was a dead silence. Mary Bateman looked at Florence--Kitty also
looked at her. They felt sure she had written the splendid essay, and
they wondered at her silence. She remained quite still for a moment.
"Miss Bateman, is this your essay?" said Sir John, holding up the paper
to Mary.
Mary shook her head and fell back.
"Catherine Sharston, is this yours?" again said Sir John.
Kitty bent her head low in denial.
"Then Miss Aylmer--what is the matter, Miss Aylmer?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing," said Florence. She gave one wild glance in the
direction of Bertha Keys, but Bertha was too wise to meet Florence's
eyes just then.
"She feels it, but she must go through with it," thought the pupil
teacher. "I did not know that I had such genius, but I shall never
doubt my own power in the future. Is she indeed mean enough to take my
work and claim it as her own? Of course she is; it would be fatal to
me if she did otherwise."
As Florence slowly, very slowly, as if each step was weighted with
lead, crept forward to the front of the dais without any of that look
of triumph and pleasure which ought to have marked her face at such a
moment, Bertha Keys threw back her own head and allowed her watchful
light blue eyes to follow the girl, while a smile of sardonic import
curled her lips.
When Florence got opposite Sir John she suddenly, as if overpowered by
intense emotion, fell on her knees. She could not have done anything
which would more completely bring down the house. Cheers,
acclamations, hurrahs, every sort of congratulation filled the air.
When they had subsided for a moment and Mrs. Aylmer the less had
released the hand of Mrs. Aylmer the great, which she had clutched
frantically in her intense agitation, Sir John took Florence's hand and
with a slight motion raised her to her feet.
"Stand up, Florence Aylmer," he said; "you have done splendidly; I
congratulate you. The Scholarship is yours, nobly won, splendidly won.
Take your honors, my dear."
As he spoke he stepped to the table and brought back a small crown of
filigree silver. It was a simple wreath in the form of bay-leaves. He
laid it on Florence's dark head.
"This is yours," he said; "wear it with dignity; keep the great, the
good, the true always before you. And this also is yours," he said.
He slipped a thin gold chain with the ruby locket attached round
Florence's neck. He then placed the purse which contained the
Scholarship money for the ensuing year, and the parchment scroll, in
her hand. "And now, young people," he said, "let us all cheer three
times the winner of the Scholarship."
The girls cheered as lustily as schoolboys, the band in the corner
burst forth with the gay strains of "See the Conquering Hero Comes,"
and after a brief signal from Sir John there was suddenly heard outside
the report of a small cannon, which was the intimation that the
bonfires were to be lit.
"Florence, Florence, come here!" said her mother, and Florence ran
across the hall and buried her face in her mother's lap.