HENRY HALFORD'S NEW STUDY.
Mr. Armstrong's horse, a valuable and spirited chestnut, stood at the
gate of Lime Grove about ten days after Mrs. Armstrong's visit to
Englefield Grange.
The family had just finished breakfast in a large room overlooking a
beautiful garden from its broad bay-window. The sun shone brightly on
the frozen gravel walks, and glittered in the rime that hung on the
branches of the leafless trees. Bare and cold as the January prospect of
winter might be, yet the clear air and bright sunlight had an
invigorating effect on youthful and healthy constitutions.
"Pray wrap up well," said Mrs. Armstrong, as she saw Mary helping her
father with his great-coat, "you will have a cold ride this morning; and
take care Firefly does not slip."
"No fear of that, Maria, he's a most sure-footed horse; and besides, the
ground is too hard to be slippery. And as to wrapping up," he added,
patting with his hand a thick shawl doubled across his chest and throat,
"I think I am wrapped up sufficiently to defy any kind of weather."
"Not in Russia, papa" (the once objectionable title was tolerated now);
"your nose would be frozen, and icicles would hang on your eyelashes; I
learnt that in my geography at school."
"Yes, there is no doubt about that fact, Freddy; but in England such
terrible results are not likely to happen; and that reminds me I hear
you are going to a new school, and I hope you will be a good and
attentive boy, and not give your mamma and sister any trouble about your
lessons or by being late; and I must be off too," he added, glancing at
the clock; "and, Freddy, you have only a quarter of an hour to finish
your breakfast and get to school."
"I have finished now, papa," cried the boy, starting up as his father
left the room; and then coming over to where his mother sat in an
easy-chair by the fire, he put his little hand on hers and said--"Mamma,
will you go with me to school? I don't like going by myself the first
morning."
Mrs. Armstrong put her arm round her boy and drew him to her side.
"I am not well enough to venture out in the cold, Freddy," she replied,
"but Mary will go with you; and you need not be afraid of Dr. Halford,
he is most gentle and kind to little boys who are attentive and learn
their lessons, and I hope you will try to please him.--Mary, my dear,"
continued Mrs. Armstrong as her daughter entered the room, "Freddy does
not like to go to school the first time by himself, will you take him?"
"Oh yes, mamma, I should like the walk above all things on this bright
cold morning. I know the house, it is not far--come Freddy."
Freddy kissed his mother, and then ran upstairs after Mary, and in a
very few minutes they were walking along the country road together, Mary
with elastic graceful step, and Freddy half walking, half running by her
side.
The brother and sister were overflowing with health and spirits on this
clear wintry day, and stepped quickly on till they drew near their
destination; then Freddy subsided into a more sober pace. The first
visit to a new school has rather a depressing influence upon the boyish
feelings at eight years old. Freddy's manner excited Mary's sympathy, it
was therefore with a very demure look that she led her little brother to
the entrance and knocked.
As they stood waiting for admission several boys older than Freddy
entered the gate, and passed round the house by a side way to the
schoolroom entrance. Of course such a proceeding would have been at that
moment too trying for Freddy's nerves, but he cast furtive, inquiring
glances at his future schoolfellows, which they returned fearlessly and
with interest.
So intent was the child that the opening of the door startled him, and
he did not quite recover till he found himself alone with Mary in the
drawing-room of Englefield Grange. How often in after years Mary
recalled that visit! and how little she anticipated, as she stood
admiring the prospect which had so attracted her mother, that its
consequences would be interwoven with the whole thread of her future
life!
Mrs. Armstrong had been unwilling to send her boy too soon after the
close of the Christmas holidays. More than a week had passed, and yet
the boarders were returning rather slowly.
"School is all very well," they argued, "in summer, when we can have
cricket and games in the playground till bedtime." And we are quite
willing to own that winter evenings at school are a trial to a boy who
compares them with the warm carpeted parlour, the blazing fire, and the
freedom of home, with no lessons to learn.
The arrangements at Dr. Halford's in winter were, however, very
homelike. The boys sat on winter evenings in a comfortable class-room,
with two fireplaces, not stoves, in which genial fires, protected by
wire guards, blazed pleasantly, and large gas burners increased the
warmth and created light and cheerfulness.
Still, during the first week or two after the holidays the restless
boy-spirit often rebelled against the necessary restraint, without which
or the presence of a master the room would very soon have become a
modern Babel, or something worse, in noise and tumult.
On this Monday morning Mrs. Halford was busy in the dormitory,
arranging, with the assistance of the wardrobe-keeper, the clothes of
those boys who had arrived during the preceding week.
The door opened hastily, and Kate Marston entered. Mrs. Halford has
changed very little since we saw her at the tea-table some years before,
listening to Dr. Mason's letter. She looked up hastily and smiled as her
niece said, "Aunt, is the key of the wardrobe room in your key-basket? I
cannot find it anywhere." She advanced to the table on which the basket
lay, and began to turn over the contents.
"I have the key, my dear," said her aunt, putting her hand into her
pocket. "I found it in the door last evening, and took possession of
it."
"Oh! Harry, Harry," exclaimed Kate, laughing, "you are incorrigible; how
earnestly the dear old fellow did promise me to put the key back in its
place! I expect I shall find the drawers open and every sash of the
wardrobe pushed back."
Mrs. Halford smiled. "No, my dear," she said, "I went in and put
everything to rights before I locked the door."
The kind, loving mother had found doors and wardrobe open, and the usual
neatness of everything destroyed by her boy in his anxiety to discover a
missing vest, which after all was found in his own bedroom.
Henry Halford has changed very little in character during the years that
have elapsed since the receipt of Dr. Mason's letters. He has made great
progress in his studies, and when he left Dr. Mason's care, about three
years before the Christmas-time of which we write, his father, who had
just parted with a classical assistant, found Henry quite capable of
supplying his place.
Dr. Halford felt also the truth of Thomson's words--
"Teaching we learn, and giving we retain,
The birth of intellect, when dumb, forgot."
And Henry Halford so thoroughly understood the advantage to himself that
he entered into his task with interest and zeal. Young as he was, he
soon gained the honour and respect of his father's elder pupils, who
were not slow to discover the real value of their young teacher's
knowledge.
But Henry Halford at the age of twenty-two was far beyond that age in
appearance as well as knowledge. His figure, though tall and rather
slight, had a manliness of carriage seldom seen before twenty-five. The
clear olive complexion looked even fair by contrast to the thick dark
whiskers and eyebrows that adorned it. A beard and moustache were not
then, as now, considered necessary ornaments, or we might say useful
appendages for the mouth, neck, and throat. At all events, Harry Halford
was pronounced handsome by those who were sufficiently intimate with him
to observe the play of features, the mobile mouth, and the intelligent
sparkling of the deep blue eyes while conversing, although the former
was large and displayed want of firmness, and the nose scarcely escaped
being pronounced a snub.
Such was the young tutor who now sat in the class-room of the Grange,
reading some Greek author, and quite oblivious to the unchecked noise
made by the early arrival of day pupils and the boarders in the room.
He had a wonderful power of concentrating his mind on any one subject in
spite of surroundings which would have driven some students crazy. The
brass bands or a grinding organ might have paraded London streets in
peace so far as Henry Halford was concerned. And his sister and cousin
would often practise together for hours in winter, in a room close to
his little study, uncomplained of by him even when a boy.
As he grew older, and after Fanny left home on her marriage, he would
often say to Kate Marston, "Why don't you practise, Kate? I assure you
it will not disturb me."
But Kate, after his return from Dr. Mason's, seldom touched the piano
while he was in the house; her love of music was so true that she could
not understand the possibility of not being disturbed in any mental
employment by the _practice_, not the _perfect_ performance of a piece
of music.
Well and correctly played, a beautiful air falls on the ear as melodious
harmony without disturbing any mental effort then occupying the mind;
but to a true musician every false note, every break of tune or measure,
jars upon the senses, and attracts other mental powers beyond the mere
sense of hearing, and totally breaks up for a time the disturbed train
of thought.
But Henry Halford was no musician, and therefore not liable to
interruptions of this kind, nor indeed of any other, as his present
oblivion in the class-room plainly indicates.
Even the opening of the door failed to disturb him, and it was only when
a sudden silence fell on the rebels that the voice of his father made
itself heard.
Henry started from his seat, closed the book, and followed Dr. Halford,
who beckoned him out of the room.
"Mrs. Armstrong is in the drawing-room, Henry. I suppose she has brought
her little boy. Will you go and see her? I fear she will detain me. The
clock has struck nine, and I will get these boys into order while you
are gone."
Dr. Halford always took this "getting into order" upon himself; it was
one of the duties he could not delegate to his son.
Dr. Halford had understood from the maidservant who admitted Mary and
her brother that _Mrs._ Armstrong had brought the little boy, and Henry
passed on to the drawing-room, prepared to be detained by a long story
of the requirements of her child and the injunctions of a fond mother.
It must be owned he opened the door rather reluctantly, but it was to
start with surprise, and for a few moments to lose all self-possession.
A young, handsome, and elegant girl rose as he entered, and bowed also
with slight confusion. Her mother had described Dr. Halford as a tall,
pale, intellectual-looking man of sixty, with white hair and a slight
stoop. Who then could this be, with his erect bearing and youthful face?
Mary Armstrong could not control the deep blush that rose to her cheek,
but she quickly recovered her self-possession. Mary had been subject to
too many contrasts in life and was too really well-bred to allow of any
awkwardness. She took Freddy's hand and led him forward as she said, "I
have brought my little brother, Frederick Armstrong, to school; he did
not like to come alone on the first morning, and mamma was not well
enough to bring him herself."
Henry Halford by this time had also recovered himself to a certain
degree as he stammered out--
"I will tell my father, Miss Armstrong; he is in the schoolroom at
present. He asked me to see--I thought Mrs. Armstrong----" and then
remembering his father's fear of being detained by that lady, and of his
own dread of her in consequence, he paused in helpless confusion.
Woman-like, this hesitation gave Mary courage. She could scarcely
repress a smile as the young man's words explained unintentionally the
cause of his evident surprise. He had expected a middle-aged lady, her
mother, instead of a young girl. Perhaps this was the studious son
spoken of by Dr. Halford to her mother. Bookworms were always awkward in
the company of ladies, especially young ones; and as these thoughts
passed rapidly through her mind, she said with her accustomed ease and
dignity--for Mary Armstrong could be dignified at times--"I need not
detain you, Mr. Halford, if you will kindly take my little brother to
the schoolroom and explain to Dr. Halford why mamma could not bring him
herself."
"Certainly, Miss Armstrong," was all he could say, as he opened the door
and followed her with Freddy downstairs to the entrance.
When they reached the door he opened it for her to pass out.
"Be a good boy, Freddy," she said, as she stooped to kiss her brother,
then she bowed to Henry Halford and descended the steps. On the gravel
path she turned to give Freddy one more encouraging look. Henry Halford
still stood at the open door, holding Freddy's hand in a firm clasp. Of
course she could only bow to him again, but as she passed through the
gate into the high road she reflected that this young man who held the
child's hand so kindly would no doubt be kind to their little Freddy.
But of the thoughts which had been passing through Henry Halford's mind
during that short interview Mary Armstrong was quite unsuspecting;
neither had she the least idea that he stood at the open door watching
her for some minutes, to Freddy's surprise, and until a movement of the
child recalled him to the duties of the hour.
Hastily taking Freddy to the schoolroom and telling his father the
child's name, he brought his mind to bear upon the duties of his class
with his usual power of concentration. No sooner, however, had morning
school closed than he retired to his own little sanctum, but not to his
usual studies. A new object of study was occupying his mind, and he
threw himself into his chair, and folding his arms, thought over again
his adventure of the morning. How clearly every movement, every look,
even every article of dress worn by the visitor was photographed on his
memory! He could see again the tall graceful figure, the fair expressive
face, the large blue eyes, the bright auburn hair, one or two locks as
usual escaping under the hat.
He recalled the blush which added brilliance to the face, and knew that
in action, word, and movement the young girl before him was a true
gentlewoman. Even the dress, so suitable to the season and the hour,
showed this--warm and dark and soft, only brightened by an ermine muff
and furs, and red ribbons in the hat. And the boy too, young as he was,
had more of the _savoir faire_ about him than many of the sons of rich
merchants who attended the school, and yet the father of these young
people was a tradesman. Henry Halford was puzzled. He had been brought
up with the foolish prejudice against trade then so prevalent. Both his
parents had been well born and were well connected. His father's sister
had married into a good family, although, like many of these old
families, they had little to boast of in the way of money. And then the
young student grew bewildered. Hitherto his books had so occupied every
thought that any idea of falling in love had never entered his mind.
Perhaps he had too much poetry and imagination in his heart connected
with the subject of marriage to allow him to do so easily. In him there
existed a refined and spiritualised sense of what a woman should be in
the different phases of her existence, as daughter, sister, wife, and
mother. Marriage to him was too holy, and the pure love of a woman too
ethereal, for either to be trifled with, or made the means of merely
obtaining a home or a settlement.
As he thus reflected he began to wonder that the mere meeting with a
stranger could arouse in his mind such thoughts as these. Henry Halford
had certainly never given the subject such deep consideration before in
his life as now. He had met with many young ladies, sisters or relations
of the boys under his father's care, and also among his own relations;
but none had ever so struck him as Miss Armstrong. What and how did she
differ from others? Most certainly there was something about her he
could not define.
These conflicting thoughts no doubt arose from ignorance of the world.
Perhaps also the mind, fatigued by teaching and study, required more
frequent relaxation. Indeed, his mother felt this necessary, and often
urged him to accept invitations which he had refused, but without
success. Be this as it may, before Henry Halford had been sitting an
hour in his little study the old habits asserted themselves. He started
up. "Well, I wonder if I am suffering from premonitory symptoms of
softening of the brain?" he said to himself. "What have I to do with
falling in love or marriage for years to come? Such thoughts, too, just
as I am about to succeed in my aims, and have matriculated at Oxford!
No, no, this will never do, Henry Halford;" and shaking himself as a dog
fresh from the water, he took up Seneca and buried himself in its pages
till the dinner bell rang.