UNCONSCIOUS RIVALS.
June again at Oxford, and the year for grand Commemoration is again
attracting numbers to the famous old city.
Three years have passed since Charles Herbert walked down the High
Street with his friend Horace Wilton on his way to the station to meet
Mary Armstrong.
The Fellow of Balliol is now wandering in Christ Church meadows with
another very old friend, whom he is vainly trying to persuade to remain
at Oxford till after Commemoration.
"You have seen so little of the place, Reginald," said Horace; "and if
you have decided to exchange into a regiment going to India, you should
not miss being present for once on such an occasion."
"It's no use, Horace," was the reply, free from the "aw-aw" so
detrimental to Reginald Fraser's speech when addressing ladies, or
suffering from nervousness. "It's no use; I couldn't remain now after
all you told me last evening about Miss Armstrong's visit; perhaps she
may be at Oxford again this year, and I wouldn't meet her for the world.
How strange it seems that you should be acquainted with her."
"It was scarcely a week's acquaintance," he replied; "and in all my
visits since to the home of my friend Charles Herbert, in Park Lane, I
have never met Miss Armstrong there, which is still more singular. But
do you really consider your case hopeless?"
"Indeed I do, although, as I told you, Mr. Armstrong gave me every
encouragement."
The young man paused, and then exclaimed, with a sudden effort--
"Wilton, I'll tell you all about it. I wanted to do so last night, but I
thought an old bachelor like you would not care to listen to a love
story."
Horace Wilton stifled a sigh. The man of thirty-five was generally
supposed to be wedded to his books, and to avoid the society of women
from choice.
The youthful undergraduates of the University would have wondered
greatly had they been told some little of the romantic history attached
to the erudite student's early days. Only a very few of his most
intimate friends, Charles Herbert amongst the number, knew any of the
circumstances. Yet, while reticent respecting his own experiences, his
manner with his friends excited confidence, and in none more readily
than Reginald Fraser, whom Horace had known from a child.
"I am quite ready to hear the whole story," he said, with a slight
smile; "probably it will be a relief to you to confide in one upon whose
silence you know you can safely rely."
"Indeed it will," said the weak-minded but amiable young officer. "You
know our fellows would chaff me awfully if I talked to them as I did to
you last night. But you know I felt sure of winning any girl if I could
only muster up courage enough to pop the question, because of my money
and all that. And when I'd got over what I thought was the worst bother,
it was hard to be refused."
"And what was the worst bother?" asked his friend, with a smile.
"Well, I hardly know, but I spoke to Mr. Armstrong first; he invited me
to dinner, and made me believe it was all right, and the next morning
came a letter from him, advising me to wait a few months, and then write
to Miss Armstrong. Oh, I say, old fellow, writing that letter was the
worst bother, and no mistake. I declare I'd rather face the enemy on the
field of battle than write another."
"Of course the young lady answered you?"
"Oh, yes; but I almost wish she hadn't, for her letter made me more
wretched than ever; I knew it was all over then. It is a kind letter,
though, and she tells me how sorry she is, and all that. You may read it
if you like, if only to show you how clever she is."
And as he spoke he took the letter from his pocket-book.
Horace Wilton would have refused to avail himself of similar confidence
from most of his young men acquaintances, but Reginald Fraser was
associated with many of his youthful memories, and he could not grieve
him by refusing. He therefore held out his hand for the letter which had
caused Mary Armstrong so much pain to write, as well as tears of regret.
The character of the young girl with whom he had associated during that
week at Oxford three years before presented itself clearly to his mind
as he read--kind and regretful was the tone; yet the refusal, though
couched in gentle and courteous words, was too plainly expressed and too
decisive to admit of future change.
"Well," said Horace, as he folded the letter and returned it to its
owner, "nothing can more completely destroy all hope of winning Miss
Armstrong than this letter, kindly as it is written. But, Reginald, take
my advice--do not grieve over what is inevitable. You are still young,
and the change you contemplate to a foreign land may eradicate a little
of that _mauvaise honte_ which places you at such a disadvantage in
society, in spite of your wealth and position. But come," he added,
rising from the seat they had occupied in Christ Church meadows, and
looking at his watch, "we had better wend our way homewards, it is
nearly five o'clock."
For some little distance the gentlemen were silent. Reginald spoke
first.
"Wilton, I'm so glad I've told you all; I feel more easy on the subject
already, and I hope, as you say, that going abroad will drive the
nervousness out of me. But please don't ask me to stay; I'm awfully
afraid of meeting any one acquainted with Miss Armstrong, for if her
name should be mentioned I am certain to betray myself."
"You shall go to-morrow or the next day, if you wish, but on condition
that you neither think nor speak of the subject again while you stay
with me. When you were a little frightened boy at Eton, Reggie, you
always did as I bid you!"
"Ah! yes, no wonder," he replied. "I have not forgotten the great boy
who pretended to make me his fag because the other fellows shouldn't
ill-use me. You were my best friend then, Wilton, and so you are now,
and I mean to take your advice."
As the young man spoke Horace Wilton's memory flew back to the time when
a small delicate boy of ten was committed to his care by one of the
masters:--
"Wilton, I wish you would look after this little chap; he is evidently a
nervous, timid child, and much to be pitied. He has never known a
mother's care, and his father died about three years ago. I fear he has
been harshly treated and neglected at the house of his maternal
grandfather, who has never forgiven his daughter for marrying against
his wishes."
The youth of seventeen had glanced at the fair, delicate child, who
looked up at him with awe, not unmixed with alarm, and in his heart he
formed a resolve that the boy thus placed in his care should be
protected from the overbearing oppression to which a fag at a public
school was in those days so frequently subjected.
Perhaps the rougher discipline might have tended to harden and
strengthen the character of Reginald Fraser, and yet the cold neglect
and harsh treatment he received in the house where his mother had once
been the only and cherished daughter had increased the natural timidity
of the boy. The highly nervous temperament which he inherited from his
mother had developed into mental weakness and painful reserve, which
even the experiences of a public school could not eradicate.
Some such reflections as these passed through the memory of Horace
Wilton, and caused him to pause ere he replied--
"I do not forget old days, Reginald, and I am glad we have had this
opportunity of talking over matters, but you must learn to rely upon a
higher strength than your own if you wish to gain the power of bearing
earthly disappointments with patience and submission."
Reginald Fraser, in his dread of meeting Mary Armstrong, or any one who
knew her, evinced a nervous anxiety to leave Oxford by an early train
the next day, but this very anxiety defeated his purpose.
It was increased by a letter from Henry Halford, which Horace on that
morning had received, stating that he hoped to reach Oxford by the train
which arrived there at 2.15.
Reginald had put off so many little matters to this last morning that he
failed to be in time for the 12.30 express, and there was no other
alternative than for him to remain with the new arrival till the
evening, or leave by the 2.25. He chose the latter.
A desire, for which he could not at first account, that the young men
should remain strangers to each other haunted Horace Wilton on that
Saturday morning.
Suddenly, as the memory of a week so eventful to Mary Armstrong arose
before him, a thought flashed across his mind that Henry Halford might
be the successful rival who had unwittingly caused so much unhappiness
to Reginald Fraser.
On reflection, however, he dismissed from his mind any apprehension of
awkwardness should the two gentlemen meet at the station, as each would
be quite unconscious of the position in which they stood to each other,
even if his own suspicions had any foundation.
As they walked to the station Horace said--
"I should like to introduce you to Mr. Halford if there is time,
Reginald, but not against your wish."
"I shall be glad to know any of your friends," replied the young man,
who was quite unacquainted with the fact that this friend of Wilton's
had been associated with Mary Armstrong during her visit to Oxford. "Is
this Mr. Halford an Oxford man?"
"Yes, he took his degree about a year ago, and is going up for
ordination on Trinity Sunday. The rector of Kilburn had given him his
title to orders."
"Kilburn!" exclaimed Reginald; "why, that is where Mr. Armstrong
resides. Is he acquainted with the family?"
"I believe he has met some of them, but I do not imagine there is any
great intimacy," replied Horace, inwardly blaming himself for having
mentioned the name of Kilburn--"but here we are at the station."
Only just in time, however, for as the two gentlemen reached the
platform, the train by which Henry Halford travelled came slowly into
the station.
Amidst the numbers who alighted, Horace Wilton could not at first
distinguish his friend; but Henry's quick eye singled him out almost
immediately, and making his way through the crowd, he advanced towards
him.
"How kind of you to come and meet me!" he exclaimed, as they shook
hands. "How could you relinquish your beloved books for such a purpose?"
"I must not take more credit to myself than I deserve," he replied, with
a laugh. "The truth is, I had to welcome the coming as well as speed the
parting guest;" and as Wilton spoke he turned towards Reginald, who
stood at a little distance, and said, "My friend, Captain Fraser,--Mr.
Henry Halford."
The former advanced and bowed, but Henry, while returning the
salutation, held out his hand, saying--
"I am sorry to hear you are a parting guest, Captain Fraser. I have
heard of you so often from my friend Mr. Wilton, that I should have been
glad of the opportunity to improve our acquaintance;" and while he spoke
the unconscious rivals shook hands warmly with each other.
As usual when introduced to a stranger Reginald Fraser, though attracted
by the genial manner and pleasant smile of his new acquaintance,
suffered from an attack of nervousness which was greatly increased by
the sound of the five minutes bell announcing the approach of the train
for London.
"I--aw--am sorry--aw--I must--aw--leave you so soon," he stammered out,
"but my train goes--aw--from the other side, and I--I have--aw--to cross
the bridge."
"Oh, pray excuse me for detaining you," said Henry; "Wilton, do not
leave your friend on my account," he added; "I will wait here, or walk
on slowly while you see him off."
"No, no--aw--I could not--aw--allow you to do so," cried the young
officer, with such painful nervousness that Henry Halford drew back in
surprise, and Horace Wilton came to the rescue.
"We will not detain you any longer, Reginald," he said; "you have only
just time to cross the bridge. Good-by, good-by," he added, as they
hurriedly shook hands, while Henry, who had been taken aback by the
young officer's manner, merely raised his hat in token of farewell. The
two gentlemen stood for a few moments watching his progress till he was
lost to sight among the passengers on the opposite platform. Then Horace
Wilton took the arm of his friend, and as they left the station together
Henry remarked--
"Your friend's manner is peculiar; does it arise from pride or
nervousness?"
"Pride!" exclaimed his companion, "what in poor nervous Reginald Fraser?
no, indeed, yet to-day he appeared worse than usual; I cannot account
for it."
"This young officer, then, is identical with the timid child at Eton, of
whom I have heard you speak," said Henry. "He has evidently not outgrown
his nervous timidity. I hope I did not offend him by what I said."
"No, indeed, he is as amiable as ever, and not easily offended. This
nervousness is constitutional, and is always less under control in the
presence of a stranger."
"Will not this interfere with his duties as a soldier!"
"I think not, for Reginald is far from deficient in physical courage. I
have told you of the harsh treatment he received in early childhood: I
wonder the boy was not made an idiot."
"His grandfather intended to atone for this, I suppose, by leaving him
all his wealth; I have been told he has done so; is this a fact?" asked
Henry.
"It is a fact which, after the early training of the boy, might have
proved a curse to his manhood instead of a blessing," and then to the
young officer's unconscious rival Horace Wilton detailed his history,
his position, his wealth, and all the circumstances with which the
reader is already acquainted, save and except his hopes and aspirations
respecting Mary Armstrong.
But while Horace Wilton carefully preserved from Henry Halford the
secret which had been confided in him, he little imagined how much pain
one incautious word of his had occasioned to his nervous friend Reginald
Fraser.
It is said with truth that one distinguishing mark between men and women
is that the latter possess quicker perception, and the former clearer
judgment. In the almost feminine character of Reginald Fraser existed a
keenness of perception which resembled what is termed instinct; and this
instinctive power often caused him great mental pain from his extreme
sensitiveness, more especially so because he concealed his opinions from
those with whom he associated, even while these opinions increased an
outward display of nervousness.
Something of all this occasioned the strange manner which had so
surprised Henry Halford. The incautious mention of Kilburn by his friend
had been like a stone cast into the water; it caused a tumult in the
young man's mind which did not cease during the whole journey to London.
The fact that Wilton's friend resided at Kilburn had aroused in his
heart new ideas, which had scarcely time to form themselves into a
tangible shape before he was introduced to Henry Halford. As he
encountered that genial, easy manner and smiling intellectual face, at
once like a lightning flash came the firm conviction that the man before
him was the cause of Mary Armstrong's refusal to himself.
He had therefore, as we know, met him with painful nervousness. Like one
who walks in his sleep, he had crossed the bridge and waited for the
train. Still absorbed with the same conviction he chose an empty
first-class carriage, threw himself back on its cushions, and gave
himself up to an hour of mental torture.
Mortification, regret, and a depreciation of his own qualities when
compared to Henry Halford agitated him much more strongly than a feeling
of jealousy, although this for a time so powerfully affected him that
even the tears rushed to his eyes.
At length he regained control over himself. Other passengers entered the
carriage, gentler thoughts arose in his heart--yes, he would give up all
hope; if Mary Armstrong really loved another, could he not deny himself
to secure her happiness?
Perhaps this young clergyman would have only his stipend as a curate to
live upon, and should he with all his wealth wish to deprive him, not
only of such a wife as Mary Armstrong would make him, but also of the
fortune which her father proposed to give her?
No! The conflict was over, it had been a sharp discipline for the
amiable but weak-minded young officer, but it was necessary; it had not
only deepened the effect of Horace Wilton's advice, but when Reginald
Fraser left the train at Paddington, he felt like one who has passed
through a fierce conflict and gained strength by victory.