One of the examiners was Norman’s old school and college friend, Charles Cheviot, now a clergyman and an under-master at one of the great schools recently opened for the middle classes, where he was meeting with great success, and was considered a capital judge of boys’ characters. He was the guest of the Mays during the examination; and though his shy formal manner, and convulsive efforts at young lady talk, greatly affronted Gertrude, the brothers liked him.
He was in consternation at the decline of Stoneborough school since Mr. Wilmot had ceased to be an under-master; the whole tone of the school had degenerated, and it was no wonder that the Government inquiries were ominously directed in that quarter. Scholarship was at a low ebb, Dr. Hoxton seemed to have lost what power of teaching he had ever possessed, and as Dr. May observed, the poor old school was going to the dogs. But even in the present state of things, Leonard had no chance of excelling his competitors. His study, like theirs, had been mere task-work, and though he showed more native power than the rest, yet perhaps this had made the mere learning by rote even more difficult to an active mind full of inquiry. He was a whole year younger than any other who touched the foremost ranks, two years younger than several; and though he now and then showed a feverish spark of genius, reminding Mr. Cheviot of Norman in his famous examination, it was not sustained—there were will and force, but not scholarship—and besides, there was a wide blurred spot in his memory, as though all the brain-work of the quarter before his illness had been confused, and had not yet become clear. There was every likelihood that a few years would make him superior to the chosen Randall scholar, but at present his utmost efforts did not even place him among the seven whose names appeared honourably in the newspaper. It was a failure; but Mr. Cheviot had become much interested in the boy for his own sake, as well as from what he heard from the Mays, and he strongly advised that Leonard should at Easter obtain employment for a couple of years at the school in which he himself was concerned. He would thus be maintaining himself, and pursuing his own studies under good direction, so as to have every probability of success in getting an open scholarship at one of the Universities.
Nothing could be better, and there was a perfect jubilee among the Mays at the proposal. Aubrey was despatched as soon as breakfast was over to bring Leonard to talk it over, and Dr. May undertook to propound it to Henry on meeting him at the hospital; but Aubrey came back looking very blank—Leonard had started of his own accord that morning to announce to his uncle his acceptance of a clerk’s desk at the Vintry Mill!
Averil followed upon Aubrey’s footsteps, and arrived while the schoolroom was ringing with notes of vexation and consternation. She was all upon the defensive. She said that not a word had passed on the subject since the dinner-party, and there had not been a shadow of a dispute between the brothers; in fact, she evidently was delighted with Leonard’s dignified position and strength of determination, and thought this expedition to the Vintry Mill a signal victory.
When she heard what the Mays had to propose, she was enchanted, she had no doubt of Henry’s willing consent, and felt that Leonard’s triumph and independence were secured without the sacrifice of prospects, which she had begun to regard as a considerable price for his dignity.
But Dr. May was not so successful with Henry Ward. He did not want to disoblige his uncle, who had taken a fancy to Leonard, and might do much for the family; he thought his father would have changed his views of the uncle and nephew had he known them better, he would not accept the opinion of a stranger against people of his own family, and he had always understood the position of an usher to be most wretched, nor would he perceive the vast difference between the staff of the middle school and of the private commercial academy. He evidently was pleased to stand upon his rights, to disappoint Dr. May, and perhaps to gratify his jealousy by denying his brother a superior education.
Yet in spite of this ebullition, which had greatly exasperated Dr. May, there was every probability that Henry’s consent might be wrung out or dispensed with, and plans of attack were being arranged at the tea-table, when a new obstacle in the shape of a note from Leonard himself.
‘My Dear Aubrey,
‘I am very much obliged to Dr. May and Mr. Cheviot for their kind intentions; but I have quite settled with Mr. Axworthy, and I enter on my new duties next week. I am sorry to leave our corps, but it is too far off, and I must enter the Whitford one.
‘Yours, ‘L. A. Ward.’
‘The boy is mad with pride and temper,’ said the Doctor.
‘And his sister has made him so,’ added Ethel.
‘Shall I run down to Bankside and tell him it is all bosh?’ said Aubrey, jumping up.
‘I don’t think that is quite possible under Henry’s very nose,’ said Ethel. ‘Perhaps they will all be tamer by tomorrow, now they have blown their trumpets; but I am very much vexed.’
‘And really,’ added Mr. Cheviot, ‘if he is so wrongheaded, I begin to doubt if I could recommend him.’
‘You do not know how he has been galled and irritated,’ said the general voice.
‘I wonder what Mrs. Pugh thinks of it,’ presently observed the Doctor.
‘Ah!’ said Ethel, ‘Mrs. Pugh is reading “John of Anjou”.’
‘Indeed!’ said the Doctor; ‘I suspected the wind was getting into that quarter. Master Henry does not know his own interest: she was sure to take part with a handsome lad.’
‘Why have you never got Mrs. Pugh to speak for him?’ said Mary. ‘I am sure she would.’
‘O, Mary! simple Mary, you to be Ave’s friend, and not know that her interposition is the only thing wanting to complete the frenzy of the other two!’
Ethel said little more that evening, she was too much grieved and too anxious. She was extremely disappointed in Leonard, and almost hopeless as to his future. She saw but one chance of preventing his seeking this place of temptation, and that was in the exertion of her personal influence. His avoidance of her showed that he dreaded it, but one attempt must be made. All night was spent in broken dreams of just failing to meet him, or of being unable to utter what was on her tongue; and in her waking moments she almost reproached herself for the discovery how near her heart he was, and how much pleasure his devotion had given her.
Nothing but resolution on her own part could bring about a meeting, and she was resolute. She stormed the castle in person, and told Averil she must speak to Leonard. Ave was on her side now, and answered with tears in her eyes that she should be most grateful to have Leonard persuaded out of this dreadful plan, and put in the way of excelling as he ought to do; she never thought it would come to this.
‘No,’ thought Ethel; ‘people blow sparks without thinking they may burn a house down.’
Ave conducted her to the summer-house, where Leonard was packing up his fossils. He met them with a face resolutely bent on brightness. ‘I am to take all my household gods,’ he said, as he shook hands with Ethel.
‘I see,’ said Ethel, gravely; and as Averil was already falling out of hearing, she added, ‘I thought you were entirely breaking with your old life.’
‘No, indeed,’ said Leonard, turning to walk with her in the paths; ‘I am leaving the place where it is most impossible to live in.’
‘This has been a place of great, over-great trial, I know,’ said Ethel, ‘but I do not ask you to stay in it.’
‘My word is my word,’ said Leonard, snapping little boughs off the laurels as he walked.
‘A hasty word ought not to be kept.’
His face looked rigid, and he answered not.
‘Leonard,’ she said, ‘I have been very unhappy about you, for I see you doing wilfully wrong, and entering a place of temptation in a dangerous spirit.’