Volume One—Chapter Fifteen.
Glynne Looks at the Moon, the Professor at his Heart.
The secret of the poverty of Mrs Alleyne’s home was read by the major and Sir John, as they followed their host and Glynne along a bare passage and through two green-baized doors, into the great dome-covered chambers where Alleyne pursued his studies, for on all sides were arranged astronomical instruments of the newest invention and costliest kind. The outlay had been slow—a hundred now and a hundred then; but the result had been thousands of pounds spent upon the various pieces of intricate mechanism, and their mounting upon solid iron pillars, resting on massive piers of cement or stone.
Glynne uttered a faint cry of surprise and delight as she saw the long tubes with their wheels and pivots arranged so that the reclining observer could turn his glass in any direction; gazed in the great trough that seemed to have a bottom covered with looking-glass, but which was half full of quicksilver; noted that there were sliding shutters in the roof, and various pieces of mechanism, whose uses she longed to have explained.
It was all old to Lucy, who felt a new pleasure, though, in her friend’s eagerness, while Mrs Alleyne, who had suffered torments all the evening in mortified pride, felt, as she saw the looks of wonder of the guests, and their appreciation of her son’s magnificent observatory, that she was now reaping her reward.
“Bless my soul!” cried Sir John, “I am astounded. I did not think there was such a place outside Greenwich.”
Mrs Alleyne bowed and smiled; and then, as Sir John began eagerly inspecting the various objects and arrangements around, and the major chatted to Lucy, she gave a curious look at her son, who was bending over Glynne, explaining to her the use of the quicksilver trough, and arranging a glass afterwards, so that she might see how it was brought to bear upon a reflected star.
As Mrs Alleyne glanced round she saw that Oldroyd was also watching her son and Glynne, and her eyes directly after met those of the young doctor, whose thoughts she tried to read—perhaps with success.
For the next half-hour, Glynne was being initiated in the mysteries of the transit instrument, and had the pleasure of seeing star after star cross the zenith, after which, the moon having risen well above the refracting and magnifying mists of earth, the largest reflector was brought to bear upon its surface.
Ejaculations of delight kept escaping from Glynne’s lips as she gazed at the bright tops of the various volcanoes, searched the dark shadows and craters, and literally revelled in the glories of the brightly embossed silver crescent. She had a hundred questions to ask, with all the eager curiosity and animation of a child, and with the advantage of having one as patient as he was learned, ready to respond upon the instant.
“I feel so terribly selfish,” cried Glynne, at last. “Oh, papa, you must come and look. Uncle, it is wonderful.”
“We’ll have a look another time,” said Sir John, good-humouredly; “only don’t wear out Mr Alleyne’s patience.”
“Oh, I hope he will not think me tiresome,” cried Glynne, whose eye was directed to the glass again on the instant, “but it is so wonderful. I could watch the moon all night. Now, Mr Alleyne, just a little way from the left edge, low down, there is a brilliant ring of light—no, not quite a ring; it is as if a portion of it had been torn away, and—Oh! Robert! how you startled me.”
The spell was broken, for Rolph had entered the observatory, having finished his cigar. He had been standing at the door for a few moments, watching the scene before him, and a frown came over his forehead as he heard the eagerness of his betrothed’s words, and saw the impressive way in which Alleyne was bending towards her, and answering her questions. Directly after, the young officer crossed the observatory, laid his hand almost rudely upon Alleyne’s shoulder, and nodded to him as if to say, “Stand on one side.”
Alleyne started, coloured, and then drew back, with the major watching him intently, while Rolph laid his hand playfully upon Glynne’s forehead, and slipped it before her eyes.
“Now then, have you found the focus. What is it? A penny a peep? Here, Mr Alleyne, do you take the money?”
A dead silence fell upon the group till the major hastened to break it by saying a few words of praise of the place to Mrs Alleyne.
Soon afterwards they went back to the drawing-room and partook of tea, the carriage arriving directly after, and everyone thinking it time to leave, for a curious chill had come over the party, Glynne having subsided into her old, silent, inanimate way, and no effort of the major or Sir John producing anything more than a temporary glow.
“Why, how quiet you are, Glynne,” said Rolph, as they were on their way home.
“I was thinking,” she replied, quietly.
“What about?”
“About?—Oh, the wonders of—of what I have seen to-night.”
“Are you satisfied, my son?” said Mrs Alleyne, when she kissed him that night.
“Yes, dear mother, thoroughly,” he said to her; and then to himself—“No.”