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.