CHAPTER XVIII.
NOONTIDE GLARE.
What marvellous transformation scenes we behold in Nature! One day we look on the ocean, a seething mass of turbulent waters, leaden-tinted, save where the angry wind lashes it into foam; the next day a fair expanse of blue lies before us, scarcely dimpled with even a ripple, and sparkling in sunshine! Lingering winter has made some landscape dreary and bare; scarce a flower lifts up its head; the trees stand like gaunt skeletons without apparent sign of life. A few hot genial days, a blowing of wind from the south, and the whole scene is changed! The primrose nestles under every hedge, "the larch hangs her tassels forth," the meadows are enamelled with daisies, and the fruit-trees are decked with the loveliest blossoms! Again, dark moonless night broods around; not even a star gleams through the sable canopy of cloud; there is an incessant dripping of rain. Anon sunrise bursts over the landscape, the clouds are golden, the raindrops gems, all Nature laughs in brightness and beauty!
Such transformations occasionally occur in the life of man, especially after seasons of trouble bravely endured. Such a transformation was experienced by Walter after his return to India and civilised life. The interest which had been excited by his disappearance was intensified by his return. Afghanistan, on account of the war then commenced, being in every one's mind, a gentleman who had actually resided for seven years in a fort in that country was naturally an object of curiosity and attention. Walter found that every Englishman whom he met was his friend. Invitations followed invitations. Go where he might he found a home; he was welcomed into every circle. This was principally, but by no means entirely owing to young Gurney's romantic adventures. It was known that, though himself poor, he came of what the world calls a good family, and his popularity was also greatly due to the uncommon attractions with which Walter had been endowed by Nature. The ladies declared him to be the very beau-ideal of the hero of a romance.
There was some talk of a subscription being raised to place the young man at college, either in England or India, that he might complete his education, partially neglected in early life, and for seven years entirely suspended. But Sir Cæsar Dashley, a civilian of high position in the service, and a distant relative of Dermot Denis, insisted on taking the whole burden of expense on himself.
"I will be responsible for all charges," said he. "It is clear that Gurney's imprisonment was the result of his devotion to my unfortunate and gallant cousin. I am glad to have the opportunity of serving so fine a fellow. Whilst I remain in India, Gurney shall never want a home."
After much prayerful consideration, Walter decided on pursuing his studies in India; not because it cost him nothing to give up his long-cherished hope of visiting England, but because he would not unnecessarily tax the generosity of a friend, and also that he could best, by remaining in Hindustan, master other Oriental tongues besides those of Urdu and Pushtoo. Walter entered a college in one of the capital cities of India, and at once set to work with vigour. His mind was as a soil which produces a hundredfold after lying fallow for several years. Study, a weariness to many, was to Walter Gurney a source of pleasure. He enjoyed it for its own sake, and not merely as a means to an end. The consciousness of success in every effort which he made, was exhilarating to the young man's spirit. Walter was like one who arrives so late in a hunting-field that he fears that he will never overtake the riders whom he sees at a distance before him, but who finds that his first-rate steed not only overtakes, but soon leads on in advance of them all.
"We never before had a student here who combined such ardour and perseverance in study with such brilliant natural ability," observed a college professor to Walter's patron; "were he at Oxford or Cambridge we should some day hear of Gurney's coming out First Wrangler."
"And yet his fancy has been to qualify himself for the obscure work of a missionary; and in Afghanistan, too, of all places in the world!" exclaimed Sir Cæsar. "The idea is utterly absurd."
"Preposterous!" echoed the professor, "Gurney has too much common sense to throw such talents away."