"Ah," said Howard, "while you feel that, it is all right; but the worst of real suffering is, I believe, that it is apt to be entirely dreary—it is not at all romantic, as it seems from the outside; indeed it is the loss of all that sense of excitement which makes suffering what it is. But really I have no right to speak either, for I have had a very happy life too."
Miss Merry heard him moist-eyed and intent. "Yes, I am sure that is true!" she said. "I suppose we all have just as much as we can use—just as much as it is good for us to have."
They found that the others had arrived, and were unpacking the luncheon. Maud greeted Howard with a shy expectancy; but the sight of her, slender and fresh in her rough walking-dress, renewed his strange pangs. What did he want of her, he asked himself; what was this mysterious and unmanning sense, that made him conscious of every movement and every word of the girl? Why could he not meet her in a cheerful, friendly, simple way, and make the most of her enchanting company?
Mr. Sandys was in great spirits, revelling in arrangements and directions. But the wind was taken out of his sails by the two young men, who were engaged in enacting a bewildering kind of drama, a saga, of which the venerable Mr. Redmayne appeared to be the hero. Guthrie, who was in almost overpowering spirits, took the part of Mr. Redmayne, whom he imitated with amazing fidelity. He had become, it seemed, a man of low and degrading tastes—'Erb Redmayne, he was called, or old 'Erb, whose role was to lead the other authorities of the college into all kinds of disreputable haunts, to prompt them to absurd misdeeds, to take advantage of their ingenuousness, to make scapegoats of them, and to adroitly evade justice himself.
On this occasion 'Erb Redmayne seemed to have inveigled the Master, whose part was taken by Jack, to a race-meeting, to be introducing him to the Most unsatisfactory company, to force him to put money on certain horses, to evade the payment of debts incurred, to be detected in the act of absconding, and to leave the unfortunate Master to bear the brunt of public indignation. Guthrie seemed at first a little shy of enacting this drama before Howard, but Jack said reassuringly, "Oh, he won't give us away—it will amuse him!" This extravaganza continued with immense gusto and emphasis all the way to luncheon, 'Erb Redmayne treating the Master with undisguised contempt, and the Master performing meekly his bidding. Mr. Sandys was in fits of laughter. "Excellent, excellent!" he cried among his paroxysms. "You irreverent young rascals—but it was just the sort of thing we used to do, I am afraid!"
There was no doubt that it was amusing; in another mood Howard would have been enchanted by the performance, and even flattered at being allowed to overhear it. Mr. Redmayne was admirably rendered, and Jack's performance of the anxious and courteous Master, treading the primrose path reluctantly and yet subserviently, was very nearly as good. But Howard simply could not be amused, and it made it almost worse for him to see that Maud was delighted, while even Miss Merry was obviously though timidly enjoying the enlargement of her experience, and exulting in her freedom from any priggish disapproval.
They made their way to the top and found the tower, a shell of masonry, which could be ascended by a winding staircase in a turret. The view, from the platform at the summit, was certainly enchanting. The tower stood in an open heathery space, with woods enclosing it on every side; from the parapet they looked down over the steeply falling tree-tops to an immense plain, where a river widened to the sea. Howard, side by side with Maud, gazed in silence. Mr. Sandys identified landmarks with a map. "How nice it is to see a bit of the world!" said Maud, "and how happy and contented it all looks. It seems odd to think of men and women down there, creeping about their work, going to and fro as usual, and not aware that they are being looked down upon like this. It all seems a very simple business."
"Yes," said Howard, "that is the strange thing. It does seem so simple and tranquil! and yet one knows that down there people have their troubles and anxieties—people are ill, are dying—are wondering what it all means, why they are set just there, and why they have so short a time to stay!"
"I suppose it all fits into itself," said Maud, "somehow or other. I don't think that life really contradicts itself!"
"I don't know," said Howard, with a sudden access of dreariness; "that is exactly what it DOES seem to do—that's the misery of it!"