I walked home as one in a dream, wondering if this interview were real or ideal; wondering if the juice of the milk-white flower, "made purple by love's wand," had been squeezed by fairy fingers into the eyes of my preceptor, in his slumbering hours, to cause this strange passion; wondering why the spirit of love, like the summer wind, stealing softly through the whispering boughs, breathes where it listeth, and we cannot tell whence it cometh and whither it goeth; and wondering most of all if—but I cannot describe the thoughts that drifted through my mind, vague and changing as the clouds that went hurrying after each other over the deep blue ether.
CHAPTER XX.
Commencement day!—a day of feverish anxiety and excitement to the young student, who is to step forth before the public eye, a candidate for the laurels of fame;—a day of weariness and stiffness to the dignified professors, obliged to sit hour after hour, listening to the florid eloquence whose luxuriance they have in vain attempted to prune, or trying to listen while the spirit yawns and stretches itself to its drowsy length;—a day of intense interest to the young maiden, who sees among the youthful band of aspirants one who is the "bright particular star" round which her pure and trembling hopes revolve.
It was a day of excitement to me, for every thing was novel, and therefore interesting. It was the first time I had ever been in a dense crowd, and I felt the electric fluid, always collected where the great heart of humanity is throbbing, thrilling in my veins, and ready to flash at the master-stroke of eloquence. I was dazzled by the brilliant display of beauty and fashion that lighted up the classic walls as with living sunbeams. Such clusters of mimic blossoms and flowing ringlets wreathed together round fair, blooming faces; such a cloud of soft, airy drapery floating over lithe figures, swaying forward like light boughs agitated by the wind; such a fluttering of snowy fans, making the cool, pleasant sound of rain drops pattering among April leaves; such bright eager eyes, turned at every sounding step towards the open door,—I had never looked upon the like before. I sat in a dream of delight, without thinking that it might be thought vulgar to appear delighted, and still more to express undisguised admiration.
I dared not look to the platform, where the faculty and students were arranged in imposing ranks, for there was one pair of familiar, sparkling eyes, that were sure to beat mine back with their steadfast gaze. I did not like this persevering scrutiny, for I was sure it would attract the attention of others, and then draw it on myself. He had grown taller, Richard Clyde had, since I had seen him, his countenance was more manly, his manner more polished. He had been with us the evening before, but the room was crowded with company, and I was careful not to give him a moment's opportunity of speaking to me alone. But I read too well in his sincere and earnest eyes, that time had wrought no change in the fervor of his feelings, or the constancy of his attachment.
Mrs. Linwood, though surrounded by friends of the most distinguished character, honored him by signal marks of attention. I was proud of him as a friend. Why did he wish to be more?
"What a fine young man Clyde is!" I heard some one remark who sat behind us. "It is said he is the most promising student in the university."
"Yes," was the reply. "I have heard that several wealthy gentlemen in Boston are going to send him to Europe to complete his education, as his own income will not allow him to incur the expense."
"That is a great compliment," observed the first voice, "and I have no doubt he deserves it. They say, too, that he is betrothed to a young girl in the country, very pretty, but in most indigent circumstances,—an early attachment,—children's romance."