“Why, how old are you?” said he, at length.
“Twelve, sir,” replied Charles, gravely.
“Very little of your age. Have you ever been at school before?”
Charles replied in the negative, and after another momentary scrutiny, Dr. Wilkinson asked a few concluding questions, and then unhesitatingly declared him a member of the second class.
Louis had, this half-year, a far better chance of distinguishing himself than before, as his brother and Meredith, with one or two others, had mounted into the first class, and John Salisbury had not returned. He was, however, not a little surprised when Hamilton informed him that he would have enough to do to keep pace with his new friend, whom he had looked upon as quite one of the lower school.
Chapter XIV.
The first long dreary week had passed: quicker, however, in its peaceable monotony than many a gayer time has been known to do, and the young gentlemen of Ashfield House were beginning to settle down soberly and rationally to their inevitable fate. Louis' position was so altered this half-year, that he hardly understood himself the universal affection and consideration with which he was treated. He was indubitably a favorite with the doctor, but no one was jealous, for he bore his honors very meekly, and was always willing to share his favors with others, neither encroaching on nor abusing the kindness displayed towards him by his master, who seemed, in common with his pupils, to be exceedingly desirous of obliterating all remembrance of the misunderstanding of the last half-year. But the doctor's affection was much more sparingly exhibited than Hamilton's, who seemed at times to forget every thing for Louis. He was now made the companion of the seniors—he had free admission into all their parties. Hamilton seemed unable to walk into Bristol unless Louis were allowed to accompany him. Louis' place in the evening was now by Hamilton, who did his utmost to make him steady, and to prevent him from yielding the first place to Clifton, who very soon proved himself to be a boy of considerable genius, united with much steadiness of purpose, and who had, evidently, been very carefully educated. One evening about this time, when most of the class-room party were very busy, under the orderly supervision of Messrs. Hamilton and Trevannion, the door was quietly opened and Ferrers entered with that doubtful air that expected an unfavorable reception. When I speak of business and quietude at Ashfield House it must, of course, be understood as comparative, for the quietest evening in that renowned academy would have furnished noise enough to have distracted half the quiet parlors in the kingdom—and on this particular evening there was quite enough to cover the bashful entrance of the former bully. Hamilton was writing, and doubly engaged in keeping Louis from listening to an interesting history, delivered by Salisbury, of a new boy who had arrived that half-year from a neighboring school. The boy in question was a cunning dunce, who had already discovered Louis' failing, and having partaken of the assistance Louis supplied as liberally as allowed, had come more especially under the ken of the seniors, and Hamilton had been administering a reproof to Louis for helping Casson before getting his own lessons ready.
Ferrers had nearly reached the upper end of the table before any one was aware of his vicinity, when Trevannion, looking up from his writing to dip his pen anew in the ink, caught sight of him, recognizing him so suddenly that even his equanimity was almost surprised into a start. He colored slightly, and coldly acknowledging his presence by a stiff bow and a muttered “How do you do,” returned to his work, not, however, before his movement had attracted the attention of one or two others. The intimation of his presence was conveyed almost talismanically round the room, and a silence ensued while the young gentlemen looked at one another for an example. These unfriendly symptoms added considerably to Ferrers' embarrassment. Pale with anxiety, he affected to notice nothing, and looked for a place at one of the tables where he might lay the books he had brought in with him. The silence, however, had made Hamilton now very conscious of what, till this moment, he had been in blissful ignorance—that his voice was raised to nearly a shouting pitch to make his admonitions sufficiently impressive to his protegé—and the sonorous tones of his voice, delivering an emphatic oration on weakness and perseverance contrasted, were so remarkable that the attention was a little drawn from Ferrers by this unusual phenomenon.
“What a burst of eloquence!” exclaimed Frank, who, on the first sound of the kingly voice, had begun to attitudinize; while Trevannion gazed on his friend with a quiet, gentlemanly air of inquiry, that was not to be put out of countenance by any circumstance how ludicrous soever, “His majesty's in an oratorical vein to-night. Such a flow of graceful language, earnest, mellifluous persuasives dropping like sugar-plums from his lips!”