And, with reverent hand, scattering over that small mound the choice rosebuds and fragrant lilies with their green leaves, they turned away without another word.
The next morning the great piles of corded boxes which crowded the passage were put on the coach, and the boys, gladly leaving the deserted building, drove in every sort of vehicle to the steamer. What joyous triumphant mornings those were! How the heart exulted and bounded with, the sense of life and pleasure, and how universal was the gladness and good humor of every one. Never were voyages so merry as those of the steamer that day, and even the "good-byes" that had to be said at Southpool were lightly borne. From thence the boys quickly scattered to the different railways, and the numbers of those who were travelling together got thinner and thinner as the distance increased. Wright and one or two others went nearly all the way with Eric, and when he got down at the little roadside station, from whence started the branch rail to Ayrton, he bade them merry and affectionate farewell. The branch train soon started, and in another hour he would be at Fairholm.
It was not till then that his home feelings woke in all their intensity. He had not been there for a year. At Roslyn the summer holidays were nine weeks, and the holidays at Christmas and Easter were short, so that it had not been worth while to travel so far as Fairholm, and Eric had spent his Christmas with friends in another part of the island. But now he was once more to see dear Fairholm, and his aunt, his cousin Fanny, and above all, his little brother. His heart was beating fast with joy, and his eyes sparkling with pleasure and excitement. As he thrust his head out of the window, each well-remembered landmark gave him the delicious sensation of meeting again an old friend. "Ah! there's the white bridge, and there's the canal, and the stile; and there runs the river, and there's Velvet Lawn. Hurrah! here we are." And springing out of the train before it had well stopped, he had shaken hands heartily with the old coachman, who was expecting him, and jumped up into the carriage in a moment.
Through the lanes he knew so well, by whose hedgerows he had so often plucked sorrel and wild roses; past the old church with its sleeping churchyard; through, the quiet village, where every ten yards he met old acquaintances who looked pleased to see him, and whom he greeted with glad smiles and nods of recognition; past the Latin school, from which came murmurs and voices as of yore (what a man he felt himself now by comparison!);--by the old Roman camp, where he had imagined such heroic things when he was a child; through all the scenes so rich with the memories and associations of his happy childhood, they flew along; and now they had entered the avenue, and Eric was painfully on the look-out.
Yes! there they were all three--Mrs. Trevor, and Fanny, and Vernon, on the mound at the end of the avenue; and the younger ones ran to meet him. It was a joyous meeting; he gave Fanny a hearty kiss, and put his arm round Vernon's neck, and then held him in front to have a look at him.
"How tall you've grown, Verny, and how well you look," he said, gazing proudly at him; and indeed the boy was a brother to be justly proud of. And Vernon quite returned the admiration as he saw the healthy glow of Eric's features, and the strong graceful development of his limbs.
And so they quickly joined Mrs. Trevor, who embraced her nephew with a mother's love: and, amid all that nameless questioning of delightful trifles, that "blossoming vein" of household talk, which gives such an incommunicable charm to the revisiting of home, they all three turned into the house, where Eric, hungry with his travels, did ample justice to the "jolly spread" prepared for him, luxurious beyond anything he had seen for his last year at school. When he and Vernon went up to their room at night--the same little room in which they slept on the night when they first had met--they marked their heights on the door again, which showed Eric that in the last year he had grown two inches, a fact which he pointed out to Vernon with no little exultation. And then they went to bed, and to a sleep over which brooded the indefinite sensation of a great unknown joy;--that rare heavenly sleep which only comes once or twice or thrice in life, on occasions such as this.
He was up early next morning, and, opening his window, leaned out with his hands among the green vine-leaves which encircled it. The garden looked beautiful as ever, and he promised himself an early enjoyment of those currants which hung in ruby clusters over the walls. Everything was bathed in the dewy balm of summer morning, and he felt very happy as, with his little spaniel frisking round him, he visited the great Newfoundland in his kennel, and his old pet the pony in the stable. He had barely finished his rounds when breakfast was ready, and he once more met the home-circle from which he had been separated for a year. And yet over all his happiness hung a sense of change and half melancholy; they were not changed but he was changed. Mrs. Trevor, and Fanny, and Vernon were the same as ever, but over him, had come an alteration of feeling and circumstance; an unknown or half-known something which cast a shadow between them and him, and sometimes made him half shrink and start as he met their loving looks. Can no schoolboy, who reads history, understand and explain the feeling which I mean?
By that mail he wrote to his father and mother an account of Russell's death, and he felt that they would guess why the letter was so blurred. "But," he wrote, "I have some friends still; especially Mr. Rose among the masters, and Monty and Upton among the boys. Monty you know; he is more like Edwin than any other boy, and I like him very much. You didn't know Upton, but I am a great deal with him, though he is much older than I am. He is a fine handsome fellow, and one of the most popular in the school. I hope you will know him some day."
The very next morning Eric received a letter which he at once recognised to be in Upton's handwriting He eagerly tore off the envelope, and read--