A vague sense of darkness seemed to close about the boy.
“But our little room,” he said, shivering. “Am I never to return to it, my father? Am I never to behold it again?”
“I make you my promise, beloved one,” said his father softly. “At dusk I will return to take you there.”
Furtively, mournfully the boy relaxed his grip of his father’s hand.
In the next instant he realized that his father was gone, and that he was alone with the dumb immensity of his despair. All about him was black and vague. Yet in the midst of the close-pressing stillness sat the school-master, a venerable and silent form, slowly ruling lines in a ciphering-book. How old, noble, and patient he looked!
Presently the aged master ceased from his labours. He gathered a pile of books, rose and placed them under his arm. He turned to the boy, who was weeping secretly, and said, “Dry your eyes and come with me.”
Filled with nameless misgivings, the boy followed the school-master out through the door, along a passage, and down a flight of stone stairs. At the bottom of these was another door. It opened into a large room, which was full of youthful street-persons, and a great clamour.
The master took his seat at a table apart. It was somewhat higher than the desks at which the youthful street-persons were seated. He told the boy, who followed very close upon his heels, to sit at his side.
The entrance of the aged master appeared to have an effect upon the behaviour of his scholars, or perhaps the appearance in his wake of a new companion had engaged their curiosity. But the boy, trembling in every limb, was far from returning their bold glances. He sat close by the master, mutely craving protection from the fierce horde that was all about him. Had he been led into a den of wild beasts, his fear could not have been more extreme.
The tasks of the day were begun by each of the boys reading aloud in his turn a brief portion of Holy Writ. To him, who heard their voices for the first time, they sounded harsh, strange, and uncouth. Most of them faltered and grew confused at the easiest words, in none were sincerity and coherence; and when the master, to sustain one who was baffled, recited a few verses, his tones, in their sweetness and dignity, sounded like music. Sometimes the master would remark upon the beauty and truth of that which was read, or he would pause to furnish a parallel out of common experience, in order to elucidate an incident as it was narrated.