[4] A lawyer.
[5] Hard.
CHAPTER IX.
THE END OF THE SESSION.
At the end of the appointed week the two young men returned to Glasgow, and braced themselves up for the remaining four months of work. At the northern Universities the academic year ends (except for a few supplementary medical classes) with the 1st of May. Alec Lindsay had a great deal of leeway to make up, as he had never had a proper grounding in either Latin or Greek; but he did his best, and felt pretty sure of being able to take at least one prize.
Of course he found his way back to the Church of England chapel at which he had seen Miss Mowbray; and on more than one occasion he was gratified by a sight of her. As to the Anglican form of worship, he regarded it with very mixed feelings. He was pleased by the stately simplicity of the collects, and by the rhythm of the chants. The service was free from the monotony of the Presbyterian form, and it was more ‘congregational’ than anything to which he had been accustomed. But it was some time before he could divest himself of the idea that he was witnessing a kind of religious entertainment, ingeniously devised and interesting, but by no means tending to edification. He felt like his countrywoman, who when taken to a service at Westminster Abbey said afterwards: ‘It was very fine—but eh! that was an awfu’ way o’ spending the Sabbath!’ The voice of conscience is as loud when it condemns the infraction of a rule founded only in prejudice as when it protests against a breach of the moral law itself; and for several Sunday evenings Alec Lindsay left the chapel with the feeling that he had been guilty of a misdemeanour—he had been playing at worship. The unexpressed idea in his mind (a result of his Presbyterian training) was that collects, and chants, and ceremonial observances in general, were too interesting, too pleasing to the natural man, to be acceptable to the Almighty. But by degrees this feeling wore off; and when he became familiar with the Prayer-book, he found that it was an aid rather than a hindrance to devotion.
The end of the session drew near; and the April sun shone clear and fair through the smoke-cloud of Glasgow. It was a Saturday afternoon, and Alec determined to console himself for the loss of a long walk, for which he could not afford time, by putting a book in his pocket, and taking a stroll in the park.
Those who are most attached to the country care least for parks. A piece of enclosed and tended pleasure-ground, whether it is large or small, always affects the lover of nature with a sense of restraint, of formality, of the substitution of an imitation for a reality. Trim gravelled walks are but a poor substitute for a grass-grown lane; a neglected hedgerow, a bit of moorland, or even a corner of a common, will hold more that is beautiful, more that is interesting to one who loves the open country, than acres of park, with all their flower-plots and ticketed specimens of foreign shrubs; for in a thorn hedge or a mound of furze one recognises the inexpressible charm that Nature only possesses when she is left to work by herself.
Yet, to a dweller in cities, parks are worth having. They are, at least, infinitely better than the streets. So, at least, thought Alec Lindsay this April afternoon, as he wandered along the deserted pathway, under the budding trees. Glasgow is fortunate in at least one of its parks. The enclosure is of small extent, but then it is not merely a square of ground planted with weedy young trees and intersected by roads. It is a bit of the valley of the Kelvin; and it includes one side of a steep rising-ground which is crowned by handsome houses of stone. The little river itself is always dirty, and in summer is little better than a sewer with the roof off; but seen from a little distance it is picturesque, and lends variety to the scene.
Alec was wandering along one of the pathways, watching the sunlight playing in the yet leafless branches, and trying to cheat himself into the idea that his mind was filled with Roman history; when suddenly he found himself face to face with—Laura Mowbray. She was dressed, not in winter garments, though the air was cold, but in light, soft colours, which made her look different from the Scotch damsels whom Alec had seen in the streets. She seemed the impersonation of the spring as she slowly approached Alec with a smile on her face. Of course he stopped to speak to her.