Orville College: A Story

by Mrs. Henry Wood

It might be the last time he should ever, in life, be thus with his mother. It might be his last evening on earth. Oh, life looked very fair, now that he was possibly about to quit it. Scenes of the past and present, pleasant realities of existence, seemed to come tumbling into his mind with strange persistency. The "old house at home," with its home comforts and home affections; the days at Orville College with their hopes and interests; the future career he had been rather given in anticipation, to carve out for himself. Why, what a mockery it seemed! Here was he, a candidate (though he had never much thought he should get it) for the Orville prize—long before the time for bestowing it came, he might be cold in his grave, half forgotten! What a mockery seemed all things, if it came to that: his education at all; his training; nay, even his having been born—were this to be the ending! The more serious, solemn part that Mr. Bouncely had enlarged on in the other case, of what might come after death, William Gall simply dared not glance at. No wonder that his brow grew hotter and hotter.

"I'll go to my room, I think," he quietly said, rising, as his reflections became keen and more keen, his assumption of calm equanimity simply intolerable. "Good night, mother, dear."

She was surprised at the abrupt salutation; at the long, passionate kiss he pressed upon her lips; at the yearning, singular love in his eyes. But before she could say anything, he was gone. Gone to shut himself in his own room, with his troubles and his fear. Not fear of the shot itself or the pain it might bring; William Gall was of a sufficiently brave nature; but fear of the results that might follow in its wake—of the ETERNITY he might be flying into. And yet, so powerful upon him was received custom, the conventionalities of the world; so great a dread had he, in common with others, of being pointed at as a coward, that he let the thing go on, and would not stop it. An almost irrepressible wish had come over him, while he was with his mother, to tell the truth to her; but that might not be, and he thrust it back again.

And so good night to you, Mr. William Gall! Pleasant dreams! Bertie Loftus was getting over the evening in a different way. Bertie, in full dress, was exhibiting his handsome self at the rooms. He talked, he laughed, he danced; he was so unusually active, so unusually gay, that Raymond Trace, with his unfailing discernment, wondered what Bertie had been about, and knew he was only killing care. Bertie denied it when Trace asked; there was his care, that split he had made in his left-hand glove. "Wretched kid that it must be," he said, with a light laugh. With a light laugh; with an assumption of careless gaiety: but nevertheless every pulse in Mr. Bertie's inward heart was beating with something that was more akin to pain than pleasure; and the loud notes of the music seemed to be so many pistol-shots banging off in the air.

"Be on the ground in time, Loftus," whispered Mr. Leek, as he passed in the wake of the Lady Sophia's scarlet cloak, who had soon had enough of it, and was leaving early. "Five o'clock sharp, mind."

"All right, Leek." And subsequently when Bertie Loftus himself took his departure, he and his party, a couple of coachfuls, and rattled along the port, he looked out at the glistening water and wondered whether he should ever see it again. He might wish the morrow over; he might wish what was to take place in it could be stopped; but that was impossible. Pride was in the ascendant with both him and Gall, you see; and of course gentlemen cannot act against the convenances of society.

The morning rose; warm, bright, clear; with a stiffish breeze yet, but nothing to intercept work or pistol shots. Gall found his way out of the hotel, and saw the faithful Talbot waiting, his back propped against the shutters at the parfumeur's opposite. Gall felt in better spirits than he had been last night, as most of us do when light has chased away the darkness. And, perhaps, he was willing to show himself gay.

"Good morning, Shrewsbury! How long have you been there?"

"Only five minutes. I say, is it not a glorious morning? Couldn't have a better," cried the earl. He seemed in spirits too. It was well to put a good face on what could not now be avoided.

They walked to the appointed place, commencing the route by the Rue d'Assas, and so upwards. It was a good step, even when they had left the town behind. Carriages had been proposed the previous day; but they were afraid to engage any lest the affair should get known. These two were on the spot first. Certainly the seconds had chosen well; the place was appropriate enough to what had to be done on it. It was a bit of flat, low ground, where the grass was short, lying rather in a hollow, and sufficiently secluded. The sea sparkled in the distance over the heights; the open country was stretched out on the other hand; Boulogne lay below. A very few minutes, and Mr. Leek appeared in full spirits, carrying the case of pistols.