Yet assuredly her heart was not broken over Pierce Douglass.
The letter sealed and laid aside, an unemployed half-hour lay before her; not that there was not plenty to do, but that curious aversion to setting about any of it, which busy workers so well understand, came over her in full force. A sort of unreasonable and unreasoning desire that the hour might be marked by something special hovered around her. She stood at the window and looked out on the snow, and watched the sleighs fly past. A sleigh-ride would be pleasant. Why could she not have known that her music-scholar was to disappoint her, and so had the benefit of a ride?
Possibly she might have said a word in season to Louis Ansted, though there was about her the feeling that he was not ready for the word in season, and would make poor use of it. Perhaps the Master knew that it was better left unsaid, and so had held her from the opportunity; but she longed to do something.
A sleigh was stopping at the Academy. The young man who sprang out and presently pealed the bell, was Harry Matthews. Did he want her? she wondered, and was this her special opportunity? No, he only wanted a roll of music, to study the part which he was to sing; but on learning that the teacher was in, and at leisure, he came to her in the music-room, and asked questions about this particular song, and about the rehearsal, and asked to have the tenor played for him, and as he bent forward to turn the music, the breath of wine floated distinctly to her. Was this an opportunity? Was there something that she might say, and ought to say?
It was Louis Ansted's belief that this young man's special danger lay in this direction; but what a delicate direction it was to touch!
He thanked her heartily for the help which she had given him about the difficult part, and in that brief time her resolution was taken:
"Now, do you know there is something that I want you to do for me?"
No, he did not know it, but was delighted to hear it. Miss Benedict was doing so much for them all, that it would certainly be a great pleasure to feel that he could in any way serve her. He wished he could tell her how much he and some of the other boys appreciated this opportunity to study music. There had never been any good singing in South Plains before.
There was a flush on Claire's cheeks as she replied, holding forward a little book at the same time.
It would serve me. She could think of scarcely anything else, so easily done, that would give her greater pleasure than to have him write his name on her pledgebook; she had an ambition to fill every blank. There was room for five hundred signers, and she and her sister at home were trying to see which could get their pledge-book filled first. Would he give her his name?