The hours slipt away at the column of Shakspeare, and a servant informed him that it was time to dress for dinner, which business did not take him many minutes to accomplish, as he was one of those rare persons whose dress is never out of order. “Dust never sticks to him,” as homely Mrs. May used to tell her friends—a saying which Mrs. Green was fond of repeating to her friends whenever his name was mentioned.
Now for an extraordinary scene, thought Arthur, as the servant bowed him down to the dining-room. I shall see a magnificent service of plate and a royal dinner. But he was disappointed in one respect—for though the dinner-service was splendid, yet the dinner itself was simple beyond all imagination. The table was set for four persons, Mrs. Herman was at the head, her son at the foot, and Arthur and Grace Gordon opposite to each other. Fricasseed chickens and boiled ham constituted the meat part of the dinner; but there was a number of dishes of delicate vegetables, delicately cooked, and a variety of fine fruit for dessert.
There was neither wine nor ale, but pitchers of ice-water in abundance—and all seemed to eat with an appetite. Madam Herman helped liberally, but talked sparingly. Mr. Herman uttered not a syllable, Grace Gordon was in high spirits, and laughingly asked a few questions in German, such as she had learned in the morning, Arthur answered her gravely, according to contract—and thus the first dinner passed.
As the library was a great novelty, Arthur betook himself to the Shakspeare column again, and there he remained until five o’clock, when he was summoned to the study. He found Madam Herman seated in her rocking-chair, and Grace Gordon at the table, with a smile on her face of dubious meaning, and her handkerchief more than once raised to hide it.
If the lesson was a dry matter-of-fact business, he was fully rewarded by the quickness of the young lady’s apprehension; she perfectly comprehended what Arthur had taught her in the morning, and he feared her progress would be so rapid, that he should not remain in this enchanted castle very long. He turned round to Madam Herman, when she rung the little bell for the servant to bow him out, and observed that Miss Gordon had made great progress already. The old lady made no reply, but drew up with quiet dignity, and there was scorn on her features. Miss Gordon blushed and held down her head, pitying the young man’s embarrassment, and again, from the half-open door the same clear laugh was heard.
Arthur stood for a moment irresolute, he had half a mind to quit the house at once; for the disagreeable manners of the old lady, the cold formality of her son, and the laugh, which seemed as if in mockery, were more than a counterpoise to the great benefits and pleasures of his situation. But the young lady was unexceptionable in her manners; she was not, to be sure, familiar, or even social, as is always the case between teacher and scholar; but there was nothing offensive—and it was a pleasure to look at her beautiful face. He stood irresolute, however, and probably would have made his parting bow, had not his eye glanced at the following words, evidently written that moment—never take offense where none is meant.
A grateful bow and a deep blush convinced the young lady that she should not lose her teacher. Arthur was bowed out of the room as before, and jumping in the chaise which the servant said was waiting for him, he rode down to the lodge to see his friends, who were to meet him there at six o’clock. The four boys, Mr. Green, and Garry, were all clustering in the room waiting for him, and his heart warmed with joy on receiving their honest, hearty greeting. Garry asked if he might tell Mrs. Green and Martha to come the next day—and the boys declared that they would be there also. There was a delicacy about these unsophisticated people which prevented them from asking questions, as soon as they heard the terms of his contract at Herman Hall. Arthur told them, however, that he was quite happy, and that his pupil would not want his assistance more than a month, as she learned very quickly.
The servant presented himself at the door, and Arthur found it was time to bid his honest friends adieu, promising to see them once a week at that hour—and so they reluctantly parted. On his return to the house, he was shown to a small room adjoining the library, and on the table was the tea equipage. The man asked if he would like to go to his chamber before taking tea; and Arthur, supposing this part of the etiquette, followed him up stairs, where, as usual, the door was opened for him, and, with a low bow, the servant retired. After arranging his hair and dress, he sat at the casement enjoying the beautiful prospect, and regretting that it would, like a dream, so soon fade away—for he was quite certain that the lady would master the most difficult part of the language in less than six weeks.
How strangely are we constituted, and how little do we know of what the mind is capable. In a few hours Arthur was a changed man. The petty anxieties of a business life, all originating in the necessity of providing for daily wants, were cast aside, never to be resumed again—for new feelings, new hopes filled his whole soul. He never before understood the greatness, the goodness of God; he never comprehended His power over creation, and that all things, all that was beautiful, was the work of His hand. It was in this magnificent solitude that his heart opened to all this glory; and it seemed as if a film had fallen from his sight. Men cannot know God in cities!
New faculties have been given to me, thought he, on descending to the tea-room. I am in communion with a holy and chaste spirit, which will, I know, sustain me; and the future, so dreaded, I now look forward to with a certainty of success. My heart is made up of love and charity—and every human being shall have a claim upon my tenderness. Even the weak and infirm of purpose I shall endeavor to comfort and advise; and as to this beautiful girl, so far, so infinitely my superior—why may I not love her as a dear sister, love her in secret and—