When Gilbert had attained his seventh year, Lady Elgitha decreed that an erudite curate should be sought out, who, in addition to his clerical duties, should instruct both boys in the mysteries of the Latin grammar, and should prepare Gilbert for Eton, and Mark for the local grammar school, which had a very good reputation; and so, for three years, the boys worked together under the guidance of the Rev. Theophilus Wilkins, who, having rather overtaxed his brain by taking a “double first” at Oxford, was not sorry to rest a little by going back to first principles with the cousins, the elder of whom was interesting as the grandson of an earl, while the orphanage of the younger could hardly fail to awaken his sympathy.
As was natural, Gilbert took the lead, and was always the person most considered, but Mark had an innate love of learning, which made him accept with eagerness whatever was offered to him. From the day when a six years’ child he spelt out the mysteries of “haec musa” to that when he gave proof of accomplished scholarship by carrying off the first honours of his school, it never occurred to Mark to clip his studies by a careful selection of what would carry him through an examination, too much engrossed by learning to count personal profit or want of profit in the matter; while Gilbert from his tenderest years showed a precocious esteem for “what would pay” and a profound unwillingness to learn anything for its own sake; so that when he was ten years old, it being found that Mark was in all respects in advance of his cousin, Lady Elgitha decreed that it was waste of time for Mark to study at home any longer, and that Gilbert had better be sent to one of those feeders of Eton where the subjects of study are strictly narrowed to suit the demands of that seat of learning; and in due course Gilbert Manners Echlin, having passed through the congenial mill of the Rev. Edward Thornborough, at Staines, took a good place on his entrance, and was fairly launched into the sea of public school life. His grandfather and his uncle being earls, and his father a parson, he was not particularly badgered on his first coming; he was sufficiently aristocratic in countenance and bearing to pass muster with the boys, and sufficiently ready with his lessons to escape the censure of masters.
Mark Fenner, meanwhile, diligently attended the Grammar School at Sunbridge, walking to and fro summer and winter, wet and dry, and, with his bright, cheery face and steady ways, won the love of masters and of boys, and worked his way with quiet perseverance to the top of the school. It never occurred to him to envy Gilbert his fine clothes or the guineas he jingled in his pockets when he came to the cottage to say good-bye; and he submitted with an easy grace to the airs of patronage which his cousin assumed. It was natural, he thought, that his Aunt Elgitha’s son should go to Eton, and it was equally natural and right that he himself should work out his lessons without other aid than that of dictionary and grammar by the light of his mother’s lamp in the cottage parlour, occasionally refreshing himself by a half-unconscious glance at the enlarged photograph over the mantelpiece, which was the only portrait they had of their father, and which, dull and poor as it was in comparison with the bright presence which had passed away, was yet an outward visible sign of it very dear to the three who called the cottage home.
In countenance Mark was not at all like his father, resembling his mother in feature and complexion; but many a time and oft the widow’s heart beat and tears rose in her eyes as she recognised in her boy traits which assured her of that higher affinity of heart and mind which is infinitely deeper than any trick of feature or complexion. It is a mistake to suppose that because boys are often rough in speech and careless in manner there is any reason for it in their boyhood, and though the braggart and the bully naturally attract most attention, and do what they can to spoil the beauty of the little republics in which they live, we confidently believe that there are hundreds of boys who have no taste for bullying and coarse talking any more than for lying and thieving, and who pass through their school career pure in speech and gentle in nature. Certainly Mark Fenner never need have blushed if his mother had heard all he said any more than if she had read the thoughts of his heart; yet Mark was almost as good in the cricket-field as in the school-room, he was an adroit swimmer, a stout wrestler, and, better than all, an excellent walker.
Eveline, who was just two years younger than her brother, was a bright, healthy damsel, not specially clever, but one of those girls who have a truly feminine and harmonising influence in families, modest and happy in temper, always more occupied by care for others than for herself. She had acquired most of her knowledge from her mother, and would have been pronounced by many a young lady of the nineteenth century “frightfully ignorant.” I am afraid it would have cost her some thought to define what is meant by physical, political, and commercial geography; physiology as a science was unknown to her, but she had been an apt pupil in those graces which no board of examiners can gauge, but without which English homes would never have been the desire and the admiration of foreigners, the safety and the comfort of her sons.
Eveline was sufficiently well-read to take an interest in wholesome books and understand political questions, when they were discussed; and for this she was much indebted to her uncle, with whom she was a great favourite, and whom she often accompanied on his parish rambles, when he beguiled the way and relieved his own heart by gently philosophising after a fashion too ideal to find favour with Lady Elgitha, but which sounded very sweetly in the ears of the young Eveline.
And so the years sped on. Gilbert had left Eton with fair credit, but without having attained any distinction, and was making up his mind what he should do next—a process that occupied him some months, and which, but for the pressure of circumstances, which his mother regarded as cruel, he might never have achieved; but she was well aware that his father could not live for ever, that her fortune would be too small to support him, when divided, as by her father’s will it must be, between her children. The church, the army, the bar, which was it to be? The church was perhaps the easiest; it would not cost Gilbert much trouble to take a respectable degree, and there was a good living in the family; but the living was in Northamptonshire, in a part of the country which Gilbert knew and did not admire; besides, a country life, even with all the amenities of Sunbridge within easy reach, did not suit him. He would have preferred the army if he could have been guaranteed against heavy campaigning, and if the examinations for the higher branches of the service had not been so stiff. As to law, it was horrid all round, absolutely nothing to be got without burning the midnight oil, a process to which, in its classic sense, Gilbert had a special objection, though he testified no aversion to midnight gas. So the months passed, until the time came for Mark to leave school, which he did after having been captain for a couple of years, with a long row of charmingly-bound prize books and a very good scholarship to Trinity College, Cambridge.
Then Lady Elgitha, finding her son no nearer to a conclusion, decreed that he also should go to Cambridge; all her family who were not in the army had gone to Cambridge; but as Gilbert had not the gift of plodding, a smaller college, his father’s, Corpus, was chosen for him. Boys of his age seldom cared for the church; he would probably come round in a year or two, and then he would be in the right road for it.
Mark was sure to do well. He had had nothing to do at Sunbridge but work, whereas poor Gilbert had been so distracted at Eton by games, society, etc., etc. Mark would distinguish himself. He could hardly help doing so, and no doubt would be glad of the opportunity to do his cousin a service in return for the many benefits he and his mother and sister had received from his uncle.
The seven years which the boys had spent apart, except during holidays, had widened the natural gulf between them; and when Mark, in obedience to his aunt’s wish, offered to read with Gilbert, he found the task no easy one. Gilbert professed an abomination for mathematics, and by his ignorance of the first principles, seemed to justify the opinion generally entertained of the perfection in which the study is ignored in the old schools.