Charles Auchester Volume I Part 22

"But is he to try it, then, Mr. Davy?"

"Your mother has given me leave to ask him, if I see him; but I fear he has already returned to London." Davy glanced here at my mother with a peculiar expression, and resumed, "I am going to write to him, at all events, about another subject, or rather upon the same subject."

"Oh, Mr. Davy, I will talk to my little boy myself."

"Certainly, madam; I will not antic.i.p.ate you."

"Charles dear," said Clo, "you must have your supper now."

It appeared to me that I had already had it; but I restored my doll to its cradle in silence, and ate unconsciously. Fred's presence at the board stimulated his lady and Lydia to extreme festivity, and they laughed the whole time; but Millicent was pale and Davy quiet, and he departed as soon as he possibly might. But a smile of sweetness all his own, and of significance sweeter than sweetness, brightened his frank adieu for me into the day-spring of my decided destiny.

CHAPTER XXIV.

The next morning my mother redeemed her promise. It was directly after breakfast when she had placed herself in the chair at the parlor window. She made no allusion to the evening before until she completed this arrangement of hers, and then she looked so serious, as I stood before her, that I fully expected something I should not like.

"Charles," she said, "you are very dear to me, and perhaps you have given me more care than all my children, though you are the youngest.

I have often wondered what you would be or become as a member of society, and it was the last of all my thoughts for you that you must leave me to be educated. But if you are to be a musician, you must be taken from me soon, or you will never grow into what we should both of us desire,--a first-rate artist. I could not wish you to be anything less than first rate, and now you are very backward."

"Am I to go to London then, mother?" I shook in every limb.

"I believe a first-rate musical education for you in London would be beyond my means. It is upon this subject your friend Mr. Davy is to be so good as to write to Santonio, who can tell us all about Germany, where higher advantages can be obtained more easily than anywhere in England. But, Charles, you will have to give up a great deal if you go, and learn to do everything for yourself. If you are ill, you will have to do without nursing and petting as you would have here; and if you are unhappy, you must not complain away from home. Also you must work hard, or you will lose your free self-approval, and be miserable at the end. I should be afraid to let you go if I did not know you are musical enough to do your duty by music, and loving enough to do your duty by your mother; also, that you are a true boy, and will not take to false persons. But it is hard to part with you, my child; and indeed, we need not think of that just yet."

I did though, I am ashamed to say; and I wanted to set off on the next day. I knew this to be impossible, and the fact that consoled me was the very one of my unstrung ignorance; for I had a vague impression that Davy would tune me up before I left home. I could not see him that morning. My excitement was intense; I could not even cut a caper, for I had to do my lessons, and Clo always behaved about my lessons as if they were to go on forever, and I was by no means to grow any older. She was especially stationary on this morning, and I had nothing for it but to apply very hard indeed. My copy was more crabbed than ever; but while she commented so gravely thereupon, I thought of what Santonio had said about my arm and hand. I was not vain,--I have not a tincture of vanity all through me,--but I was very proud, and also most demurely humble.

At dinner Millicent talked to me of my prospects; but I pretended not to admit them in all their magnificence: the prophetic longing was so painful to me that I dared not irritate it. So she rallied me in vain, and I ate a great deal of rice pudding to simulate occupation. Dinner over, they all retired to their rooms,--I to my violin in a corner of the parlor. I hung over it as it lay in its case, I fed upon it in spirit; but I did not take it out, I was afraid of any one coming in.

At last I spread my pocket-handkerchief upon the case, and sitting down upon it, went to sleep in scarcely conscious possession. I did not dream anything particular, though I suppose I ought to have done so, and it had been better for these unilluminated pages; but when I awoke it was late,--that is, late for my engagement with Miss Benette.

I ran all the way; and as I reached my resting-place, it occurred to me that I should have to tell her I was going to Germany. How glad she would be, and yet a little sorry; for I had an idea she liked me, or I should never have gone near her. Vaulting into the pa.s.sage, I heard strange sounds--singing, but not only singing. More and more wonders, I thought, and I dashed upstairs. The sounds ceased when I knocked at the door, which Clara came to open. I gazed in first, before I even noticed her, and beheld in the centre of the room a small polished pianoforte. I flew in and up to it, and breathlessly surveyed it.

"Miss Benette, where did that come from? I thought you were not to have a pianoforte for ever so long."

She came to me, and replied with her steady, sweet voice a little agitated,--

"Oh! Master Auchester, I wish you could tell me who it came from, that I might give that person my heart quite full of thanks. I can only believe it comes from some one who loves music more than all things,--some one rich, whom music has made richer than could all money. It is such a sweet, darling, beautiful thing to come to me!

Such a precious glory to make my heart so bright!"

The tears filled her eyes, and looking at her, I perceived that she had lately wept; the veins of harebell-blue seemed to quiver round the lids.

"Oh, Miss Benette! I had a violin sent to me too, and I thought it was from Mr. Davy; but now I feel quite sure it was from that lady."

Clara could scarcely speak,--I had never seen her so overcome; but she presently answered,--

"I believe it was the young lady. I hope so, because I should like her to be made happy by remembering we have both got through her what we wanted more than anything in the world. She would not like to be thanked, though; so we ought not to grieve that we cannot express our grat.i.tude."

"I should like to know really, though, because it seems so strange she should recollect _me_."

"Oh, Master Auchester, no! Any one can see the music in your face who has the music in his heart. Besides, she saw you at the festival, and how anxious you were to serve the great gentleman."

"Now, Miss Benette, I am to tell you something."

"How good! Do go on."

I laid my arm on the piano, but scarcely knew how to begin.

"What is it to do, then?" asked Clara, winningly.

"I am going really to be a musician, Miss Benette; I am going to Germany."

She did not reply at first; but when I looked up, it was as though she had not wept, so bright she beamed.

"That's all right, I knew you would. Oh! if she knew how much good she had done, how happy she would be! How happy she will be when she goes to a concert some day, in some year to come, and sees you stand up, and hears you praise music in the voice it loves best!"

"Do you think so? Do you think it is the best voice of music?"

"Because it is like the voice of a single soul, I do. But Mr. Davy says we cannot know the power of an orchestra of souls."

"_I_ can."

"Oh! I beg your pardon! I forgot."

"But I don't think that I remember well; for whenever I try to think of it, I seem only to see his face, and hear his voice speaking to me, saying, 'Above all, the little ones!'"

"How pretty it was! You will be sure to see him in Germany, and then you can ask him whether he wrote the 'Tone-Wreath.'"

Oh, how I laughed again!

"What sort of place shall I go to, should you think?"

"I don't know any place really, Master Auchester. I can't tell what places they have to learn at, upon the Continent. I know no places besides this house, and Mr. Davy's, and the cla.s.s, and church, and Miss Lenhart's house in London."

"Are you not very dull?"

Alas for the excitable nature of my own temperament! I was sure I should be dull in her place, though I had never felt it until my violin came upon me, stealthy and stirring as first love. She looked at me with serene wonder.

"I don't know what 'dull' means. I do not want anything I have not got, because I shall have everything I want,--some day, I mean; and I would rather not have all at once."

I did not think anything could be wanting to her, indeed, in loveliness or aspiration, for my religious belief was in both for her; still I fancied it impossible she should not sometimes feel impatient, and especially as those blue shadows I have mentioned had softened the sweetness of her eyes, and the sensation of tears stole over me as I gazed upon her.

"We shall not practise much, I am afraid, Master Auchester, for I want to talk, and I am so silly that when I sing, I begin to cry."

"For pleasure, I suppose. I always do."

"Not all for pleasure. I am vexed, and I do not love myself for being vexed. Laura is going to Paris, Master Auchester, to study under a certain master there. Her papa is going too, and that woman I do not like. She is unhappy to leave me, but they have filled her head with pictures, and she is wild for the big theatres. She came to see me this morning, and I talked to her a long time. It was that made me cry."

"Why, particularly?"