Confessions of an Etonian Part 3

"I should get a good thras.h.i.+ng; or, in other words, Miss Curzon, get a good licking."

After a brief silence, she resumed her questions.

"As you have been so short a time at Eton, I suppose you have not yet been punished?"

"O yes, many times. I got a capital flogging yesterday."

"Will you tell me what you were flogged for?"

"For eating in church."

"And what could make you do that?"

"I had been f.a.gging all the morning, Miss Curzon; and having no time for breakfast, I went into church with my rolls in my pocket, and one of the masters saw me eating them."

"You have quite frightened me for poor little Frederic!"

"Perhaps he will be more fortunate," I replied; "so I must even wish, as you said just now, that he may indeed be my f.a.g, for then he can breakfast with me every morning."

"I declare I will ask papa to place him under your care if you will let me?"

"You cannot know, Miss Curzon, how obliged I feel to you for thinking that I would take care of your brother; and depend upon it, I will."

"Yes," said the little lady, looking stedfastly in my face, "I feel quite certain you would. But," she added, as her own brightened with a smile, "you must now fulfil your first promise to me, and find my father, for I am so tired, I must rest here a little longer."

"Very well," I replied; "but how I should like to talk with you here all night! Do not go away until I return."

I now hurried away in search of her father, who, after many inquiries, was pointed out to me by Chrichton, though in a very inaccessible position; for he was standing with other important personages, among whom I could discern the Duke, by the side of her Majesty's poney-phaeton.

"Do, Chrichton," I begged--"do go up to Sir George Curzon for me; you are more used to that sort of thing than I."

All my eloquence being thrown away upon him, and on that instant thinking of my little lady in the grove, I walked towards the group with my hat in my hand, without further hesitation.

"If you please, Sir George Curzon, there is a young lady in the shrubberies who wants you."

"I think, young sir," replied Sir George, "you must make a mistake."

"No, sir. She has lost you, she says; it is Miss Curzon."

"Dear me! I thought she had been all this while with her aunt. Where is she?"

"A little beyond that temple on the hill, there," I replied, pointing with my hat.

"You need hardly go all that way yourself," said the Duke, observing Sir George about to follow me; "the boy can show her here very well."

"Yes, Sir George," added her Majesty; "let the little boy run and bring her."

"Well, then, my little gentleman," asked Sir George, "may I ask you to do so?"

"Oh, yes, Sir," I replied, and I was off on my way towards her in a moment.

"I have found your father. Miss Curzon," said I on my return, "and he has asked me to lead you to him. I hope I have not been long."

"I am sorry you should have had so much trouble," she answered, as she took my arm; "but we must now make haste, for it is getting quite late, and I know papa wishes to go part of the way home to-night."

"Do you live far from here, then?" I rather pointedly inquired.

"Oh, yes--I don't know how many miles--all the way down in Ches.h.i.+re; we took this place in our road from town."

"Well, then, Miss Curzon," I said, as we approached her father, "I wonder if ever we shall meet again! You cannot think how I hope we may; but now good bye, and----"

"You need not leave me quite yet," she replied, interrupting me; "come a little further with me--what were you going to say?"

"Though I may never see you more, n.o.body will ever be so glad to hear that you are happy as I; for I would sooner see you so than any person I know."

"Thank you, thank you," she replied, rather earnestly, "and I hope we shall be able--indeed, I am certain I shall see you again somewhere--I will not," she added, as we approached the circle, "I will not, if you please, keep your arm before them. Good bye, then; I shall hear of you, at all events, from my brother."

She then left me, while I reluctantly directed my steps towards the college, which now appeared unwelcome and obtrusive. She was so different to everything I had hitherto experienced!--so gentle and kind--so una.s.suming, and yet so lovely--and now to be torn away and severed from such a person! That night I attempted to console myself in the following effusion; and as they are the first and last lines of which I was ever guilty, shall be here inserted; for though the versification is by no means faultless, they were true to my feelings at the time:--

When 'midst the deepest gloom of night, While all is still and lone, A heavenly meteor flashes bright, But floats away as soon;

Does not the bosom of the moor Seem doubly dark and drear, Frowning still sterner than before Did that false light appear!

So, lady, have you crossed my way, Brighter than cloudless morn-- So o'er this heart thy piercing ray.

Gleamed--and thou art gone!

CHAPTER V.

My first half-year as an Etonian had now expired. Brief as it was, it has been to me the most portentous period of my existence. I sometimes feel that my fate, here and hereafter, has hinged upon it--this world is globular for the same reason that a woman's tear is. Are we the creatures of the merest chance, or of eternal predestination through all time, if there be such a thing as time at all? The question is idle; for as we have never yet solved it, I begin to think we never shall. The Almighty has willed this obscurity, and therefore it is for the best.

I sensitively felt that I was launched amid the crowd of a bustling world, to steer and s.h.i.+ft for myself as I best might. Like other boys, I had a tutor; but, though a thoroughly conscientious man, he was worse than useless; for he was to be practised on with such facility, that I, with his other pupils, imposed upon him as we chose.

When I returned for the holidays to the paternal roof, it was only to be f.a.gged by my elder brethren; for here the f.a.gging system, I regret to say, was not only tolerated, but carried out to its most deplorable extreme.

Ever distant then in our days of boyhood, and that, too, while under the same roof, now that the casualties of after-life have dispersed us, we are become, to all intents and purposes, entire strangers one towards the other.

As to my father, he was, of course, wholly engaged in the cares of providing for so large and expensive a family; and though a man, I am persuaded, of strong and ardent affection for his children, I can barely say that I was acquainted with him.

Accustomed to this sort of distant intercourse from my infancy, I was desirous of no other, until the following occasion, which happened a year or two subsequent to the present time.

I had been engaged in rather an arduous expedition, and, in consequence, was laid up a day or two afterwards with a fever, and in considerable danger of my life. As soon as I could be removed, I was sent to my father's house. In the evening, as we ranged ourselves round the fire, the rest of the family, from prudential motives, removed themselves to a distance. My father drew my chair towards his own, a.s.serting that in illness one should not desert the other.

By the time that I returned home, I had moreover become a confirmed "shuffler."