Ernest Linwood | Page 9

of my being, to roll
away the shadows that surrounded me, groping for light, toiling, then
dreaming, not resting. It was no wonder I was weary before my journey
was well begun.
"What a remarkable countenance Gabriella has!" I then often heard it
remarked. "Her features are childish, but her eyes have such a peculiar
depth of expression,--so wild, and yet so wise."
I wish I had a picture of myself taken at this period of my life. I have
no doubt I looked older then than I do now.
CHAPTER V.
I knew the path which led from the boarding-place of Mr. Regulus
crossed the one which I daily traversed. I met him exactly at the point
of intersection, under the shadow of a great, old oak. The dew of the
morning glittered on the shaded grass. The clear light blue of the
morning sky smiled through upward quivering leaves. Every thing
looked bright and buoyant, and as I walked on, girded with a resolute
purpose, my spirit caught something of the animation and inspiration of
the scene.
The master saw me as I approached, and I expected to see a frown

darken his brow. I felt brave, however, for I was about to plead for
another, not myself. He did not frown, neither did he smile. He seemed
willing to meet me,--he even slackened his pace till I came up. I felt a
sultry glow on my cheek when I faced him, and my breath came quick
and short. I was not so very brave after all.
"Master Regulus," said I, "do not expel Richard Clyde,--do not disgrace
him, because he thought I was not kindly dealt with. I am sorry I ran
from school as I did,--I am sorry I wrote the poem,--I hardly knew what
I was doing when I snatched the paper from your hands. I suppose
Richard hardly knew what he was doing when he stopped you at the
door."
I did not look up while I was speaking, for had I met an angry glance I
should have rebelled.
"I am glad I have met you, Gabriella," said he, in a tone so gentle, I
lifted my eyes in amazement. His beamed with unusual kindness
beneath his shading brows. Gone was the mocking gleam,--gone the
deriding smile. He looked serious, earnest, almost sad, but not severe.
Looking at his watch, and then at the golden vane, as if that too were a
chronometer, he turned towards the old oak, and throwing himself
carelessly on a seat formed of a broken branch, partially severed from
the trunk, motioned me to sit down on the grass beside him. Quick as
lightning I obeyed him, untying my bonnet and pushing it back from
my head. I could scarcely believe the evidence of my senses. There
reclined the formidable master, like a great, overgrown boy, his attitude
alone banishing all restraint and fear, and I, perched on a mossy rock,
that looked as if placed there on purpose for me to sit down upon, all
my wounded and exasperated feelings completely drowned in a sudden
overflow of pleasant emotions. I had expected scolding, rebuke,
denial,--I had armed myself for a struggle of power,--I had resolved to
hazard a martyr's doom.
Oh, the magic of kindness on a child's heart!--a lonely, sensitive, proud,
yearning heart like mine!--'Tis the witch-hazel wand that shows where
the deep fountain is secretly welling. I was ashamed of the tears that
would gather into my eyes. I shook my hair forward to cover them, and

played with the green leaves within my reach.
The awful space between me and this tall, stern, learned man seemed
annihilated. I had never seen him before, divested of the insignia of
authority, beyond the walls of the academy. I had always been
compelled to look up to him before; now we were on a level, on the
green sward of the wild-wood. God above, nature around, no human
faces near, no fear of man to check the promptings of ingenuous feeling.
Softly the folded flower petals of the heart began to unfurl. The
morning breeze caught their fragrance and bore it up to heaven.
"You thought me harsh and unkind, Gabriella," said the master in a low,
subdued voice, "and I fear I was so yesterday. I intended to do you
good. I began sportively, but when I saw you getting excited and angry,
I became angry and excited too. My temper, which is by no means
gentle, had been previously much chafed, and, as is too often the case,
the irritation, caused by the offences of many, burst forth on one,
perhaps the most innocent of all. Little girl, you have been studying the
history of France; do you remember its Louises?--Louis the Fourteenth
was a profligate, unprincipled,