The Lost Stradivarius | Page 7

This was at once agreed to, and we
proceeded thither, John walking on in front with Constance and Mrs.
Temple, and I following with Mr. Gaskell. My companion explained
that these gardens were esteemed the most beautiful in the University,
but that under ordinary circumstances it was not permitted to strangers
to walk there of an evening. Here he quoted some Latin about "aurum
per medios ire satellites," which I smilingly made as if I understood,
and did indeed gather from it that John had bribed the porter to admit
us. It was a warm and very still night, without a moon, but with enough
of fading light to show the outlines of the garden front. This long low
line of buildings built in Charles I's reign looked so exquisitely
beautiful that I shall never forget it, though I have not since seen its
oriel windows and creeper-covered walls. There was a very heavy dew
on the broad lawn, and we walked at first only on the paths. No one
spoke, for we were oppressed by the very beauty of the scene, and by
the sadness which an imminent parting from friends and from so sweet
a place combined to cause. John had been silent and depressed the
whole day, nor did Mr. Gaskell himself seem inclined to conversation.

Constance and my brother fell a little way behind, and Mr. Gaskell
asked me to cross the lawn if I was not afraid of the dew, that I might
see the garden front to better advantage from the corner. Mrs. Temple
waited for us on the path, not wishing to wet her feet. Mr. Gaskell
pointed out the beauties of the perspective as seen from his
vantage-point, and we were fortunate in hearing the sweet descant of
nightingales for which this garden has ever been famous. As we stood
silent and listening, a candle was lit in a small oriel at the end, and the
light showing the tracery of the window added to the picturesqueness
of the scene.
Within an hour we were in a landau driving through the still warm
lanes to Didcot. I had seen that Constance's parting with my brother
had been tender, and I am not sure that she was not in tears during
some part at least of our drive; but I did not observe her closely, having
my thoughts elsewhere.
Though we were thus being carried every moment further from the
sleeping city, where I believe that both our hearts were busy, I feel as if
I had been a personal witness of the incidents I am about to narrate, so
often have I heard them from my brother's lips. The two young men,
after parting with us in the High Street, returned to their respective
colleges. John reached his rooms shortly before eleven o'clock. He was
at once sad and happy--sad at our departure, but happy in a new-found
world of delight which his admiration for Constance Temple opened to
him. He was, in fact, deeply in love with her, and the full flood of a
hitherto unknown passion filled him with an emotion so overwhelming
that his ordinary life seemed transfigured. He moved, as it were, in an
ether superior to our mortal atmosphere, and a new region of high
resolves and noble possibilities spread itself before his eyes. He
slammed his heavy outside door (called an "oak") to prevent anyone
entering and flung himself into the window-seat. Here he sat for a long
time, the sash thrown up and his head outside, for he was excited and
feverish. His mental exaltation was so great and his thoughts of so
absorbing an interest that he took no notice of time, and only
remembered afterwards that the scent of a syringa-bush was borne up to
him from a little garden-patch opposite, and that a bat had circled

slowly up and down the lane, until he heard the clocks striking three.
At the same time the faint light of dawn made itself felt almost
imperceptibly; the classic statues on the roof of the schools began to
stand out against the white sky, and a faint glimmer to penetrate the
darkened room. It glistened on the varnished top of his violin-case
lying on the table, and on a jug of toast-and-water placed there by his
college servant or scout every night before he left. He drank a glass of
this mixture, and was moving towards his bedroom door when a sudden
thought struck him. He turned back, took the violin from its case, tuned
it, and began to play the "Areopagita" suite. He was conscious of that
mental clearness and vigour which not unfrequently comes with the
dawn to those who have sat watching or reading through the night: and
his thoughts were exalted by the effect