The Young Seigneur | Page 9

to the Grammar School during my last session
there, and at the end of it swept away the whole of the prizes, with the
Dux Medal of the school, notwithstanding his imperfect knowledge of

English, and was head in every subject, except good conduct and
punctuality.
At this he nearly killed himself. Proceeding, he carried off the highest
scholarship among the Matriculants at the University, where his
classical papers were said to be perfect. All through these two years and
a half of College progress since, he had been astonishing us with
similar terrible application and results. Professors encouraged, friends
applauded, we wondered at and admired him. We did not envy him,
however, for he became, as I commenced by saying, a pitiable wreck.
Look at him as he stoops upon the horse!
* * * * *
Good old Father St. Esprit--oldest and humblest of the Order in the
College--who was his friend, and whom everybody, and especially
Quinet, venerated, took a private word with him before he departed
from that institution.
"My son," said he, "I see the quality of thy mind, and that the Church of
God will not be able to contain thee. Thou mayst wander, poor child;
yet carry thou at least in thy heart ever love of what thou seest to be
good, and respect for what is venerated by another. Put this word away
in thy soul in memory of thy friend the Père St. Esprit."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE TOBOGGAN SLIDE.
"What is there in this blossom-hour should knit An omen in with every
simple word?"
--ISABELLA VALANCEY CRAWFORD.
During the next few days I could do nothing of interest to me but make
prudent enquiries about Alexandra Grant. I remember an answer of
Little Steele's "Ah--That is a beautiful girl!"

"You were beautiful, Alexandra!"
I caught glimpses of her on the street and in her carriage; memory
marks the spots by a glow of light; they are my holy places. I saw her
open her purse for a blind man begging on a church step. I watched her
turn and speak politely to a ragged newsgirl. One day, when Quinet and
I, coming down from College and seeing a little boy fall on the path,
threw away our books and set him on his feet, it was her face of
approval that beamed out of a carriage window on the opposite side of
the street.
I was introduced to her at the Mackenzie's, at a toboggan party given
for Lockhart, the son, my friend.
Shall I ever forget our slide on the toboggan hill and my emotions in
that simple question, "Will you slide with me?"
I was already far into a grande passion,--foolish and desperate.
She assented, stepped over to my toboggan kindly, sat down and placed
her feet under its curled front. The crown of the hill about us was
illumined by a circle of Chinese lanterns, and the moon, rising in the
East, reflected a dim light on the fields of snow. I lifted the toboggan,
gave the little run and leaped on at the end of the cushion, with my foot
out behind to steer. Immediately we shot down the first descent, and as
I straightened the course of the quick-flying leaf of maple wood, I felt it
correspond as if intelligently. The second descent spurred our rate to an
electric speed. As I bent forward, the snow flying against my face, the
sound of sliding growing louder and shriller, and my foot demanding a
sterner pressure to steer, a surge of exhilarating emotions suddenly
rushed over me, and a thought cried "This is Alexandra! Alexandra
whom you love."
"Alexandra!" my heart returned, "I am so near you!" Her two thick
golden plaits of hair fell just before my eyes. She was sitting calm and
straight. The toboggan shot on like a flash, and the drift beat fiercely in
my eyes. But why should I heed? Away! Away! Leave everything
behind us and speed thou out with me, love, into some region where I

can reveal to thee alone this earnest soul which thou has awakened into
such devotion!
Yet lo, our race slackening, the moment was even then over, and
having carried us straight as an arrow, the toboggan undulated
gracefully like a serpent over a little rising in the path and came to a
stand. She rose. The light of the rising moon just enabled me to still
catch the threaded yellow of her hair and the translucent complexion.
One had been following us closely. "Permit me--this next is ours, Miss
Grant," he said, hastening eagerly forward to her, and I saw it was
Quinet.
I marked the deference which every one, old and young, paid to her,
and at the house afterwards I looked on while a boisterous