CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
DRAWING NEAR.
A week after "Revels" had taken place the very remembrance seemed tohave floated away to an immeasurable distance, and only wonder remainedthat any interest could have been felt on so trivial a subject. Frommorning to night, and from night till morning, the same incessant grindwent on, for of what rest was sleep when it opened the door for freshtorture, as, for instance, when a Cambridge Examiner condescended to theunfair expedient of kidnapping a candidate's wardrobe, leaving her todecide between the alternative of staying at home or attending theexamination room attired in a _robe de nuit_? On other occasions itappeared that by some unaccountable freak of memory one had forgottenabout the examinations until the very hour had arrived, and was running,running--trying to overtake a train that would _not_ stop, not thoughone leapt rivers and scaled mountain heights in the vain attempt toattract attention! It was really more restful to lie awake and studytextbooks by the morning light, which came so early in these summerdays; or so thought Rhoda, as she sat up in bed and bent her aching headover her task. Her head was always aching nowadays, while occasionallythere came a sharp, stabbing pain in the eyes, which seemed to say thatthey, too, were inclined to rebel. It was tiresome, but she had no timeto attend to them now. It was not likely that she was going to drawback because of a little pain and physical weakness.
She never complained, but amidst all the bustle of preparation theteachers kept a keen eye on their pupils, and Rhoda found more than onetask mysteriously lightened. No remark was made, but Miss Mott reducedthe amount of preparation; Miss Bruce sent an invitation to tea, whichinvolved an idle hour, and shortcomings were passed over with wonderfulforbearance. Only Miss Everett "croaked," and, dearly as she loved her,Rhoda was glad to keep out of Miss Everett's way just now. It wasunpleasant to be stared at by "eyes like gimlets," to be asked if one'shead ached, and warned gravely of the dangers of overwork.
"When I went up for the Cambridge Senior," began Miss Everett, and thegirl straightened herself defiantly, on the outlook for "sermons."
"When I went up for the Cambridge Senior I was not at school like you,but studying at home with a tutor. My sister was delicate, so an oldcollege friend of my father's came to us for three hours a day. He wasdelightful--a very prince of teachers--and we had such happy times, forhe entered into all our interests, and treated our opinions with as muchrespect as if we had been men like himself. I remember disputing theaxioms of political economy, and arguing that a demand for commodities_must_ be a demand for labour, and the delight with which he threw backhis head and laughed whenever I seemed to score a point. Instead ofsnubbing me, and thinking it ridiculous that I should presume to disputeaccepted truths, he welcomed every sign of independent thought; andthere we would sit, arguing away, two girls of fifteen and sixteen andthe grey-headed man, as seriously as if history depended on ourdecision. Later on, when I was going in for the examination, I joinedsome of his afternoon classes at a school near by, so that I could workup the subjects with other candidates. There was one girl in the classcalled Mary Macgregor, a plain, unassuming little creature, who seemedmost ordinary in every way. When I first saw her I remember pitying herbecause she looked so dull and commonplace. My dear, she had a brainlike an encyclopaedia!--simply crammed with knowledge, and what went inat one ear stayed there for good, and never by any chance got mislaid.You may think how clever she was when I tell you that she passed firstin all England, with distinction in every single subject that she took.She won scholarships and honours and went up to Girton, and had postsoffered to her right and left, and practically established herself forlife. Well, to go back a long way, to the week before the Cambridge.We had preliminary examinations at school, and had worked so hard thatwe were perfectly dazed and muddled. Then one day `Magister,' as wecalled him, marched into the room to read the result of the arithmeticpaper. I can see him now, standing up with the list in his hands, andall the girls' faces turned towards him. Then he began to read: `Totalnumber of marks, one hundred. Kate Evans, eighty-nine; Sybil Bruce,eighty-two; Hilda Green, seventy-one;' so on and so on--down, and downand down until it came to thirties and twenties, and still no mention ofMary or of me! The girls' faces were a study to behold. As for the`Magister' he put on the most exaggerated expression of horror, and justhissed out the last few words--`Laura Everett, _twelve_! Ma-ry Mac-gre-gor, _ten_!' We sat dumb, petrified, frozen with dismay, and thensuddenly he banged his book on the table and called out, `No morelessons! No more work! I forbid any girl to open a book again beforeMonday morning. Off you go, and give your brains a rest, if you don'twish to disgrace yourselves and me. Give my compliments to yourmothers, and say I wish you _all_ to be taken to the Circus thisevening.' He nodded at us quite cheerfully, and marched out of the roomthere and then, leaving us to pack up our books and go home, Mary and Icried a little, I remember, in a feeble, helpless sort of way; but wewere too tired to care very much. I slept like a log all the afternoon,and went to the Circus at night, and the next day I skated, and onSaturday spent the day in town, buying Christmas presents, and by MondayI was quite brisk again, and my mind as clear as ever. I have oftenthought how differently that examination might have turned out for Maryand for me if we had had a less wise teacher, who had worked himselfinto a panic of alarm, and made us work harder than ever, instead ofstopping altogether! I am convinced that it was only those few days ofrest which saved me."
"There!" cried Rhoda, irritably; "I knew it! I _knew_ there was amoral. I knew perfectly well the moment you began, that it was aroundabout way of preaching to me. If I am to have a sermon, I wouldrather have it straight out, not wrapped up in jam like a powder. Isuppose you think my brain is getting muddled, but it would goaltogether if I tried to do nothing but laze about. I should go stark,staring mad. I must say, Evie, you talk in a very strange way for ateacher, and are not at all encouraging. I don't think you care a bitwhether I get the scholarship or not."
"Yes, I do! I hope very much that you will _not_! Wait a moment now; Iam very fond of you, Rhoda; and I hope with all my heart that you willpass, and pass well--I shall be bitterly disappointed if you don't; butI want Kathleen to get the scholarship. She _needs_ it, and you don't;it means far, far more to her than you can even understand."
"In one way, perhaps--not another! She wants the money, which she couldhave in any case; but she is not half so keen as I am for the honouritself--and, after all, that's the first thing. I can't do anything ina half-and-half way, and now that I have taken up examinations I am justburning to distinguish myself. It would be a perfect bliss, the heightof my ambition, to come out first here, and go up to Oxford, and takehonours, and have letters after one's name, and be a distinguishedscholar, written about in the papers and magazines like--like--"
"Yes! Like Miss Mott, for instance. What then?" Rhoda stood still inthe middle of her tirade, and stared at the speaker with startled eyes._Miss Mott_! No, indeed, she had meant nobody in the least like MissMott. The very mention of the name was like a cold douche on herenthusiasm. The creature of her dream was gowned and capped, and movedradiant through an atmosphere of applause. Miss Mott was a commonplace,hard-working teacher, with an air of chronic exhaustion. When onelooked across the dining-room, and saw her face among those of thegirls, it looked bleached and grey, the face of a tired, worn woman."The idea of working and slaving all one's youth to be like--Miss Mott!"Rhoda exclaimed contemptuously, but Miss Everett insisted on herposition.
"Miss Mott is a capital example. You could not have a better. She wasthe first student of her year, and carried everything before her. Herposition here is one of the best of its kind, for she is practicallyheadmistress. She would tell you herself that she never expected to doso well."
"I think it's very mean of you, Evie, to squash me so! It's mostdiscouraging. I don't want to be the _least_ like Miss Mott, and youknow it perfectly well. It's no use talking, for we can't agree; andreally and truly you are the mos
t unsympathetic to me just now."
Miss Everett looked at her steadily, with a long, tender gaze.
"I _seem_ so, Rhoda, I know I do, but it is only seeming. In realityI'm just longing to help you, but, as you say, you think one thing and Ithink another, so we are at cross purposes. Come and spend Sundayafternoon with me in my den, dear, and I'll promise not to preach. I'llmake you so comfy, and show you all my photographs and pretty things,and lay in a stock of fruit and cakes. Do; it will do you good!"
But Rhoda hesitated, longing, yet fearing.
"I'd love it; it would be splendid, but--there's my Scripture! I wantto cram it up a little more, and Sunday afternoon is the only chance.I'm afraid I can't until after the exam., Evie, dear. I need the time."
"A wilful lass must have her way!" quoted Miss Everett with a sigh, andthat was the last attempt which she made to rescue Rhoda from the resultof her own rash folly. Henceforth to the end the girl workedunmolested, drawing the invariable "list" from her pocket at every oddmoment, and gabbling in ceaseless repetition, nerved to more feverishenergy by the discovery that her brain moved so slowly that it tooktwice as long as of yore to master the simplest details. She feltirritable and peevish, disposed to tears on the slightest provocation,and tired all over, back and limbs, aching head, smarting eyes, weary,dissatisfied heart. Did every ambition of life end like this? Did italways happen that when the loins were girded to run a race, depressionfell like a fetter, and the question tortured: "Is it worth while? Isit worth while?" What was the "right motive" of which Evie had spoken?What was the Vicar's meaning of "success"? They, at least, seemed tohave found contentment as a result of their struggles. Rhoda groped inthe dark, but found no light, for the door was barred by the giant ofSelf-Will.