Part 11 (1/2)

And he was turning to leave the room with a mixture of feelings--irritation and some disappointment, mingled nevertheless with a certain sense of relief, for he had dreaded this last lesson--when a slight, a very slight sound seeming to come from somewhere near the windows, caught his ear. He had come into the room more softly than his wont, and his footfall had made no sound on the thick carpet. The person who was hidden by the curtains had not heard him, had no idea any one was in the room, for through a sort of half-choked sob the child heard two or three confused words which, though uttered in German, were easy enough to understand--

”My mother, ah, my poor mother! How can I tell her? Oh, my mother!”

And startled and shocked, Basil stopped short in the question that was on his lips. ”Who's there? Is it you, Blanche?” he had been on the point of saying, when the words caught his ears.

”It must be Herr Wildermann--can he be _crying_?” said Basil to himself, his cheeks growing red as the idea struck him. ”What should I do?”

He had no time to consider the question, for as he stood in perplexity his little dog Yelpie, who had followed him into the room, suddenly becoming aware of the state of things, dashed forward with a short sharp bark.

”Yelpie--Yelpie,” cried Basil; ”be quiet, Yelpie. It's only Herr Wildermann. Don't you know him, Yelpie? What a stupid you are!”

He went on talking fast to give the young German time to recover himself, for, on hearing Basil's voice, Ulric had come forward from the shelter of the curtains. He was not red, but pale,--very pale, with a look of such intense misery in his eyes, that Basil's momentary feeling of contempt entirely faded into one of real anxiety and sympathy.

”Are you ill, Herr Wildermann? You look so strange. Is your mother ill?

Is anything dreadful the matter?” he asked hurriedly, pressing forward nearer to the young man.

Ulric tried to smile, but it was a poor attempt, and he felt that it was so. Suddenly a sort of weak, faint feeling came over him--he had walked over to the Park in the full heat of the day, and the meals that were eaten over the grocer's shop were very frugal!--he had not been prepared for the news that had met him. ”Could I--might I have a gla.s.s of water, Master Basil?” he said, drawing to him a chair and dropping into it.

”I'll ring for--no, stay, I'll fetch it myself,” said Basil, with quick understanding. ”I shouldn't like the servants to know he had been _crying_--poor man,” he thought to himself as he left the room. And in two minutes he was back with a gla.s.s of wine and water.

”I made Sims put some sherry in it,” he said half apologetically.

”You've knocked yourself up somehow, Herr Wildermann, haven't you?”

And Ulric drank obediently, and managed this time to smile more successfully. ”How kind and thoughtful the boy was--how could he be the cause of such sorrow, if indeed he understood it!” thought the young man to himself.

”I--yes--perhaps it was the hot sun,” he said confusedly, as he put down the gla.s.s. ”Thank you, very much. I am all right now. Had we not better begin? Not that I am hurried,” he went on. ”I can stay a full hour from now. I have no engagements--nothing to hurry me home,” he added sadly, for in his heart he was thinking how he dreaded the return home, and what he would have to tell his poor old mother.

”But what's the matter?” persisted Basil, who, now that the ice was broken, felt inclined to get to the bottom of things. ”What are you so troubled about--what were you----?” He hesitated and stopped short, and again his rosy cheeks grew redder than usual.

Herr Wildermann looked up. He was still very pale, but he did not seem self-conscious or ashamed.

”You saw my distress?” he said quietly. ”Ah, well, I could not help it--the thought of my poor mother----” He turned away and bit his lips.

”I thought you knew the cause of it,” he went on; ”your lady mother, did you not know--did she not tell you that she meant to-day to give me notice that the lessons are to cease--that this is to be the last?”

Basil opened his mouth as if he meant to say something, and stood there, forgetting to shut it again, and staring up in Ulric's face, though no words came. Ulric, after waiting a moment or two, turned away and began arranging the violins. Then at last the boy e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed--

”Herr Wildermann, you--you don't mean to say----” and stopped short again.

”To say what?” asked the young German, but without much tone of interest in his voice. He had quite mastered himself by now--a sort of dull, hopeless resignation was coming over him--it did not seem to matter what Basil said about it; it was all settled, and the momentary gleam of good-fortune which had so raised his hopes had faded into the dark again. ”We must go back to Germany,” he was saying to himself. ”Somehow or other I must sc.r.a.pe together money enough to take my mother back to her own country. There at least she need not starve. I can earn our daily bread, even if I have to give up music for ever.”

But again Basil's voice interrupted his thoughts.

”Herr Wildermann,” said the boy, speaking now with eagerness, and throwing aside his hesitation, ”is it possible that it is about my lessons that you're unhappy? Does it _matter_ to you if I give them up?

I never thought of it.”

”Master Basil,” said the young man sadly, ”it does not signify now. It is all settled. But I do not blame you. It is not your fault--at least, it is not exactly your fault. You are so young, and the violin is very difficult. I am sorry to lose you as a pupil, for I think you could have learnt well, if you had had more hopefulness and perseverance.”

And again he turned away as if there were no more to be said.