CHAPTER II.

RIVALSHIP.

The young student was evidently expecting to see something upon the waves of the Orwell more attractive than even the book in his hand, or the scenery before him; for, as the matin bell of the priory came pealing over the waters from the opposite shore, the warder's horn from De Freston's castle was heard to blow. The signal appeared to be well understood by the youth, who immediately began to close his thick and heavy tome, and to adjust the silver hooks of the clasps into their sockets.

His eye was turned towards the bend of the river, round which, close under the dipping boughs of the old chestnut trees, a boat, impelled by four stout rowers, was making progress against the wind, but with the tide in their favor. The sparkling waters which dashed from the head of the skiff, as the oars struck the waves, glittered with scarcely more lustre than did the eye of the youth, whilst he surveyed the expected comers, and awaited their approach.

He stood upon a ledge, or very ancient hardway, called John of Wiltshire's Gap, nearly opposite to the great gate of his Wherstead domain, which domain was forfeited to the crown after the decapitation of that ill-fated nobleman.

The scholar was as well known to the rowers as they were to him, for it was often their privilege to meet him by their lord's orders, at the very spot where he then stood. No sooner did they see him than they redoubled their efforts, and soon brought their boat to ground with the usual salutation of 'Ready, Master! ready!' as they respectfully rose to make way for him to go astern.

There must have been something remarkably captivating and even commanding in the manners of the youth at that early age; for, not only was he noted for his scholastic acquirements by the sober, grave, learned, and wise, but the sailors of the port, who occasionally rowed him upon his native stream, whilst he was deeply engaged in skimming over the pages of his book, would delight to rouse him from his reverie, on purpose to hear his conversation and remarks. He took peculiar delight in boarding the foreign vessels which came into the port, with cargoes consigned to his uncle Daundy; and often acted as interpreter whilst he amused himself with trying the brains of the Flemish, Dutch, French, or Norwegian seamen.

The boat's crew hailed him with pleasure, for they looked upon him not only as the favored guest of their master, Lord De Freston, but they knew that he was the peculiar favorite of Ellen De Freston, their master's graceful daughter.

Thomas Wolsey had received an especial message to breakfast with Lord De Freston, and to meet his Lordship's cousin, William Latimer, then a learned student at the University of Oxford. It had been part of Lord De Freston's promise that he should return to Oxford with Latimer, if Wolsey's father, and his fond mother Joan, could part with him, their only child. At all events, he was to be introduced to his future friend; and the nobleman had promised, that both he and his daughter Ellen should use all their influence with his friends, that very day, to obtain permission for him to go to the University.

Bright beams of future glory illumined the mind of the youth, as he took his station in the boat, and became a little more abstracted and thoughtful, and less communicative with his rough acquaintances than was his wont. They dropped their oars in silence, on gaining no reply from their usually animated scholar, and were all of opinion that they had never beheld him so little like himself as at that moment. At almost any other time, and under any other circumstances, a thousand questions would have been asked, and as many remarks made upon their costume, their boat, their lord, their lady, the wind, the weather, the wave, the tide, the monks of Alneshborne, and their father confessor.

But Wolsey was now silent. He watched the waters curling past the boat, as if he were making a calculation of the tide by the number of successive waves that passed him.

As he did not give a single word to the men (and no men are more inquisitive than sailors), they could not endure his silence.

'How now, my master, you heave us no log to-day, though we deserve your smile perhaps more this morning than any other. What's the matter, master? You seem to have cast anchor upon a dull shore, and are as mournful as if your vessel had gone to wreck upon the rocks. A-hoy, master! tip us a stave.'

But deep thought seemed to chain the scholar's mind, as the frost would bind up the river in the darkest days of winter. Yet his brow was smooth and calm as ice without a fall of snow. There was no ruffle upon it, but a fixed and settled tone of thought that seemed to say he was immoveable. He did not speak, and yet he altered his position, and cast his eyes wistfully upon the turrets of the castle as they came in view of the venerated walls. 'Ay, master, 'tis a fine old building, is it not? I should like to see your young honor, or your worship, or your reverence, comfortably hauled up there, high and dry: 'tis a friendly port, master, and comfortable quarters thereabouts.'

It was not until they came full in view of the green slanting lawn which came down to the water's edge, directly in front of the castle, and the young man's eye caught eight of three figures standing upon the very edge of the landing-place, that his features lightened up with expression:

'Who is the third person standing with your master and his daughter?' he asked.

'He's alive now, Jack, I'll warrant!' archly observed one of the rowers.

'And so he may well be,' said the other; 'a little rivalry will do the young scholar good. He has so long had his own way, that perhaps he might think no vessel could sail as well as his own.'

'That's my young mistress's cousin,' replied the man, 'and I hear, master, he's all at sea, like yourself.'

'What do you mean, my man?'

'Mean, sir? why, that he's as clever a chap as you are; that the broad sea of knowledge is as well explored by him as it is by you, and that he can talk to our young mistress in as elegant and entertaining a manner as yourself.'

There are some words which, from their homeliness, may do more to rouse the spirit within a man than all the classical beauties which he had studied in his youth; and at that moment these words, from a common sailor, proved to Wolsey that even men of few words, and no letters, can form no mean idea of intellectual pleasure.

He was effectually roused, for, till then, he certainly had no conception of a rival in letters with any living man he had yet met. He had found none to appreciate his talents so purely, so highly, and so encouragingly, as Lord De Freston and his daughter; and it might be truly said, that none could do so better than that learned and elegant scholar whose life had been devoted to study from his youth.

He had married the niece of the wealthiest Commoner in the land, and married her not for her property, since he was himself the owner of vast estates on the banks of the Orwell, as well as in the vale of Worcester. He had espoused the niece of Edmund Daundy, M.P. for Ipswich, and the most extensive merchant in that port.

His lady, with whom, for the first six years of their married state, he had lived in harmony and happiness, was taken from him at that most anxious period when she had just given birth to a son and heir. Infant and mother died, leaving him one bright companion, the image of her mother, and in qualities of mind and heart superior even in childhood to most of her sex.

Lord De Freston had thus become very early engrossed by the education and training of his affectionate daughter, and such was the delight he took in her, and so well were his parental anxieties repaid by the capacity, diligence, and sense of duty of his child, that years had imperceptibly fled away, until he found her growing more and more upon his affections.

He now made her his companion, not only in his studies, but in all his worldly affairs. She was, indeed, the admiration of all who knew her, and had such a powerful mind, such a cultivated taste for literature and for all the elegant arts, then in their progressive rise in this country, that Ellen De Freston was as famed upon the banks of the Orwell as Madame de Stael, or Madame d'Arblay, in after-days for their precocious powers. Hers, however, were of a different stamp, of a far deeper kind; and mind in that maiden might be said to have a texture so pure, that it gave unwonted charm to a face almost as beautiful as her intellect.

Young Wolsey, about her own age, was so attracted by these wonderful qualities, that it is not to be wondered at, that he should feel an interest in the only being he ever saw calculated to inspire him with the hope of excelling for the sake of pleasing her. Such was the delight he took in her society, and such her pure pleasure in his, that distant relatives as they were, Lord De Freston looked upon them as brother and sister; and neither he nor his daughter had the slightest idea of their young friend ever imbibing any deeper feeling than the love of literature, and the joy of sharing its pleasures.

So fondly wedded in mind to this counterpart of his existence had he imperceptibly become, that half the cherished elegancies of Grecian and Roman literature had been treasured in his heart on purpose that he might breathe their euphonious harmonies in the ear of his cousin Ellen. She, too, was ambitious of convincing Wolsey that she appreciated his talents, but she never had a dream of his aspiring to any nearer intimacy with her than a classical interchange of thought.

It was not to be wondered at, however, that in that early stage of their acquaintance, the youth at fourteen should be sensible to the personal as well as intellectual attractions of such a being as the heiress of De Freston. No feeling of his youth or of his life was ever purer than that which he then entertained towards his benefactor and his friend. It was like the brightest beam of light gleaming upon the path of youth, when that refined sentiment of soul burst upon him. It was like the morning clouds, tinged with the prospect of the rising sun, and proclaiming the approach of a lovely day.

He gazed at the stair as the boat approached the spot where Ellen De Freston, between the tall and portly figure of her father and the slender frame of William Latimer, stood awaiting his arrival.

There was some sensation of pain which stole over his proud spirit at that moment, as he looked at the young man's figure, and beheld his favorite, Ellen, resting her arm upon that of the scholar.

'Shall I,' he asked himself, 'shall I, indeed, meet a rival! Oh! if our merits be but weighed in the balance by the weights of future attainments, either in science, knowledge, industry, or application, I fear not the issue.'

It was a bold thought--the indication of a noble mind, though a feeling of rivalship might at the moment create a pang of jealousy. The man who feels all honor, and endeavors to prove himself worthy of the favorable regard of any one whom he loves, and to whom he attaches the idea of being able to reward his exertions, is a worthy competitor to enter the lists of love. The noblest souls in existence must breathe with such hope, and their exertions and attainments, their talents and their virtues, must form a bright beacon to guide their onward course.

The only drawback is, that all mortal rewards, be they what they may, are not enduring, and therefore fall short of satisfaction.

'As when the eastern sky is tinged With clouds transparent, golden fring'd. Bespeaks the coming sun: So love anticipates a ray, Bright as the orb's arising day, Before his course is run.'