"The labor I shall not mind; the sacrifices I shall make
pay." Harry was getting out of Bessie's depth now; a little more of
poetry and romance in his views would have brought them nearer to the
level of her comprehension. Then he talked to her of his school, of the
old doctor, that great man, of his schoolfellows, of his rivals whom he
had distanced--not a depreciatory word of any of them. "I don't believe
in luck for myself," he said. "But there is a sort of better and worse
fortune amongst men, independent of merit. It was the narrowest shave
between me and Fordyce. I would not have given sixpence for my chance of
the scholarship against his, yet I won it. He is a good fellow, Fordyce:
he came up and shook hands as if he had won. That was just what I
wanted: I felt so happy! Now I shall go to Oxford; in a year or two I
shall have pupils, and who knows but I may gain a fellowship? I shall
take you to Oxford, Bessie, when the time comes."
Bessie was as proud and as pleased in this indefinite prospect as if she
were bidden to pack up and start to-morrow. Harry went on to tell her
what Mr. Moxon had told him, how Oxford is one of the most beautiful of
cities, and one of the most famous and ancient seats of learning in the
world (which she knew from her geography-book), and there, under the
beeches, with the slow ripple at their feet, they sat happy as king and
queen in a fairy-tale, until the shadow of Mrs.
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