Chapter 27 - Page 2

different, and probably
not more different than was I. She was no longer the laughing,
simple-mannered child of Faraway, whose heart was as one's hand
before him in the daylight. She had now a bit of the woman's
reserve - her prudence, her skill in hiding the things of the heart. I
loved her more than ever, but somehow I felt it hopeless - that she
had grown out of my life. She was much in request among the
people of Hillsborough, and we went about a good deal and had
many callers. But we had little time to ourselves. She seemed to
avoid that, and had much to say of the grand young men who came
to call on her in the great city. Anyhow it all hurt me to the soul
and even robbed me of my sleep. A better lover than I would have
made an end of dallying and got at the truth, come what might. But
I was of the Puritans, and not of the Cavaliers, and my way was
that which God had marked for me, albeit I must own no man had
ever a keener eye for a lovely woman or more heart to please her.
A mighty pride had come to me and I had rather have thrown my
heart to vultures than see it an unwelcome offering. And I was
quite out of courage with Hope; she, I dare say, was as much out of
patience with me.

She returned in the late summer and I went back to my work at
college in a hopeless fashion that gave way under the whip of a
strong will.

I made myself as contented as possible. I knew all the pretty girls
and went about with some of them to the entertainments of the
college season. At last came the long looked for day of my
graduation - the end of my student life.

The streets of the town were thronged, every student having the
college colours in his coat lapel. The little company of graduates
trembled with fright as the people crowded in to the church,
whispering and faring themselves, in eager anticipation. As the
former looked from the two side pews where they sat, many
familiar faces greeted them - the faces of fathers and mothers
aglow with the inner light of pride and pleasure; the faces of many
they loved come to claim a share in the glory of that day. I found
my own, I remember, but none of them gave me such help as that
of Uncle Eb. However I might fare, none would feel the pride or
disgrace of it more keenly than he. I shall never forget how he
turned his head to catch every word when I ascended the platform.
As I warmed to my argument I could see him nudging the arm of
David, who sat beside him, as if to say, 'There's the boy that came
over the hills with me in a pack basket.' when I stopped a moment,
groping for the next word, he leaned forward, embracing his knee,
firmly, as if intending to draw off a boot. It was all the assistance
he could give me. When the exercises were over I