N the quarter of an hour before morning school, Mr. Donne, as was his wont, paced a strip of garden within view of the playground. He was bareheaded, and his magisterial gown, scarcely stirred by the breath of a calm, bright sky, draped him with the dignity he loved. His hands behind him—shapely hands, white and soft—his head inclined, and his features set in meditative mildness, Mr. Donne presented the ideal of head-mastership. He was the man with whom no boy would take a liberty, who ruled by spiritual awe (scornful of baser method), and in whom his mature associates respected the bland union of erudition and high breeding.
With half attention his eye remarked two youngsters who were approaching him; one of them, a lad of twelve, at length stepped up to the wicket by which Mr. Donne was passing, and respectfully made known his wish to be heard.
"What is it, Rogers?"
"If you please, Sir, Argent would like to speak to you."
"Certainly. Why need Argent send an ambassador? Ask him to come into the garden."
Rogers withdrew, and his companion, a pale, timid boy, two years younger, came forward. Willie Argent was in his first term, and still regarded the head master with dread rather than veneration. Having passed the wicket, he stood in a paralysed attitude, unable to raise his eyes or to utter a sound.
"Well, Argent," said Mr. Donne kindly, "what is it? You had a letter this morning, I think. Any news you wish to tell me?"
The poor little lad feebly commanded his tongue.
"Yes, Sir—please, Sir. It was from Mamma. She's coming to see me."
"Indeed? I'm very glad to hear it. When will she come?"
"To-day, Sir—some time—most likely the afternoon."
Mr. Donne knew nothing of Mrs. Argent save that she was a widow, and had for some years been living in France. The boy was placed with him by a relative residing at Bristol, a merchant of good position, whose house was Willie's home. These circumstances had excited no interest in Mr. Donne, and it was now perhaps for the first time that he carefully regarded the lad's countenance. Willie Argent had pretty, girlish features, indicative of delicate sensibilities, and of a nervous system altogether out of tone. When he had spoken a few more words, and had dismissed the pupil to his play, the schoolmaster mused a while on the probable character and appearance of Mrs. Argent. In all likelihood, a not very estimable woman; careless, perhaps, of her child—coming to see him merely when it suited her convenience. The boy did not seem particularly pleased. "Mamma" sounded awkwardly on his lips. Well, it was something, however trivial, to vary the monotony of the day. As he heard the school-bell begin to clang, Mr. Donne sighed. He turned from the garden with a weary reluctance, far more difficult to overcome than the spirit of the boys which bade them revolt against imprisonment on such a morning as this. From the steps of the private door he looked for a moment over a wide prospect of fields and woods, where on the horizon lay a murky cloud. That was Bristol. The city had no special attraction for him, but, in default of better resort, Mr. Donne would gladly have spent a truant day among the shops and shipping. But his "senior Greek" awaited him. The school had a moderate reputation. Fifteen years ago, soon after he left the University, and simultaneously with his marriage, Mr. Donne became its proprietor, deciding hurriedly upon a career for which everyone assured him that he was well fitted. As, indeed, he was, though—a common case—he might have done better in other walks of life. Marriage obliged him to decide in haste; otherwise, there would have been both time and opportunity for experimental efforts. While yet an undergraduate he had become engaged to a girl of his own rank, and the prospect of domestic happiness overcame all other considerations. For this also Mr. Donne Had abundant capacity. Youth entangled him in no passionate perplexities; nothing in his history asked for concealment; he married at the bidding of a tranquil, steadfast love, and found no reason to repent his choice. It was only that he might have done so much better not to marry at all—the common case.
Three children were born to him; all lived and were growing up in health. But the mother had been dead some six years. It was the result of a boating accident. Saved from drowning, Mrs. Donne died of an illness that followed upon the shock.