She bade him a kind good-night, and Ralph took up “The Cricket on the
Hearth” and tried to read. But it would not do; the book had ceased to
appeal to him. He threw it down, lowered the gas, and returned to the
open window, leaning his arms on the sill and looking down through the
bars at the dim road beneath, with its endless succession of cabs and
carriages. For a little while it amused him to count the red and yellow
lamps as they flitted by, but soon his sorrow overwhelmed him once more.
It was the first time he had been alone since that morning hour in the
fir-grove at Whinhaven, and now once more all the misery of his loss
forced itself upon him. He was well fed, well housed, and his immediate
future was provided for, yet, perhaps, in all London, there was not at
that moment a more desolate little fellow. To be violently plucked up
by the roots and for ever banished from that goodly heritage that had
so far been his, was in itself hard enough; but to belong to no one in
particular, to be planted down and expected to grow and thrive among
loveless strangers seemed intolerable, and no ambitious dreams of a
future in India came now to his help! He saw nothing before him but an
endless vista of this same pain and aching loss. Tomorrow would be as
to-day, and all real happiness had, he fancied, gone from him for ever.
There is nothing quite so poignant as a child’s first great grief,
though mercifully, like all acute pain, it cannot last long.
The passing lights down below had long ceased to interest him, but
presently through his tears he happened to notice the pointers and the
Pole Star, and found a sort of comfort in what had for so long been
familiar. At any rate the same sky was over Whinhaven and London,
and the motto which he could remember puzzling over in his childhood,
illuminated in one of the Rectory rooms, returned now to his
mind--“Astra castra, Numen lumen.” It was true that the stars were his
canopy, but was God his light? Had He not plunged his whole life in
darkness, and set him far away from love and help and all that could
keep a boy straight?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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