Under The Old Elm Tree

She was his life,
The ocean to the river of his thoughts,
Which terminated all; upon a tone,
A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow,
And his cheek change tempestuously--his heart
Unknowing of its cause of agony.

--Byron.

On Monday morning he resumed his attendance at Brudenell Hall. He was
received very kindly by the family, and permitted to go up to the empty
schoolroom and take his choice among all the vacant seats, and to make
the freest use of the school library, maps, globes, and instruments.

Ishmael moved his own desk up under one of the delightful windows, and
there he sat day after day at hard study. He did not trouble Mr.
Middleton much; whenever it was possible to do so by any amount of labor
and thought, he puzzled out all his problems and got over all his
difficulties alone.

He kept up the old school hours; punctually, and exactly at noon, he
laid aside his books and went out on the lawn for an hour's recreation
before lunch.

There he often met his young friends, and always saw Claudia. It was
Miss Merlin's good pleasure to approve and encourage this poor but
gifted youth; and she took great credit, to herself for her
condescension. She seemed to herself like some high and mighty princess
graciously patronizing some deserving young peasant. She often called
him to her side; interested himself in his studies and in his health,
praised his assiduity, but warned him not to confine himself too closely
to his books, as ambitious students had been known before now to
sacrifice their lives to the pursuit of an unattainable fame. She told
him that she meant to interest her father in his fortunes; and that she
hoped in another year the judge would be able to procure for him the
situation of usher in some school, or tutor in some family. Although she
was younger than Ishmael, yet her tone and manner in addressing him was
that of an elder as well as of a superior; and blended the high
authority of a young queen with the deep tenderness of a little mother.
For instance, when he would come out at noon, she would often beckon him
to her side, as she sat in her garden chair, under the shadow of the
great elm tree, with a book of poetry or a piece of needlework in her
hands. And when he came, she would make him sit down on the grass at her
feet, and she would put her small, white hand on his burning forehead,
and look in his face with her beautiful, dark eyes, and murmur softly: "Poor boy; your head aches; I know it does. You have been sitting under
the blazing sun in that south window of the schoolroom, so absorbed in
your studies that you forgot to close your shutters."