The Rock Island Argus

THE PROFESSOR.
BY ANTHONY E. ANDERSON.
"But that's nonsense, you know, mother," said Gray Clement, impatiently, "about my staying in the house, and all that sort of thing. Because I have been sick is not an infallible sign that I'm ill yet. I think fresh air and a brisk walk will do me more good than anything else, and I'm going to take them, Dr. Finne notwithstanding."
"Gray, don't be rash!" exclaimed Gray's handsome mother, genuine terror and alarm in her voice. "If you must go out, then order the carriage."
"I shall walk," said Gray, in a tone which Mrs. Clement knew from long experience it was useless to combat. "It's too warm to be shut up in that uncomfortable coupe, and to take an airing in the phaeton will only make me more lazy than ever.
…Here are the goggles, then," said Mrs. Clement, with a little sigh of resignation. "You know how bad sunshine is for your eyes in their weak state."
"I am nothing but a big baby in your estimation, it seems," laughed Gray, as he adjusted the huge, green things before the glass. "The more hideous you make me appear, the happier you seem to feel."
"You could never look otherwise than like a gentleman, Gray," said Mrs. Clement, with maternal pride. "But if you had not overexerted your brain and eyes so much at Heidelberg last year, all this care and worry could be dispensed with."
"Never mind that now, mother dear," said Gray, feeling a slight twinge of remorse, as he looked at her fair, anxious face. "I'm almost all right now, you know, and what's done can't be undone."
Then, kissing her good-bye, and promising not to go far, he strode down the great stone steps, gaily whistling "Robin Adair."
It was a lovely August day, and Gray found the air so pure and bracing that he walked much further than he had intended to.
He had walked several miles out of the city before he realized that he was becoming very tired.
The sunshine was so warm, too, that his brain began to reel.
He decided to ask for a drink of water at the very next house, and rest there before returning home.
The next house proved to be an elegant, picturesque villa, in the Queen Anne style of architecture, with spacious gardens and orchards. Every thing was in the most refined, exquisite taste.
A young girl was bending over a rosebush, clipping the great blushing flowers, and arranging them in a bouquet.
Gray thought he had never seen such a fair vision in all his life. Her hair hung in two shining braids down to her waist, and was tied with rose-colored ribbons.
She was clad in the most bewitching of German peasant costumes, which barely reached the trim ankles.
If Gray had been less exhausted with his walk, less dizzy, and if the hideous goggles had not obscured his sight, he would certainly have noticed that the gown was of too rich a fabric for a peasant's wear, and that it was more of a modern aesthetic costume than anything else.
"Pardon me," he said, raising his hat with his old, inimitable grace: "may I trouble you for a drink of water? The heat has made me decidedly thirsty."
He spoke in German, without making any serious grammatical blunders, thanks to his Heidelberg training.
The girl looked quietly up at the sound of his voice, evidently not catching the meaning of his words, the surprised look on her face quickly succeeded by one of pleasure and delight.
"You are Professor Van Thiel!" she exclaimed, holding out both her hands, which, you may be sure, Gray was not long in taking.
She spoke in German, too, but by no means with the fluency of a native.
"I'm ever so glad you decided to come at last, even if it was at the eleventh hour. Oh, why didn't you come before? We have been waiting for you over a month; but now mamma has gone to New York. I'm so sorry, but she didn't expect you'd come at all, you see.
"But here I'm chattering away, without even introducing myself. I'm Celia. Mamma has been sounding your praises so much—ever since she came from Germany—pardon me for saying so—that I know you right away.
"Grandma and auntie will be so delighted to see you! You must stay with us till mamma comes from New York, which will be in a fortnight, I think.
"But you are ill, Herr Van Thiel! How thoughtless of me! Of course the long walk from the station has been very wearisome. If you had only let me known when you were coming, I should have driven out for you myself."
To do Gray Clement justice, he had really intended to announce who he was, when he discovered that Celia Warner took him for Professor Max Van Thiel, whoever he might be. But he felt so faint and ill that the thought slipped from his dizzy brain before it was half formed.
The next moment he found himself in the Warner's parlor, undergoing an introduction to Grandma Warner, a charming old lady of sixty, who immediately became sympathetic at sight of his pale, handsome face, and who declared, in a queer mixture of German and English, which would have sounded very funny to Gray on any other occasion, that he must retire at once to his own room, and rest.
During the night he was tempted to take French leave, and would have done so but for his weakness. He promised himself to fully explain the mistake in the morning, little realizing how hard it would be to do so, now that he had got-
Gray felt decidedly better the next morning; and for the first time he realized the awkwardness of his situation.
What could he say or do because of his unwarrantable intrusion? That was a question Gray Clement could not answer to his own satisfaction.
With his old self-possession and nonchalance, however, he took breakfast with the Warners as Professor Van Thiel, talking volubly and entertainingly in German about his travels, which alone were no myth.
He learned several things that morning that Professor Van Thiel was a German gentleman who had just come to this country; that Mrs. Warner had met him in Europe the year before; that Celia Warner was a most charming girl, and that he had fallen heels over head in love with her;
The piquancy of the situation won upon his fancy, and then and there he conceived the wild idea of personating the professor.
The plan was as foolish as it was hazardous, but "all's fair in love," you know, and Gray could not think of forever losing Celia Warner's presence.
Directly after breakfast he repaired to the nearest telegraph station, and sent the following telegraph dispatch to his mother, who, he knew, must be feeling anxious concerning his safety:
"Have comfortable and elegant quarters in the country, where I shall stay for some time. Don't be anxious on my account, as I am feeling better than I ever did since my illness. Will write in a few days. Yours with love. G."
"Don't you think I am becoming intensely German, Professor?" said Celia, laughing, as she encountered him in the garden one morning.
She had on the same costume she wore when he first saw her.
"I really am of German descent, you must know, and it is all mamma's fault—about my dressing this way, I mean.
Her enthusiasm over Germany ever since she came home has been infectious. I wore this costume at Mrs. Bartlett's masquerade last week, and now grandma wants me to wear it every day. She is pleased to say it is very becoming."
"Do not discard it, I pray you," said Gray, quietly. "It is like a glimpse of the dear old Fatherland to see you."
As Professor Van Thiel, Gray was supposed not to know how to speak English, and he had been on the point of committing himself more than once.
However, thanks to his quick wit, he had saved himself just in time.
Celia and the professor were thrown almost constantly together. Now it was a walk, now a ride over the cool, breezy country roads, now a ramble in the grass-grown meadows, the professor meanwhile expounding learned facts (?) about the flora and strata around them, of which he was as happily ignorant as Celia herself.
Celia had conceived the idea that the professor was a middle-aged gentleman, the disfiguring goggles confirming her belief.
Nevertheless, that did not hinder her from thinking him very charming and entertaining.
Thus the days passed by, all too quickly for Gray, when he thought of the denouement that must soon come.
They were reading Goethe together, almost a month after Gray's unceremonious arrival, when a servant brought in a letter for Miss Warner.
"From Mamma," was Celia's brief explanation, as she quickly cut the envelope open. "You will pardon me, Professor, if I read it now, as I am very anxious to find out when she is coming home?"
"Which I am not!" said Gray, sotto voce, as he bowed acquiescence.
He had grown very pale at mention of Mrs. Warner; and he could feel his frame tremble, as he saw a look of absolute bewilderment slowly creeping over Celia's lovely face.
"I do not understand it," she said, looking at Gray with wide eyes. "Mamma says she has come across Professor Van Thiel at last, at Mrs. Moyle's musicale, and that she has prevailed upon him to accompany her and papa home.
What does she mean, Professor?
Are there two Professor Van Thiels?"
Gray's face was deadly pale, and, rising to his feet, he took an involuntary step forward, his hands appealingly outstretched.
"For God's sake, Celia, do not judge me too harshly!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "I loved you—I loved you—and did not think of the monstrous wrong I was doing.
In the intensity of his shame and emotion he spoke in English, and thus added to Celia's bewilderment.
"I am not Professor Van Thiel at all," he went on, not sparing himself in the least, flushes of red and white crossing his face, "but a mean, weak, cowardly imposter! Oh, forgive me, Celia! I have done you a grievous wrong, but it was through excess of love for you.
"Do not come near me!" she exclaimed, with flashing eyes. "How dare you talk to me of love, you who are low and contemptible enough to sail under such false colors?"
"I could not bear the thought of losing you, O Miss Warner," he said miserably. "Can't you understand?"
"No; I confess such logic is beyond my feeble comprehension," she said, with cutting sarcasm. "I cannot see how you have gained anything by your insolent deception. You will oblige me by leaving the house immediately."
"Your wishes shall be obeyed, Miss Warner," he said, proudly, his eyes burning fiercely with resentment and bitter anguish of mind.
As he passed through the hall ten minutes later, for the last time as he thought, he could not resist a sudden wild impulse to look once more upon the girl for whose love he had dared so much, and lost all.
She had thrown herself upon the sofa in a paroxysm of grief, and was sobbing as if her heart would break.
"You do love me, after all!" Gray cried, a triumphant ring in his voice, as he gathered her to his heart despite her feeble resistance. "I was almost sure of it, O my darling, do not let your pride separate us now.
"Yes, I do love you, Max," she sobbed, and the admission came reluctantly, as if against her better judgment. "And oh! it almost broke my heart when you told me that you weren't Professor Van Thiel."
"What's in a name?" he retorted. "Am I not the same, even if my name is Gray Clement, instead of Professor Max Van Thiel? Will you not try to forgive me, dear?" pleadingly.
"You do not deserve it," she said, but I suppose I must, for I cannot give you up, Mr. Gray—though you are not at all what my fancy painted you."
"But I will try so hard to improve," he said earnestly; then he added, artfully. "With you as my example, darling, I will become a perfect paragon before long."
The real Professor Max Van Thiel proved to be fat and jolly and forty, and an accomplished musician, who knew even less than Gray about geology and botany. When he heard how Gray masqueraded for a whole month under his name, his amusement was unbounded.
Even Mrs. Warner, scandalized as she felt, was won over through Celia's pleading and Gray's refined, gentlemanly appearance and unquestionable connections.
Many of Mrs. Gray Clement's friends, who are not in the secret of the romantic way in which she had been wooed and won, wonder why she sometimes calls her husband "The Professor"