'About—myself, I suppose!'
'You should have left somebody else to do that!'
'Somebody else? Who?'
'Oh—anybody!'
Captain Bramston took hold of her hand, and his eyes were ardent. 'Miss Kildhurm, I—may I tell you something?'
She made an effort to draw her hand away. 'I think I would rather you didn't—at least with that voice, and——'
'Don't turn away from me!' exclaimed this impetuous warrior; and he kissed her hand passionately. 'I cannot help it! Hilda, I——'
An imperative voice here interrupted the young people, and brought Captain Bramston to his feet. 'Stop, sir!' it said. 'Whoever you are, this conduct is inadmissible. Stand back, sir!'
It was Sir Philip; and old Lady Kildhurm was with him. Sir Philip was looking as stern—and, indeed, fierce—as it was in his nature to do. Hilda, rising also, said appealingly,
'Don't, father! It wasn't his fault!'
'Not his fault—!' Sir Philip, in a mixture of amazement and indignation, glared first at his daughter, then at the handsome stranger, who, however, met his look frankly and resolutely. For a few moments the baronet's face worked strangely: then, much to the surprise and more to the relief of the guilty persons, he burst into a shout of laughter.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE WEDDING-GIFT.
It was not so difficult, after this, to make the necessary explanations and apologies. Sir Philip had heard about Captain Bramston before, though Hilda had not; and, in the bottom of his heart, he did not object to regard him in the light of a possible son-in-law. But it would not do to confess this just at present. Captain Bramston had stood to his guns, and, on the spot where he stood, had declared his love for Hilda Kildhurm, and demanded Sir Philip's consent to their betrothal.
'I can give you nothing of the kind, sir,' replied the Baronet, endeavouring to look immitigable. 'Your request is as premature as—as it is contrary to sound principle. Anyone would suppose, Captain Bramston, that you expected the world to come to an end by to-morrow morning, by the haste you are in to have your affairs settled!'
'In this case, Sir Philip,' replied the Captain, with equal respect and firmness, 'sound principle is of no use. The falling in love is an accomplished fact. The next thing to settle is the date of the wedding.'
'Upon my word, Captain Bramston,' the Baronet exclaimed, 'if you are as pushing in war as you seem to be in other matters, you should have been a general long ago. But we will, if you please, dismiss this subject for the present. I am in no hurry to lose my daughter in the first place, and moreover, in an affair of this nature, I could not think of deciding anything without consulting Lady Kildhurm, my mother.'
Lady Kildhurm and Hilda had withdrawn during this colloquy between the gentlemen, and Hilda had gone into the house. But as the Baronet and Captain Bramston, still conversing earnestly, slowly made their way across the lawn, they were suddenly aware that Lady Kildhurm was again near them. They halted, and were silent.
She was, at this time, almost at the extreme limit of old age; yet her eyes were clear and her bearing dignified; and so far from her mental infirmity having become exaggerated, it had grown year by year less obtrusive, though she was at least as far as ever from being on normal terms with the material world. She lived in a world of her own; but she accommodated the latter to the former more easily than before. So serene and unexaggerated were her tones and gestures, that a stranger would hardly have suspected that she was virtually unconscious of what most people call the realities of life.
When the venerable sibyl was within a yard or so of Harold Bramston, she paused, with her face and the palms of her hands turned towards him: and without seeming to look at him in the usual way, she still had the air of taking his measure so keenly and fully, that, unless the Captain's conscience was cleaner than most men's, he must have passed an uneasy minute or two. But at length the sibyl raised her hands slowly and let them fall again with a gesture like a benediction; and the expression of her face was gracious as she said, in a gentle and flowing voice:
'He that rode over the Convent Cliff was a true man; and a spirit akin to his is here. If the treasure reveal itself to him, let him take it: he is worthy of it. I have waited long, I am weary. Lord, now speedily wilt Thou suffer me to depart. So be it!'
At this undeniable declaration in the young Captain's favour, Sir Philip felt a great deal more satisfaction than he was at all disposed to show; and the end of it was that the two lovers were allowed to stroll off by themselves beneath the Oak, and there formally to renew and re-seal the compact, in the making of which the Baronet had so aptly surprised them. That evening, after Hilda had gone to her chamber, the Baronet and Captain had a private confabulation in the former's study. The Captain then and there made a full statement regarding his position in the world, more particularly from the pecuniary point of view. It appeared that his circumstances were more than easy; that he had absolute control over nearly a hundred and fifty thousand pounds; and that he was prepared to settle any part of this sum, or the whole of it, according as Sir Philip pleased, on his wife, on the day of their marriage. He only wished that he could do something more.
'I must say, Bramston,' exclaimed Sir Philip, laughing, 'that you are more dangerously in love than any man I ever saw or heard of. You must go off somewhere for a month and see if you can't get rid of a little of it. I shall positively refuse to sign settlements with a man in so pitiable a condition as you are now. Recollect, my good fellow, that Hilda goes to you literally penniless; and that I never should feel comfortable if I had not left open to you every avenue of escape in my power. Besides, don't you see that you will be paying one another a finer mutual compliment by waiting a while and seeking distractions, than by coming together at once, and so losing all opportunity of making sacrifices? Well, whether you see it or not, those are my orders, and you will have to put up with them.'
'You will of course allow us to correspond?' demanded the Captain, when he saw that he was beaten on the main point.
'I should greatly prefer not.'
'Then I will write to her, Sir Philip, in spite of you!' cried out the other, firing up.
'Oh, very well: in that case I agree,' rejoined Sir Philip with a twinkle in his eyes. 'You may write to her five times in the course of the month—choosing your own times, whether all in one day, or once in every six. But are you sure a month will be long enough to get your affairs in order?'
'Oh, Sir Philip! And they are in order. They have been in charge of a friend of mine for three years past. I shall have a look through his accounts, so as to see exactly where I stand—that will take me about three hours I should say—and then I shall have nothing else to do until the month is up. Six times a week am I to write, did you say? Why not make it six times a day?'
'Ha, ha, ha! But as regards this friendly man of business of yours. You are quite certain he is trustworthy? That's a lot of property to leave out of your hands for three years, especially if you only require three hours in which to look through the accounts!'
'I trust him, dear Sir Philip, as I trust myself. If you only knew him——'
'Quite right! if I only knew him of course I should not have made the inquiry. As it is—having known what it was to lose money in my youth—I did make it! And now, Captain Bramston, as I can't ask you to spend the night here, I must bid you good-bye. I shall be glad to see you back, safe and sound, when your month is up; and I won't pretend to say that I don't believe you'll come, and that Hilda won't expect you. As for the money-matters, of course it's a capital thing to have a rich son-in-law; but I must confess that I should have liked you a good deal better if honours had been a little more equally divided!'
On these terms the two gentlemen parted; little anticipating what was to happen.
Hilda received her first letter on the day following her lover's departure, he having written it on his way to London, and despatched it back to her by special messenger. She did not expect a letter on the next day, nor on the next, and not much on the day after that; and this was well, for on no one of these days did a letter come. A week passed, and no letter. Ten days, and no letter. Two weeks, and still no letter. It was now apparent, even to Sir Philip, who had affected to make great fun of her at first, that something must have happened. The address which Captain Bramston had given had been at his business manager's; Sir Philip privately sent a messenger thither, to make inquiries; but at the end of the third week the messenger returned, and brought with him the astounding news that there were no news to bring! Nothing was known at the address given either of the manager or of Captain Bramston. Was the man dead, or an impostor, or had he simply changed his mind? It was at all events plain that he would never again show his face at Kildhurm Tower.
It was necessary, therefore, to have a very painful interview with Hilda. Poor Sir Philip recoiled at the prospect; but it was not to be avoided; and at last he sent for her, and having taken her by both hands and kissed her, he opened his mouth to begin. But she suddenly and quietly laid her hand upon his lips.
'I know what you are going to say, father, and you need not say it.'
'You have given him up, then? That's my brave girl!'
'I have not given him up. He is the same to me as ever, and I to him. I feel that he is true. I should know if he was not. You need not be uneasy or angry, dear father; and above all you need not try to persuade me that this is not so. He will come back; and we shall be happier even than we thought of being before.'
'Has my mother spoken?' demanded Sir Philip, after a long pause.
'She believes as I do: but it is not from her belief that I believe; it is from myself.'
'I shall not contradict you, my daughter,' said Sir Philip, after another silence. 'I will even say that it is possible—as everything is possible—that you may be right. But one thing I must ask of you. How long do you mean to hope? What day will you call the last?'
'The last day of the month to be sure, father. That is the day on which he will come.'
'What makes you say that, my daughter?'
'Because that is the day on which he promised to come!' returned Hilda with an involuntary smile. 'Do you think Harold would not keep his promise?'
The last day of the month came, and Hilda appeared with her best frock on, and with fresh flowers in her hair. 'He will be here at dinner,' she said; and she made her arrangements accordingly, setting a chair for him, and decorating that and his plate with leaves and blossoms. Sir Philip looked on with a heavy heart; but he held his peace. The faith of his child appalled him, but he dared not share it, and the moment was not yet come to repudiate it. His agitation was so great that he strove in vain to conceal it: but Hilda, though her colour was high and her eyes bright, was as calm and confident as if her lover had arrived the day before. Dinner time drew near; and, shortly before the hour struck, Harold appeared at the door as if by magic.
Sir Philip started up from his chair with a great hoarse shout, and remained stationary. Hilda came up to her lover, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him heartily! As for Harold, he looked haggard and grim, and he made scarce a show of returning Hilda's caress.
'Come, now, sit down,' she said, in the most natural and sensible way in the world, 'and tell us why you have not written, and what all this trouble has been about!'
'It is better that I should tell you at once,' said Harold, in a husky voice. 'All the money that I had is gone. I am almost a beggar. The friend whom I trusted....' He stopped for a few moments and then went on, 'I followed him—all this month until to-day I have been hunting after him; but he is gone, and all is gone; and I am come, Sir Philip, to release your daughter from her engagement, and to be gone also.'
So saying Captain Bramston got up from the chair in which he had unconsciously seated himself, and stood with his head bent, and his eyes on the floor.
Hilda broke into an irrepressible little laugh. 'How silly you are, Harold,' she said, 'to make so much fuss about a little money! Nobody paid us to fall in love with each other, and why should we be paid to be married?'
Harold raised his face, now flushed to the roots of his hair, and his eyes burning. 'But what say you, Sir Philip?' he cried in a sharp, ringing voice.
'I say I should marry her, if I were in your place,' answered the Baronet, with humorous indifference; 'and the next time you get a fortune, take better care what you do with it. Meanwhile, shake hands, my dear boy; and let me observe that I'm uncommonly glad (and surprised) to see you.'
'Your happiness is near,' said Lady Kildhurm, who had entered the room so quietly that none of the three had noticed her. 'To-night the spell is broken. The saying shall be made perfect. It shall be well with you, and with me. To-morrow, early in the morning, search the Oak.'
On that night all in the household were visited by strange dreams; and through the dreams they heard a sound of a voice chanting a weird song, and rising higher and clearer; until at last there came a deep booming sound like thunder: and after that the chant was heard no more.
In the morning, early, Harold and Hilda went out, and walked arm-in-arm to the cliff where the Oak had stood. But lo! the Oak was gone. The overhanging promontory on which it grew had parted from the main land during the night, wrenching the mighty tree with it. But the ocean had received the tree in its arms, and had carried it away, never again to be seen by mortal eyes. For the waves had been the friends of the mysterious Oak from the beginning; and they had drawn a veil of solemn mystery over its end.
But where was the ancient sibyl? She too had vanished, singing her wild chant; perhaps to find in another world the treasure whereof she had prophesied so long on this earth. At all events, no one ever saw her living or dead, after that night; and it came to be believed that she had been borne on her last journey amidst the branches of the tree which she had made her home.
But on the brink of the freshly-made chasm still stood a tall and rugged fragment of the Oak, which had remained in its place when the bulk of the tree was wrenched away. High up in this fragment there appeared a narrow and deep crevice or hole, now revealed, section-wise, by the rending asunder of the wood. At the bottom of this hole was seen a small wallet of embroidered leather: and when Harold shook the fragment of the tree, the wallet fell from its place, and bursting open on the ground, a flash of precious stones greeted the lovers' wondering eyes. Amidst the stones was found the lost signet ring of Norman Kildhurm.
In that narrow hole, therefore, these gems must have rested ever since the felonious right hand of Sir Norman had placed them there. But he, hurriedly striving to withdraw his hand, was caught by the narrow mouth of the hole; and fancying, in his guilty fear, that the demon of the Oak had got hold of him, he had screamed three times in uncontrollable terror, and had torn himself loose, mangling his hand, and leaving his signet ring behind. And the desperate vehemence of his effort had caused him to overbalance himself; so he fell backward through the branches to the ground, and his neck had been miserably broken by the fall. Such, at least, is the commonly accepted explanation of that dark catastrophe.
But to whom belonged the jewels thus strangely brought to light? Harold, as the nearest living relative of the murdered Colonel, was his legitimate heir; to him, accordingly, the long-deferred but most opportune inheritance came. To tell all that he did with it would require a new story. Whatever it was, it was done with the approval of his unworldly-wise wife, and of the worldly-wise Sir Philip, his father-in-law. For, after the days of mourning for the vanished Lady Kildhurm were over, Harold and Hilda were married, and lived together in much happiness, though they were never able to agree as to which had the best of the other in the matter of settlements. In process of time they became the parents of the child who grew up to be the beautiful Lady Mainwaring of our own day, and who, as has been intimated, deigned to furnish so modern a person as the present writer with the materials for this history of Kildhurm's Oak.