Hildegarde's Home Part 21

CHAPTER XVI.

GOOD-BY!

"I HAVE come to say good-by!" cried Jack Ferrers, rus.h.i.+ng up the steps, as Hildegarde was sitting on the piazza, with Hugh curled up at her feet. "Uncle Tom will come for me with the wagon. Oh, Hilda, it doesn't seem possible, does it? It is too good to be true! and it is all your doing, every bit. I sha'n't forget it. I say! I wish you were coming too!"

"Oh, no, you don't!" said Hildegarde, speaking lightly, though her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with real feeling. "You would send me back by express, labelled 'troublesome baggage.'

"Dear old Jack! You know how glad I am, without my saying it. But, oh!

how we shall miss you! Your uncle--"

"Oh! Hugh will take care of Uncle Tom, won't you, Hugh? Hugh suits him down to the ground--I beg pardon, I mean through and through, and they will have fine times together."

"I will try!" said the child. "But we shall be like a pelican in the wilderness, I am afraid."

"You go straight home now?" Hildegarde asked.

"Straight home! five days with Daddy--bless him! and then he goes to New York with me, and sees me off. Oh! see here!" he began fumbling in his pockets. "I have a keepsake for you. I--of course you know I haven't any money, Hilda, or I would have bought you something; but Uncle Tom gave it to me on purpose to give to you; so it's partly from him, too. Here it is! It belonged to our great-grandmother, he says."

Such a lovely ring! A star of yellow diamonds set on a hoop of gold.

Hildegarde flushed with delight. "Oh, Jack! how kind of him! how dear of you! Oh! what an exquisite thing! I shall wear it always."

"And--I say! how well it looks on your hand! I never noticed before what pretty hands you have, Hilda. You are the prettiest girl I ever saw, altogether."

"And Rose?" asked Hildegarde, smiling.

Jack blushed furiously. He had fallen deeply in love with Rose's photograph, and had been in the habit of gazing at it for ten or fifteen minutes every day for the past fortnight, ever since it arrived. "That's different!" he said. "She is an angel, if the picture is like her."

"It isn't half lovely enough!" cried loyal Hildegarde. "Not half! You don't see the blue of her eyes, or her complexion, just like 'a warm white rose.' Oh! you _would_ love her, Jack!"

"I--I rather think I do!" Jack confessed. "You might let me have the photograph, Hildegarde."

But this Hildegarde wholly refused to do. "I have something much more useful for you!" she said; and, running into the house, she brought out a handkerchief-case of linen, daintily embroidered, containing a dozen fine hemst.i.tched handkerchiefs. "I hemst.i.tched them myself," she said; "the peac.o.c.k still spreads its tail, you observe. And--see! on one side of the case are forget-me-nots--that is my flower, you know; and on the other are roses. I take credit for putting the roses on top."

"Dear Hilda!" cried her cousin, giving her hand a hearty shake. "What a good fel--what a jolly girl you are! You ought," he added shyly, "to marry the best man in the world, and I hope you will."

"I mean to," said Hildegarde, laughing, with a happy light in her eyes.

Hildegarde had never seen her "fairy prince, with joyful eyes, and lighter-footed than the fox"; but she knew he would come in good time.

She knew, too, very much what he was like,--a combination of Amyas Leigh, Sir Richard Grenville, Dundee, and Montrose, with a dash of the Cid, and a strong flavour of Bayard, the constancy of William the Silent, the kindness of Scott, and the eyes of Edwin Booth. Some day he would come, and find his maiden waiting for him. Meantime, it was so very delightful to have Jack fall in love with Rose. If--she thought, and on that "if" rose many a Spanish castle, fair and lofty, with glittering pinnacle and turret. But she had not the heart to tell Jack of the joyful news she had just received, dared not tell him of the letter in her pocket which said that this dearest Rose was coming soon, perhaps this very week, to make her a long, long visit. If she could only have come earlier!

But now Jack was taking his violin out of his box. "Where is your mother?" he said. "This is my own, this present for you both. It is 'Farewell to Braeside!'"

Hildegarde flew to call her mother, and met her just coming downstairs.

"Jack has composed a farewell for us," she cried. "All for us, mamma!

Come!"

Farewell! the words seemed to breathe through the lovely melody, as the lad played softly, sweetly, a touch of sadness underlying the whole.

"Farewell! farewell! parting is pain, is pain, but Love heals the wound with a touch. Love flies over land and sea, bringing peace, peace, and good tidings and joy." Then the theme changed, and a strain of triumph, of exultation, made the air thrill with happiness, with proud delight.

The girl and her mother exchanged glances. "This is his work, his life!"

said their eyes. And the song soared high and higher, till one fine, exquisite note melted like a skylark into the blue; then sinking gently, gently, it flowed again into the notes of the farewell,--

"Parting is pain, is pain, but Love is immortal."

Both women were in tears when the song died away, and Jack's own eyes were suspiciously bright.

"My dear boy," said Mrs. Grahame, wiping her eyes, "I do believe you are going to a life of joy and of well-earned triumph. I do heartily believe it."

"It is all Hilda's doings," said Jack, "and yours. All Hilda's and yours, Aunt Mildred. I shall not forget."

Here Hugh, who had been listening spellbound, asked suddenly, "What was the name of the boat which the gentleman who begins with O made to go swiftly over the sea when he played with his hand?"

"The _Argo_, dear," said Hildegarde.

"It is that boat _he_ should go in," nodding to Jack. "It would leap like an unicorn, wouldn't it, if he played those beautiful things which he just played?"

And now Colonel Ferrers drove up to the door, with the brown cob and the yellow wagon. The last words were said; the precious violin was carefully stowed under the seat. Jack kissed Mrs. Grahame warmly, and exchanged with Hildegarde a long, silent pressure of the hand, in which there was a whole world of kindness and affection and comrades.h.i.+p. Boys and girls can be such _good_ friends, if they only know how!

"Boot and saddle!" cried the Colonel.

"Good-by!" cried the lad, springing into the wagon. "Good-by! Don't forget the ostrich gentleman!"

"Good-by, dear Jack!"

"G.o.d bless you, my dear lad! Good-by!" and the wheels went cras.h.i.+ng over the gravel.

At the end of the driveway the Colonel checked his horse for a moment before turning into the main road. "Look back, boy," he said.

Jack looked, and saw Hildegarde and her mother standing on the verandah with arms entwined, gazing after them with loving looks. The girl's white-clad figure and s.h.i.+ning locks were set in a frame of hanging vines and creepers; her face was bright with love and cheer. The slender mother, in her black dress, seemed to droop and lean towards her; on the other side the child clasped her hand with fervent love and devotion.

"My boy," said Colonel Ferrers, "take that picture with you wherever you go. You will see many places and many people, good and bad, comely and ill-favoured; but you will see no sight so good as that of a young woman, lovely and beloved, s.h.i.+ning in the doorway of the home she makes bright."