Hildegarde's Harvest Part 23

"Here they come!" cried Hugh, who had been watching from the window.

"Here they all come, Guardian! My Beloved and her mother, and after them all the others. Oh! but Captain Roger is not with them!"

The four hosts hurried out into the hall to meet their guests, and many and warm were the greetings. Hildegarde in white, Bell in pink, and Gertrude in blue, looked like a posy of fresh flowers, and Kitty like the little rosebud she was. Mrs. Merryweather and Mrs. Grahame were already taking off their wraps, and Miles Merryweather and Phil brought up the rear, with w.i.l.l.y.

"Where's the Professor?" cried the hospitable Colonel, rubbing his hands. "Where is Professor Roger? I was definitely promised that he would be here."

Where was Roger? Hildegarde's heart echoed the question; and though she greeted the Colonel with her own bright smile, it was rather an effort to be as gay as usual; for the disappointment had been severe. Roger had telegraphed that he would be with them that afternoon without fail; and now all the trains had come and gone, and no Roger had come. All the Merryweathers were crying out, and saying that some tiresome man of science must have captured him, and carried him off. Hildegarde was only a little more silent than usual; she slipped quietly into the drawing-room, and took her seat by Mr. Raymond Ferrers, whose smile always seemed like a kind of sublimated music,--music that soothed while it cheered. But when she saw her little Hugh, with his pale face, and the suffering look in his dear blue eyes, she reproached herself for a selfish, unloving girl, and went and sat with her arm round the child, looking affectionately and anxiously at him, and listening to his story of the joy of the blessed day.

"And Gerald?" now cried the Colonel. "Am I to be robbed of half my guests, I ask you? Mrs. Merryweather, my dear madam, this is positively unfriendly, I must inform you. A Christmas Tree without Gerald Merryweather,--the idea is incongruous! I can say nothing more."

"Oh, Colonel Ferrers, that is my fault!" cried Hildegarde. "Gerald will be here in a moment; he ought to be here now, indeed. I very carelessly forgot something,--a little parcel that I wanted to bring,--and Gerald was so kind as to go back for it."

"Quite right, my child!" said the Colonel. "Of course you sent him!

Preposterous if you had done anything else." He bustled off, and Hildegarde turned to look out of the window; for truth to tell, the parcel that she had left behind contained a little gift for the Colonel himself (it was a copy of "Underwoods." Hildegarde would have given copies of "Underwoods" to all her friends, if she could have afforded it), and she wanted to catch the first glimpse of Gerald. How long he was in coming! They were lighting the candles, Hugh whispered her; Jack and Mr. Raymond Ferrers and Mr. Merryweather were to light them as soon as the party was a.s.sembled. Gerald was wanted to take the second tenor in the carol. Why had she been so careless? Ah! there he was at last!

Hildegarde ran out to the porch, to receive the precious parcel.

"Oh," she cried, "how long you have been, child! I thought you would never come!"

"So did I," said a voice that certainly did not belong to Gerald, "but that is no reason why you should be out here with nothing on your head, and the thermometer at zero."

Hildegarde felt her two hands grasped, and herself drawn firmly back into the house.

"They do not take proper care of you!" said Roger. "And are you glad to see me, Hilda?"

Everything seemed misty to Hildegarde after that. She heard the welcomes and rejoicings; heard Gerald's voice of panting apology,--"Couldn't keep up with the Codger, you know! Couldn't, 'pon my word, he was in such a hurry!"--and received the Colonel's book in time to tie it on the tree. She took her part in the carol, too, and wondered that her voice should be so strong, and not tremble, as the rest of her seemed to be trembling. Yes, and she saw the glorious Tree, in all its splendour, and helped untie the presents, and sat with her lap full of pretty things, sharing the wild delight of Will and Kitty, and the quieter raptures of Hugh.

Yes, the lion was truly splendid; she had never heard such a roar, or seen such a mane. She should really be afraid to come to Pumpkin House, if she would be in danger of meeting him on the stairs. And Hugh's fleet was a joy, and,--yes, certainly they would go sailing together; and they'd go to the Dee, and the Jellybolee, over the land and over the sea--

And all the time, the girl felt that she was in a dream, in which the only real thing was the tall, broad-shouldered figure that moved so lightly and cheerfully among the rest; was the deep, sweet voice that was talking, explaining, parrying, the attack of the Colonel and all his own family?

"Well, but it is true, my dear Miranda. I could not have helped it; really I could not. No, I dined with no other friends. I dined on a cold sausage, at a railway restaurant. I have travelled day and night to get here, and I do not mean to be abused for my efforts. There was a railway accident,--"

"An accident! Oh, Roger! are you hurt? Where are you hurt? How did it happen? Tell us all about it? Whose fault was it? Was any one killed?"

Thus the Merryweathers in chorus, with Colonel Ferrers thundering a ba.s.s. Roger Merryweather looked from one to the other; his eyes twinkled, but he was silent.

"Well, sir?" cried his brother Miles, in a fine baritone solo.

"Well, sir!" retorted Roger. "I thought you were all doing it so beautifully, it was a pity to interrupt. No,--no one was hurt. A freight train broke down, and blocked all the trains on the road. The delay was apparently endless; there seemed no particular reason why we should ever go on. Finally, I ran ahead, and found the engineer of the night express, the first train in the block, fighting mad, and vowing that he would plough his way through the freight train, if they didn't get it out of the road in five minutes. A lot of us took hold in good earnest, and in ten minutes the track was free. Then the express driver found that his fireman was hurt,--I forgot him! He was really the only one,--and he was madder than ever, and said he could not go on without a fireman. So I said I was his fireman, and his long-lost uncle besides; and I jumped on, and off we went. It was an exhilarating ride. We were an hour late, and we made up half of it; but that did not let me make my connections. Finally, here am I; the question is, are you glad to see me, or shall I go back?"

Well, there seemed little doubt that they were glad to see him. It seemed to Hildegarde, still sitting in her corner, with Hugh's hand in hers, as if the other children would fairly devour him; and the elders were not much better. Miles must hear all about the mines, and piled question upon question till his brother cried for mercy. Will and Kitty hung about his neck, Bell and Gertrude could hardly take their eyes off him. Only Gerald, after the first moment, came and sat by Hildegarde, and asked if he should not take Hugh, and if she did not want to go and join the others.

"No!" cried Hildegarde. "Go yourself, Jerry, and hear all about it. I--I shall hear it all another time."

"I met him, you see!" said Gerald, guiltily. "I heard it all as--as we came from the other house. We came along together, and then he--he got ahead of me somehow, and came in first."

Hildegarde heard him, but only half understood what he said. Now, however, there came a change in the boy's voice, and he rose hastily.

"I--I think I will go, Hilda, if you really don't mind,--if you will excuse me. I think Phil wants me for something--"

He vanished, and Hildegarde turned to find Roger at her elbow.

"I have a little gift for you," he was saying. "I--I won't give it to you to-night, I think, but bring it to-morrow, if I may. It is something I made myself, and I am rather proud of it. May I come to-morrow morning? Oh, it is good to be at home again! Good to see what one has been dreaming about for all these--"

"Supper! supper!" cried the Colonel, rubbing his hands. "Come, young folks! the tree is stripped, and now for an honest, old-fashioned supper. None of your kickshaws and folderols! No flummery, that leaves a man tired and hungry when he leaves the table. Food, my dear madam, is one of the blessings--what was it this Boy said about food the other day, Raymond? Hugh, you understand, Mrs. Grahame; more and more astonishing that child grows, as he grows older. He was disappointed the other day,--Hildegarde could not come as he expected, or something happened,--hum, ha! And he was distressed; a good deal distressed. Then he ate his supper,--ate it like a man, and I told him so, sir, and congratulated him on keeping his appet.i.te. He looks up at me, and says he, 'Food stops sorrow!' His very expression, give you my word! Food stops sorrow! Ha, ha! so it does, my dear madam, so it does! This way, if you please! Hildegarde, my child, you will bring the Boy? He is--hum, ha!--not quite up to concert pitch to-night. Nothing much the matter,--growing boys, eh, Mrs. Grahame? Come on, all hands!"

Well, the supper was great, and the games were glorious. Hildegarde did her very best to appear just as usual, and, indeed, no one who had seen her flying down the long drawing-room in the Virginia reel (the Colonel had engaged her for it a month before) would have thought her anything but the gayest of the gay; but, happy though she was, the world still seemed misty, the rooms confused, the talk mere babble; and she was glad, for once, when the frolic was over, and the greetings said, and she was at home once more, in her own quiet room.

There was a cosy little fire burning on the hearth, and late though it was, Hildegarde was in no mood for going to bed. She sat down by the window and looked out. The snow lay clear and white in the moonlight; here and there the dark evergreens rose like steadfast guardians; all was peaceful and lovely. Lovely! How brown and handsome he looked! And had he really been glad to see her? She thought so; yes, surely he was glad, only somebody interrupted him every time he came near her. Of course, selfish creature that she was! They were his own dear people, he was theirs; he belonged to them. They had not seen him for months, and how preposterous of her to expect to have any of his time the very first evening. Besides, he said particularly that he was coming in the morning. Would the day be fair? But men did not mind weather, certainly not the Merryweather men. And--and her mother would be so glad to have a good talk with him.

Were they all asleep now, the good, merry neighbours? They made a good deal of noise sometimes, but they all meant so well, and were so hearty and genuine. Gerald was the most like Roger, after all; she had never noticed before how much alike they were. Dear Jerry! He had always been her favourite, though Phil was as nice as he could be, and, of course, she was very, very fond of Bell, and all of them. How perfectly clear and still it was! Silver and pearl and diamond,--oh, what beauty!

"Deep on the convent roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon."

She wondered if her white dress was really the one she should have worn, or whether--whether any one would have thought the pink one prettier.

No; he always liked white; she remembered his saying so. There was a light in the corner room of Pumpkin House; ah, yes! it was Roger's room.

Such a funny room, all full of minerals and dried specimens, and with lengths of copper wire hanging all about the walls. Jerry said that Roger had put them there against the time he should be crossed in love, so that he could hang himself whenever he felt like it. What was it he had brought for her? A specimen, probably. No! for he had made it himself. What was he doing now, she wondered. Oh, it was so good, so good, to know that he was near, and that she should see him in the morning!

"But now," said Hildegarde, shaking her shoulders, and pulling herself together, "you are going to bed, miss! Let me have no more of this ridiculous moon-gazing, do you hear? Have you any sense? Take one look at the white glory of it, and then off with you!"

Wrapping a shawl round her (for she was still in her white evening dress, though it was an hour and more since she came back from Roseholme), she opened the window for an instant,--softly, for fear of rousing her mother, and leaned out, to take one deep draught of the magical beauty of the night. As she gazed, held as with a charm,--what was that, that seemed to move by the corner of the hedge? What was it, white against the snow, that was stealing along by the garden wall, silent as a dream? Was she, indeed, dreaming? Hildegarde's heart stood still for a moment. A little figure came forward now across the lawn,--it stood out clear against the dark firs. Good heavens! It was little Hugh! Barefoot, in his white nightgown, his head held high, his eyes gazing straight forward, the child came on, with swift, certain steps. One more glance told Hildegarde the truth; he was walking in his sleep.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A LITTLE FIGURE ... STOOD OUT CLEAR AGAINST THE DARK FIRS."]

In a flash she had stolen down the stairs, only stopping to s.n.a.t.c.h a warm cloak from the hall as she went. The bar and chain delayed her, for she dared not strike a match,--her mother's light sleep was too precious,--still, it seemed only an instant before she was on the lawn, gazing wildly about her. The child was gone! An instant she stood undecided; was it possible that the whole had been a vision, a hallucination, brought on by excitement and fatigue? No! For here were the little footprints in the snow.

Oh, the little, tender feet, stung by the bitter cold! How was it possible that the touch of the snow had not waked him? But here was her clue; in another moment, surely, she should have him in her arms.

Breathless and panting, Hildegarde ran round the corner of the house, following those little white tracks--and stopped. The footsteps broke off short. Looking up, bewildered, she uttered a low cry of terror. Hugh was climbing up the wall. This part of the house was low, a kind of shed or outhouse, seldom used. It was easy climbing enough, a window-sill here, a cornice there, and a spout that ran the whole way up to the shingled roof. Hildegarde had climbed it herself, in pursuit of a runaway kitten; if the child would only stop at the shed roof she could easily follow him. But above rose the steep-pitched upper roof! What should she do if he went on? What should she do? She dared not call, for now the little figure, steadily climbing upward, stood on the shed roof; hesitated a moment, turned half towards her,--then turned back, and set his foot on the short ladder that led to the upper roof. Instantly Hildegarde's knee was on the first low window-sill. She was reaching up, on the point of raising herself to her feet, when she started violently, and nearly lost her balance. A hand was laid on her shoulder; a steady, restraining hand.

"What upon earth does this mean?" asked Roger Merryweather.

His voice was stern, or Hildegarde fancied it so; she answered like a child:

"I am going after Hugh!"

"Going after--" began Roger, stupefied. Then following her upward gesture, he broke off short.

"Go into the house, my child!" he said, quickly, in his own kind tone.

"Go at once; you must not stay out another moment in this thin dress. I will bring him to you in the house. It will be only a minute now, and he will be quite safe."

With that he was up like a cat, clinging here, springing there, never pausing, never seeming to take his eyes from the little white figure, which had now reached the summit of the steep-pitched roof. Hildegarde gave one glance at the child, and saw him standing with outstretched arms on the ridge-pole itself. His voice came down, clear and calm.

"I am ready, dear Bellerophon! We will fly together now, down, down,--"

The girl covered her face, and prayed. It was a breath of time, it was eternity, before Roger's voice came down to her, strong and cheerful.

"We will go down together, Hughie. I was up here, too, and I will take you down, because you will be more comfortable that way. Put your arms round my neck, so! Hold on tight--that's right! Now, down we go!"