GOOD-BY!
"I HAVE come to say good-by!" cried Jack Ferrers, rushing 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 hemstitched handkerchiefs. "I hemstitched them myself," she said;
"the peacock 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 comradeship. 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!"
"God bless you, my dear lad! Good-by!" and the wheels went crashing 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 shining 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, shining in the doorway of the home she makes
bright."
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.