A HATFUL OF DIAMONDS.
Mrs. Chepstow, unlike most newly made widows, had little or nothing to
say about her late husband; she was much more communicative concerning
a redoubtable cousin of hers, a military gentleman, who had latterly
been on service in India. Nothing had been heard of Colonel Banyon
for upwards of a year, and Mrs. Chepstow began to express fears
regarding his safety. She was a comfortable, round-bodied, fresh-faced
woman, easily moved to tears or to laughter; and it would have been
evident, even had she more striven to conceal it than she did, that
if her valiant kinsman would only return home, and avail himself of
his chances, he might have one of the most admirable and affectionate
wives in the world. The Colonel, as she described him, was a charmingly
gallant and romantic fellow, much addicted to harebrained adventures
and dashing escapades; delightfully fortunate, moreover, and at the
same time contemptuous of fortune. His way through the world was always
from good to better, from bright to brilliant; and since he was as
generous as he was lucky, he was altogether just the sort of person one
would like to be acquainted with.
'We were very fond of each other, and I don't mind saying it to
you, sister,' the widow observed to Lady Kildhurm, on more than one
occasion. 'We seemed to get on together so well, if you know what I
mean. And I was very sad to have him go to the Indies, so soon after my
husband died, too. And I remember, the day he went away, he promised
he'd bring me back his hat full of diamonds.'
'A hatful of diamonds?' repeated Sir Norman, who had come into the room
without being observed by Mrs. Chepstow, and had overheard her last
sentence.
'Oh, Sir Norman, how you startled me. Yes, indeed, his whole hat full;
and he has a good-sized head, too, I assure you.'
'How did he expect to come by the diamonds?'
'Oh, from those Indian idols, as he called 'em. He says they're covered
with 'em. Idols, I suppose you know, Rebecca,' she continued, turning
to Lady Kildhurm, 'I suppose you know they're a kind of magistrate
they have over there: so I understood from the Colonel. And he said
they sometimes had diamonds in place of eyes; but I think he was only
jesting then. And he said he should loot 'em--that was one of his words
he was always using--as he had the right to do, because England was at
war with the Indies, and then, besides, idols are always the enemies of
Christians. But I should think it would be more Christianlike for us to
convert 'em than to loot 'em; and I mean to tell the Colonel so, if
ever I meet him again. Heigho! poor fellow! I hope he's not dead. If he
is, I should never forgive myself, for I should always be thinking it
was in getting me the diamonds that he lost his life. And he was always
too venturesome--and having made a promise, he would be sure to try
and keep it; so I fear all the idols may have got together and killed
him. And oh! I had a dream last night; I dreamt I saw him floating in
the sea over the cliff there, near the Oak, and he had a place crushed
in on his head. I hope it won't come true! It isn't worth losing one's
life for, Rebecca, is it?'
Lady Kildhurm, during this conversation, if conversation it could be
termed, had been mending a hole in one of her little son's stockings;
and the child himself was sitting on her knee, his attention
divided between his own bare toes and the movement of his mother's
darning-needle.
'What isn't worth losing one's life for, my dear?' she asked.
'A hatful of diamonds,' answered the widow.
'A hatful of diamonds?--No!' said Lady Kildhurm, bending to kiss
her son's cheek, and thinking, perhaps, how many lives and how many
diamonds into the bargain she would be ready to sacrifice for his sake.
'A hatful of diamonds?--I don't know!' murmured Sir Norman, glancing
meditatively out of window, where the Oak stood dark against the
afternoon sea of tender purple grey.
Presently afterwards he left the room and the Tower, and walked slowly
down to the cliff. He sat himself down beneath the Oak, and, with his
head thrown back, gazed up into its depths. Very gloomy it was, and
very still; not a leaf stirred upon its twig. But after a long time,
an acorn fell, and smote him smartly on the forehead. This broke his
reverie; he rose, and laid his hand upon the ponderous bole of the
tree, as upon the shoulder of a friend.
'Come, old demon!' he said, half aloud, 'I have waited long enough:
it is time something should happen. Awake, and do your best, or your
worst; the prophecy is ripe for fulfilment. "Death of three and wealth
of one!" If I be not the one, 'tis very sure I shall be of the three,
and that speedily! Come--promise me a hatful of diamonds! or even a
handful.'
The tree made no sign: it only seemed to become gloomier than ever. Sir
Norman emitted a long tremulous sigh.
'It is all folly!' he said dejectedly and with bitterness. 'Why could I
not go to India and win diamonds for myself? Much good my calculations
and my horoscopes and my hopes and fears have done me! A man may rob in
India and be called a hero for it: why am I in England, where robbery
is hanging? Here have I stayed, as if I were a rooted tree myself,
and have gathered together the legends about this dumb old Oak, and
pondered over them, and believed in them, until at last I have come
verily to expect that these barren boughs shall drop gold upon me!
I will expect it no more. This is the last day that it could have
happened. Old demon, thou art a liar and a blockhead! I disbelieve and
abjure thee! If ever thou didst have power, it is gone out of thee,
never to return. To-morrow I will have thee hacked down, like any other
timber, and piled up for use in the kitchen fire. And for my own part,
I will cease to wait for the fulfilment of prophecies made by greater
fools than myself; I will begin to act, and that to some purpose!'
An abrupt, thunderous sound, prolonging itself in softer echoes, seemed
to answer him from the shore. A great wave had stolen unobserved
through the calm, to fling down its message at the foot of the cliff.
Before the echoes had died into silence, a low and hoarse murmur began
to come forth from the deepest centre, apparently, of the hitherto
silent Oak. With a movement of nervous eagerness, Sir Norman again
raised his head and strove to make his glance penetrate the obscurity.
The murmur grew in loudness and volume, and the heavy foliage was
tumultuously agitated, and anon waved forcibly to and fro, and the
branches, though as stalwart, many of them, as ordinary trees, moved
and groaned and laboured, as if battling against the onset of a gale.
It was an appalling spectacle--this turbulent storm roaring in the
dark circumference of the Oak while all the evening round about was
still as death. Sir Norman stood there in a mood of mingled awe and
exultation. He was beholding what no other living eye had beheld: what
none living besides himself, perhaps, had ever dared believe in. The
miracle of a century ago was true again to-day. The demon was awake
once more and was training his myriad tongues to speech. Sir Norman
listened, and his ears were filled with a sound that was, and yet
was not, articulate utterance. It spoke to his thought; but then his
thought laid hold of it and seemed to be itself the speaker, or at
least the shaper, of the word. And when the stormy voice was at its
loudest, suddenly it sank into broken whispers and sighings, and soon
was altogether hushed. The message had been given. What that message
was, Sir Norman only could know.
The adventure had left him excited and tremulous, and for several
minutes after he was as one overawed and distraught. By degrees,
however, his mind began to recover from the first poignancy of the
impression that had been made upon it; and he questioned with himself
whether the occurrence had really been as miraculous as at the moment
it had appeared to be?--whether his own imagination, in combination
with certain natural causes, had not been answerable for at least the
greater part of it? But this was only the instinctive effort of the
amazed reason to deliver itself from the thraldom of the inexplicable.
Further and quieter consideration showed the Baronet that he could not
have been mistaken; and that there was no alternative between regarding
himself as utterly insane, and acknowledging the miracle of the Oak. He
preferred the latter horn of the dilemma. This night, then, was to be
a momentous one for him and for his fortunes. Sir Norman issued forth
from beneath the shadow of the Oak, and looked westward. It was just
past sunset. He strolled across the breadth of lawn towards the Tower.
On passing round to the outer gate, he was surprised to see a horse
standing there, saddled and bridled, and bearing evidences of having
made a long journey.
He called out to the gardener, as a bent old pauper was entitled who
pottered about the grounds for a certain number of ineffective hours
every day, and asked him where the horse came from. The gardener
replied that a few minutes previous a gentleman had ridden up to the
gate, dismounted, and having thrown his rein over the gate-post, had
gone into the house. He had seemed to be in a great hurry.
'What sort of a gentleman was he?'
'Tall: and face brown like my hand: and he looked an active body: and
his eyes were blue and merry: and he had a beard.'
'Take the horse to the stable. I suppose there is some hay there: take
off his saddle and rub him down. This must be----'
'I am Colonel Banyon: are you Sir Norman Kildhurm? Sir, I have to ask
your pardon for my lack of ceremony. Seeing no one outside, I rushed
upstairs unannounced to find my cousin and kiss her hand.'
'Colonel, my pleasure in meeting you is second only to Mrs. Chepstow's.
We have heard many things about you from her; and you have been long
and anxiously expected. But may I ask where you are going----'
'Only to the stable,' said the Colonel, laughing and showing a sparkle
of white teeth through his brown beard. 'I always make a point of
seeing to my horse myself. And as I must resume my journey in three
hours' time, it is the more needful that he should be well cared for
meanwhile.' So saying, the Colonel threw the rein over his arm, and led
the steed to the stable door, which the old gardener was holding open.
'Thank you, old chap,' he said to the latter; 'that's all I shall ask
of you at present.' He put a gold piece into the man's hand, and,
leaving him to stare at it in bewildered incredulity, he proceeded
rapidly to unsaddle the horse and to rub him down vigorously with wisps
of hay.
Sir Norman had followed him to the stable. 'Surely, Colonel,' he
exclaimed in a tone of remonstrance, 'surely you don't mean to leave
us again in three hours? Before that time it will be dark night, and
there are signs of a storm coming on. I trust you will not hold our
hospitality so cheap as to give it but a three hours' trial!'
'By no means, Sir Norman,' replied the other heartily. 'I hope to
return hither a week or ten days hence, and to make a longer stay. But
at present I have no choice but to make a forced march. The ship which
brought me from India, you must know, was driven from its course by
contrary winds, and I was landed last night at some port up here to the
north, a hundred miles out of my way. I must report myself at Chester
to-morrow; so you may know I have no time to lose. Luckily, my horse is
one of the best in the world. But I should have been angry enough at my
mishap, had I not found that it would enable me to pass Kildhurm Tower,
and to catch a glimpse of my fair cousin; and to thank Lady Kildhurm
and yourself for your kind care of her. Faith, she looked twice as
pretty and as happy as when I bade her farewell a year and six months
ago!'
'The hour of welcome better suits beauty than that of farewell,'
observed Sir Norman with a smile. 'And now, Colonel, if you have made
your horse as comfortable as the poor accommodation will admit, return
with me to the house, and we will try to do the like by you. We have
but homely country fare to set before you, but it is cordially at your
service. And I think there is a bottle or two of wine in the cellar
that will compensate some deficiencies.'
'I am the last man in the world to be particular about what I eat,'
said the Colonel, as he and his host left the stables; 'if I were at
the table of the King of the Cannibal Islands, I should devour what was
set before me with gratitude and gusto--especially if I felt as hungry
as I do now! But, in fact, the pleasure of seeing my dear cousin once
more--and of making the acquaintance of Lady Kildhurm and yourself--is
better to me even than a meal.'
Sir Norman bowed to the compliment, and led his guest upstairs. 'In
this room,' said he opening a door, 'you can free yourself from some
of the dust of travel; and meanwhile I will give orders for the other
preparations. But, by the by, have you no luggage with you?'
'It has all gone round by sea,' answered the Colonel; 'all except such
small matters as one may carry about his person; and except--this!' he
added, 'which of course I am never parted from.'
As he spoke, he pulled from the front of his military jacket a bag made
of soft yellow leather, curiously embroidered with coloured braid. It
was about half as big again as a man's fist, and seemed heavy.
'And what--if the question may be permitted--is that?' inquired Sir
Norman, fixing his eyes keenly on those of his guest.
'Oh, they are my diamonds, which I promised my cousin to bring her from
India. But, before giving them to her, I shall take them to a lapidary
in London and have them carefully set. At present, as you may see,
they are many of them in the rough state, and worthless for a lady's
ornaments.'
'They are not in themselves worthless, however,' remarked Sir Norman,
bending over the glittering pile of jewels which the Colonel had
carelessly poured out upon the table. 'And not all of them are
diamonds.'
'No, they are of all kinds--rubies, sapphires, emeralds, or diamonds--I
was not particular. And they have a value of their own, as you say:
a fellow who understands about such things once offered me a hundred
thousand guineas for the lot. But, of course, it was not his money that
I wanted: each of those stones has some adventure associated with it
which no money could buy of me; and, besides, they are all destined to
adorn the person of my pretty cousin.'
'A magnificent gift, indeed!' murmured Sir Norman.
'I hope she will like it,' replied the Colonel ingenuously.
'What woman--what human being, for that matter--could be indifferent
to it!' sighed Sir Norman, turning away. 'Well, I will leave you for a
moment; when you are prepared, come to the room where you first found
Mrs. Chepstow. We shall await you with impatience.'