CHAPTER VII.

THE OAK BIDES ITS TIME.

When this strange story, with suitable exaggerations, got abroad, it added greatly to the Oak's reputation. The notion that it was to be a sort of Banshee of the Kildhurms, speaking with miraculous voice before the death of any member of the family--this notion had great vogue for a time; but the Oak itself declined to countenance it. Its soul, if it had one, was of a rank superior to that of Banshees, and would not be classed with them. Several members of the family died in due season, and in an ordinary manner, without any sign from the Oak. The tree, for a great number of years behaved in all respects as another tree might have done. But it never could divest itself of its sinister reputation. Not uneducated people merely, but often those who pretend to some degree of culture, betray a disposition to put faith in a thing precisely because they are unable to explain it. Possibly some leaven of the inexplicable may be indispensable to a healthy mental organisation. It is inexplicable, so far as our knowledge of natural laws extends, that the leaves and branches of the Oak should have swayed and rustled independently of the action of the wind. On the other hand, if we assign a conscious and self-acting spirit to man, what shall prevent us from assigning the like to a tree? Before giving a too credulous ear to those who would persuade us that this or that is incredible because it is a miracle, it were prudent to require them to put their finger on something that is not miraculous.

Let the reader, therefore, form his own conclusions as to the special miraculousness of Kildhurm's Oak: noting, meanwhile, that little Rupert, the stubborn and wily, grew up to be a courtier; and, while still no more than a boy in his teens, was able on one or two occasions to render some important service to the second Charles, who was then awaiting with what patience he might the demise of the terrible Protector. On Charles's accession to power, Rupert was attached to his court, and, if all accounts be true, he approved himself a congenial abettor of the merry monarch's frolics. It was here that he made the acquaintance of John, Earl of Rochester, and the connection benefited him little either in health or reputation. Nor did its ill effects stop there; for having, in the year 1678, invited a party of dissolute young nobles, of whom Rochester was one, to spend a few days at Kildhurm Tower, a most stupendous orgy forthwith began, which lasted nearly a week, and ended in the castle taking fire. There was no means of putting out the flames; and within six hours the only part of the building that remained habitable was the tower itself and one or two rooms adjoining it. This mishap happened in the winter; and the aspect of the naked Oak lit up by the red glare of the conflagration, and standing forth against the sable background of sea and sky, was demoniacal in the extreme.

'Ods-life, my lads,' remarked the wild Earl, as he gazed upon it, 'it does look damnably like one of us as we shall be a few years sooner or later!'

This was one of the last escapades in which Rochester was concerned. He soon afterwards fell into that illness which proved to be his last, and in the course of which he formed his edifying friendship with good Bishop Burnet. As for Sir Rupert, the disaster sobered him, not only at the time, but permanently. He stayed at what was left of his home for the remainder of his days, married the daughter of a neighbouring baronet, and died full of years and piety, though poor in this world's goods, in the latter part of George I.'s reign. He had a son, of whom this history has nothing to say, but with that son's son, born about the time of the grandfather's decease, our narrative resumes its thread.

Sir Norman Kildhurm was a scholar of some eminence, and of a philosophical and speculative turn; he is said to have written several lengthy and abstruse works, all of which have withdrawn into a dignified and happy oblivion. Personally, he was an odd, unconventional genius, of uneven temper and behaviour. His mind, in some of its aspects, was amazingly lucid and sane; but in others it seemed to forsake all rationality and clearness, and immersed itself in clouds of mysticism and paradox. The family Oak had, as might readily be supposed, a profound attraction for him. He spent much time in studying it, and posterity is indebted to him for having gathered together all available scraps of its past history, both actual and apocryphal. Among other discoveries he made the somewhat curious one that the Oak differed from all known species of the _Quercus_ family, and was of another variety even than the Oak of Ennerdale, whereof tradition made it an off-shoot. Sir Norman boldly accounted for this difference by ascribing it to the strain of human blood which flowed in the tree's veins. Perhaps he may have known for a fact that a fluid which was not vegetable sap coursed beneath the rough bark; and, indeed, there is a rumour that he once dared to lop off one of the lesser branches, doubtless with a view to putting this questionable ichor to a chemical test. Whether the tree forgave the liberty in consideration of the importance of the result to be obtained, is open to question; though probably any being directly connected, as the Oak was, with the operations of destiny, would be superior to petty emotions of revenge or partiality. It cannot be denied, on the other hand, that Sir Norman's connection with the Oak was foreordained to end disastrously for him.

It is not to be expected of a man such as Sir Norman is described as being, that he would be socially inclined; and yet it is probable that his poverty was at least as much the cause of his seclusion, as was any innate aversion from, or quarrel with, his kind. Misanthropist or not, he married, when about thirty years of age, a daughter of Bishop Ferrand. The young lady might have made a more brilliant match; Kildhurm was quoted in the matrimonial market at by no means a high figure: we are forced to the conclusion that she must have fallen in love. She was no ordinary woman. In point of mental cultivation she was her husband's equal. As regards personal appearance, her features were rather too strongly marked to fulfil the ideal of feminine beauty; but her figure was stately and tall, her bearing dignified and graceful. She was ardently attached to her husband, and devoted herself in every way she could to his happiness and comfort. Not only did she square his worldly cash accounts for him, she assisted him also in his literary and philosophical labours; she even--so it is hinted--aided him in certain unorthodox efforts of his to pierce through the natural veil of things, and to explore secrets which are conditionally withheld from common approach. This may mean that Sir Norman had in some degree pretended to anticipate the exploits of the future Cagliostro; and used his lady as a passive but effective lens, to apprise him of matters which he was impotent to master by his own unfettered eyesight.

Be this as it may, there is reason for supposing that the Lady Kildhurm of this epoch was a person of exceptional temperament; that her manifestations were not always entirely comprehensible; that, in short, despite her cleverness, there was a screw loose in her somewhere. Sir Norman and she were not unfrequently referred to in critical social circles of the vicinity as the crazy couple, the mad Kildhurms. They bore their reputation philosophically, and were very fond of each other. A year or two after their marriage a son was born to them, and they approved themselves affectionate parents. But they were almost intolerably poor; and when poverty amounts to an inadequacy of means to ends, it becomes irksome. It was highly desirable that their financial resources should be increased. I cannot say whether Sir Norman, in addition to his other investigations, made any search for the philosopher's stone; but there can be no doubt that he stood greatly in need of some such implement. He was angry with fortune; he conceived that wealth was his due, not on account of his station merely, but by reason of personal merit. From a state of mind such as this--from a keen perception of the injustice of fortune--it is not always a long step to attempting to force fortune's hand. The Baronet's philosophical studies may have so expanded his views as to enable him to consider the feasibility of acquiring money by means divergent from what is vulgarly called morality. He was a slight-built, nervous man, of a bilious temperament, with the features and peculiarities of his race strongly pronounced in him; but he possessed in addition--what most of his ancestors did not--a soft and winning tone of voice, and a tongue which could be persuasive when he chose to make it so. Few women could withhold their confidence from him, if he set himself to gain it: and not a few men had acknowledged the pleasant cajolery which he could employ on occasion.

Soon after the baby was born, a widowed sister of Lady Kildhurm's--Mrs. Harriet Chepstow by name--came to the Tower and took up her abode there. Mr. Chepstow, deceased, was a younger son of a wealthy family, and had obtained some share of the property; consequently, there is every reason to suppose that the widow did not eat her host's bread without paying him a fair equivalent for it. The subject is a delicate one, but it is necessary that we should touch upon it. There was nothing in the affair to cause Sir Norman any mortification. The widow needed a home, and he needed a few pounds a week; it was a fair exchange. Nevertheless, the Baronet was, in his own way, a very proud man, and it is easily conceivable that he did not enjoy the spectacle of the descendant of his forefathers enacting the _rôle_ of a lodging-house keeper; and that his desire to find the philosopher's stone, or some equivalent for it, should grow more than ever urgent. Lady Kildhurm sympathised with him, and tried, no doubt, to quiet and console him. She liked poverty no better than he did; but she was not rebellious at heart, like him, and still less was she capable of entertaining the unorthodox views as to moral responsibility which have been above alluded to. Sir Norman felt this, and had the good sense, or the precaution, never to attempt to argue such hazardous questions with her. A man must become a very bad man indeed who does not like to see his wife more honourable and more virtuous than he is himself. Let it not be inferred from this remark that Sir Norman had contemplated any definite criminal act. All that he had done thus far--and thousands of guiltless men have done as much--was to ask himself whether circumstances might not make some wrongs more justifiable than certain rights. At that point, or very little beyond it, he paused: circumstance and opportunity might carry the matter further, or might let it stand where it was. There was no telling.