Colonel Quaritch, V.C.: Chapter 44
Chapter 44
CHRISTMAS CHIMES
The Squire turned and entered the house. He generally was fairly noisy
in his movements, but on this occasion he was exceptionally so.
Possibly he had a reason for it.
On reaching the vestibule he found Harold and Ida standing side by
side as though they were being drilled. It was impossible to resist
the conclusion that they had suddenly assumed that attitude because it
happened to be the first position into which they could conveniently
fall.
There was a moment's silence, then Harold took Ida's hand and led her
up to where her father was standing.
"Mr. de la Molle," he said simply, "once more I ask you for your
daughter in marriage. I am quite aware of my many disqualifications,
especially those of my age and the smallness of my means; but Ida and
myself hope and believe that under all the circumstances you will no
longer withhold your consent," and he paused.
"Quaritch," answered the Squire, "I have already in your presence told
Mr. Cossey under what circumstances I was favourably inclined to his
proposal, so I need not repeat all that. As regards your means,
although they would have been quite insufficient to avert the ruin
which threatened us, still you have, I believe, a competence, and
owing to your wonderful and most providential discovery the fear of
ruin seems to have passed away. It is owing to you that this
discovery, which by the way I want to hear all about, has been made;
had it not been for you it never would have been made at all, and
therefore I certainly have no right to say anything more about your
means. As to your age, well, after all forty-four is not the limit of
life, and if Ida does not object to marrying a man of those years, I
cannot object to her doing so. With reference to your want of
occupation, I think that if you marry Ida this place will, as times
are, keep your hands pretty full, especially when you have an
obstinate donkey like that fellow George to deal with. I am getting
too old and stupid to look after it myself, and besides things are so
topsy-turvy that I can't understand them. There is one thing more that
I want to say: I forbade you the house. Well, you are a generous-
minded man, and it is human to err, so I think that perhaps you will
understand my action and not bear me a grudge on that account. Also, I
dare say that at the time, and possibly at other times, I said things
I should be sorry for if I could remember what they were, which I
can't, and if so, I apologise to you as a gentleman ought when he
finds himself in the wrong. And so I say God bless you both, and I
hope you will be happy in life together; and now come here, Ida, my
love, and give me a kiss. You have been a good daughter all your life,
and so Quaritch may be sure that you will be a good wife too."
Ida did as she was bid. Then she went over to her lover and took him
by his hand, and he kissed her on the forehead. And thus after all
their troubles they finally ratified the contract.
* * * * *
And we, who have followed them thus far, and have perhaps been a
little moved by their struggles, hopes, and fears, will surely not
grudge to re-echo the Squire's old-fashioned prayer, "God bless them
both."
God bless them both. Long may they live, and happily.
Long may they live, and for very long may their children's children of
the race, if not of the name of de la Molle, pass in and out through
the old Norman gateway and by the sturdy Norman towers. The Boisseys,
who built them, here had their habitation for six generations. The de
la Molles who wedded the heiress of the Boisseys lived here for
thirteen generations. May the Quaritchs whose ancestor married Ida,
heiress of the de la Molles, endure as long!
Surely it is permitted to us to lift a corner of the curtain of
futurity and in spirit see Ida Quaritch, stately and beautiful as we
knew her, but of a happier countenance. We see her seated on some
Christmas Eve to come in the drawing-room of the Castle, telling to
the children at her knees the wonderful tale of how their father and
old George on this very night, when the gale blew long years ago,
discovered the ruddy pile of gold, hoarded in that awful storehouse
amid the bones of Saxon or Danish heroes, and thus saved her to be
their mother. We can see their wide wondering eyes and fixed faces, as
for the tenth time they listen to a story before which the joys of
Crusoe will grow pale. We can hear the eager appeal for details made
to the military-looking gentleman, very grizzled now, but grown
better-looking with the advancing years, who is standing before the
fire, the best, most beloved husband and father in all that country
side.
Perhaps there may be a vacant chair, and another tomb among the ranks
of the departed de la Molles; perhaps the ancient walls will no longer
echo to the sound of the Squire's stentorian voice. And what of that?
It is our common lot.
But when he goes the country side will lose a man of whom they will
not see the like again, for the breed is dead or dying; a man whose
very prejudices, inconsistencies, and occasional wrong-headed violence
will be held, when he is no longer here, to have been endearing
qualities. And for manliness, for downright English God-fearing
virtues, for love of Queen, country, family and home, they may search
in vain to find his equal among the cosmopolitan Englishmen of the
dawning twentieth century. His faults were many, and at one time he
went near to sacrificing his daughter to save his house, but he would
not have been the man he was without them.
And so to him, too, farewell. Perchance he will find himself better
placed in the Valhalla of his forefathers, surrounded by those stout
old de la Molles whose memory he regarded with so much affection, than
here in this thin-blooded Victorian era. For as has been said
elsewhere the old Squire would undoubtedly have looked better in a
chain shirt and bearing a battle axe than ever he did in a frock coat,
especially with his retainer George armed to the teeth behind him.
* * * * *
They kissed, and it was done.
Out from the church tower in the meadows broke with clash and clangour
a glad sound of Christmas bells. Out it swept over layer, pitle and
fallow, over river, plantain, grove and wood. It floated down the
valley of the Ell, it beat against Dead Man's Mount (henceforth to the
vulgar mind more haunted than ever), it echoed up the Castle's Norman
towers and down the oak-clad vestibule. Away over the common went the
glad message of Earth's Saviour, away high into the air, startling the
rooks upon their airy courses, as though the iron notes of the World's
rejoicing would fain float to the throned feet of the World's
Everlasting King.
Peace and goodwill! Ay and happiness to the children of men while
their span is, and hope for the Beyond, and heaven's blessing on holy
love and all good things that are. This is what those liquid notes
seemed to say to the most happy pair who stood hand in hand in the
vestibule and thought on all they had escaped and all that they had
won.
* * * * *
"Well, Quaritch, if you and Ida have quite done staring at each other,
which isn't very interesting to a third party, perhaps you will not
mind telling us how you happened on old Sir James de la Molle's
hoard."
Thus adjured, Harold began his thrilling story, telling the whole
history of the night in detail, and if his hearers had expected to be
astonished certainly their expectations were considerably more than
fulfilled.
"Upon my word," said the Squire when he had done, "I think I am
beginning to grow superstitious in my old age. Hang me if I don't
believe it was the finger of Providence itself that pointed out those
letters to you. Anyway, I'm off to see the spoil. Run and get your
hat, Ida, my dear, and we will all go together."
And they went and looked at the chest full of red gold, yes, and
passed down, all three of them, into those chill presences in the
bowels of the Mount. Then coming thence awed and silent they sealed up
the place for ever.
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