The Secret of a Hollow Tree. A novel

Preface

. The characters portrayed in the story of the Secret of a Hollow Tree are true pictures of actual life, ' Matskalla ' having been seen in the flesh by the Author at the age of one hundred and five years. Exception may be taken, by those who never knew the Squire, to his extravagant eccentricities and florid language. It is a charge that must lie at his own door, for he is painted as he exhibited himself to his neighbours, without qualification or exaggera tion. Bertha Morris and Prichard Williams are representatives of a class which thrives apace on native soil, where the accumulation of wealth, having outstripped the refining process of Nature, has encouraged the growth of an objectionable egotism, which often takes the shape of insolence towards the humble and toadyism before the great.

The Vicar must ever remain enshrined in the hearts of all who knew him as a true and lovable type of Welsh clergyman — rugged, honest, generous, Preface VI without the suspicion of hypocrisy, the personifica tion of all practical goodness, like him of whom old Chaucer sung : ' This noble example to his flock he gave : That first he wrought, and afterwards he taught : Out of the Gospel he that lesson caught.' How often has the Author seen Aaron, the quaint old gamekeeper, stalking along by the Vicar's side, a couple of greyhounds at his heels! It was his habit to beguile the tedium of the way with wonderful tales of sport — too wonderful, some of them, to listen to without a smile ; but they were always worth hearing, narrated as they were in halting English, more frequently than not embellished with the humours of the Welsh idiom.

In the description of places local colouring has been preserved, the Author's object being to re produce a faithful reflection of locality and life as they appeared at the period dealt with. Since the Author's first visit to the cave at Coed-y-mwstwr— only a few months ago — some destructive hand has been at work, for the Dragon, which was then curiously perfect, is now sadly mutilated. The chief incidents of the hunt delineated in the tale actually took place. Preface VII The Squire's hounds were hunted to Welsh cries, as Welsh packs have been from time immemorial, and still are, in most of the hunts of the Principality. For obvious reasons, Castellau and the Squire have been fictitiously associated, although it is certain that he was no stranger to the place — now, alas ! falling into decay amid scenes that are instinct with the memories of a romantic past.

Garth Graban and Treferig have been laid under contribution in like manner — an explanation needed on account of the lives woven into the story, which might, otherwise, suggest erroneous impressions. The Author. I THE SECRET OF A HOLLOW TREE

Chapter I

Llantrisant Common, where the meet was to be held, was, and still is, in the hunting season, a bleak, brown expanse of uncultivated pasture, from which could be seen in the distance the residence of Squire Matthews, M.F.H., nestling in a semicircle of trees, with a fine stretch of park-like grounds extending downwards in a gentle slope from the house to the parish road, some half-mile away. The imposing mansion, the picturesquely tim bered fields, the lovely wooded dells and laboured furrows, gave the place the high stamp of prosperity and importance. And, in truth, it was both pros perous and important : for here Squire Matthews dispensed his own law — or his interpretation of the laws of the realm, which was the same thing in effect — to his poorer and less fortunate neighbours, and in an eccentric, domineering way adopted the character of a pseudo-lord paramount of the contiguous parishes — an office which contributed more to his own gratification than to the happiness of those who came within his jurisdiction.

The Squire's house stood away some little distance from the side of a rugged dingle, around which clustered many interesting legendary and historical associations, and within which the roving naturalist, even while free from the trammels of imagination, might have lost his heart to the whispering nymphs of the glen as he wandered in a spirit of rapt con templation into its secluded spots of rare beauty. Once the haunt and sanctuary of weird Druids, they had bequeathed to the curious eye of the wanderer startling traces of their mysterious rites, which are still visible on a rocky platform, fashioned by Nature in her infancy, perhaps. The rude figures carved ages ago are there to-day to throw light upon the past. But we may not dwell with them, nor bother our brains over problematical abstractions ; for since that epoch the place of which I write sheltered a desperate king, Edward II., in his despairing flight, and became his last refuge.

This, however, was the Squire's reading of history, which wandered a little from the line of accuracy. Castellau, then, basked in the halo of a romantic past, and furnished the Squire with sufficient justification for conferring on his own person extraordinary rights and privileges. His neighbours averred — in out-of-the-way places, and under their breath — that he indulged in the freaks of the Monarch and the irresponsibilities of the Druid, and attempted to excuse his foibles, when their exhibition carried him too far, on the ground of prescriptive exemption, which really meant the immunity of eccentricity from the ordinary pains and penalties of wrong doing. To such an attribute he could, undoubtedly, lay strong claim, as he was generally admitted to be the most eccentric man in the county of Glamorgan.

He would often stride into the Town Hall at Llantrisant with a couple of fox-hounds at his heels, and talk to them as if they embodied the soul of his dearest friend, or rate them lustily, according to his mood. Then would he flump down on the arm of a chair occupied by a brother magistrate, proceed to tell him a queer story, interspersed with quaint oaths and grim laughter, and, after tiring of his occupation, walk off to another seat, turn his back upon the people in the court, and crack nuts or chew raisins, much to the secret annoyance and inconvenience of the Bench. In any other man such a display of indifference to ordinary social customs would have been sharply resented, but in Squire Matthews it was regarded as a normal oddity, and passed over as if it was the outcome of an irresponsible will — a queerness in grained and unalterable, not to be judged by ordinary rules of conduct.

People were extravagantly indulgent to his frail ties, with the result that might have been expected : he became overbearing, and developed the comfort- 1—2 able notion that his will must always prevail ; and as his lines were cast in the days when wealth and position meant power, he found it easy enough to push humble folk against the wall, and keep them there. He was not, however, vindictive, but passionate and impulsive, his sharp, lean, ruddy features, thin, hooked nose, and prominent chin giving him a hawk-like appearance — vigilant, and full of char acter. When in a state of repose, which was a rare thing, a momentary ray of softness would some times flit over his mobile face and vanish again as quickly as a thief found trespassing on forbidden ground. Notwithstanding his peculiarities, there was an undefinable something about Squire Matthews which distinguished him from the common, untutored churl who carries Nature's credentials upon him in spite of his acquired broadcloth.

Anyone who could lay claim to some physical or moral crank he loved to employ and keep about his person. Such odd specimens of humanity furnished him with the sort of entertainment he liked best : he could rail at them one moment, and excuse them the next, for anything they did amiss, without loss of dignity. A man with an infirmity was safe at Castellau ; but a fellow who showed the least in clination to set himself up as a model for less perfect men to copy found the Squire's tongue worse than sitting on a nest of ants. Just before the opening of our story the Squire had changed his huntsman, and the manner of the transaction was so characteristic of the Master's idea of the fitness of things that we had better refer to the incident now as an apt illustration of his average conduct, and for a more important reason still — the effect it was destined to have on the fortunes of those whose history we are about to chronicle.

Hunting one day near the village of Efail Isaf, Will Jenkins, the Squire's huntsman, lost his fox — a bit of bad luck which the Master set down to ignorance. 'You blind booby!' shouted the Squire at Will irately, sitting still on his horse to nurse his breath for a square bout of uncompromising swearing, as was his wont when anything annoyed him. And so he went on without drawing rein for a good ten minutes, his intemperate eloquence, growing in volume and richness, attracting a gathering crowd of rustics to the spot, and amongst them the Master's eye fell upon Ned Smith, a gipsy. Pointing to this fellow, whom he well knew by sight and reputation, the Squire cried in a bantering voice, which greatly angered Will : ' Now, I'll wager a crown to thy head, Will — which is a sight more than thy addled pate is worth ! — that Ned yonder, the poaching vagabond, would not be such a dunce at the trade as thou.

Catch him losing a fox in such a d d stupid fashion ! Not he!' ' If he's so clever,' answered Will sulkily, ' let him have a try, you, and p'rhaps he'll find the old fox. Go-dai-o ! I've done my best ! Try, Ned, you, and you shall see there is more fools than one.' With a discretion that did justice to his character for shrewdness, Will betook himself out of the reach of the Squire's arm before he had come to the end of his defiant speech, knowing full well that he was as likely to get a cut from his whip or a cuff on the cheek as a hot verbal reply. But instead of chastising Will for his boldness, the erratic Squire burst out laughing, tossed him a crown, told him to go and get drunk in the Carpen ters' Arms close by — that he was better at that than hunting a fox — and made him give up his horse to Ned, there and then.

It must be confessed that this was an odd way to discharge a huntsman and to engage another ; and it was stranger still to see how readily the hounds re sponded to Ned's voice when he took them in hand. But he was an extraordinary fellow in many ways, and those who have ever hunted with him will enumerate to you such traits in his character as place him, in some respects, in an enviable niche of his own in all matters pertaining to sport. No man understood the wiles of a fox better than Ned, who had lived the greater part of his wandering life amongst the wild animals of the woods and moors ; and so cunningly could he imitate their cries and counterfeit the call of birds, that he often made less expert men wonder at the effect of his art, for it was nothing less. A dark, good-looking face had Ned, and a frame of iron, supple and graceful.

He looked, however, better on the ground than on horseback ; and even years of experience never turned him into a good horseman, although regular habits and a huntsman's livery brought him into conformity with the charac teristics of his office, at least in outward semblance. To hark back for a moment to the day of his odd engagement : ' Kill me that fox, Ned, and, by gosh ! you shall be my huntsman in place of that fool Will, who thinks more of his stomach than his duties,' declared the Squire, to the astonishment of everybody present, even of those accustomed to his sudden resolutions. ' But, mind, if you fail, I'll have you put in the stocks as sure as life. And if you drink more than you can carry soberly, look out ; for, by the Lord Harry ! I'll lock you up in the wine cellar for a week with nothing to eat, unless you have a mind to lick the toadstools off the walls.

Get about your business, man ! and if you do it as cunningly as your eye promises, you'll take the conceit out of Will, and give him a devilish long holiday.' Ned smiled, trotted off confidently, and either found a fresh fox and killed him, or, by a stroke of good luck — one of the surprises of this uncertain sport — hit off the line of the hunted varmint, and in the end accounted for him just as he was about to sneak into an earth at the foot of Garth Pentyrch, a feat which earned for the new huntsman the Squire's boisterous gratitude, and installed him securely in poor Will's place. Ned was a quiet, well-behaved man, and never talked for the sake of hearing the sound of his own voice in idle exercise. ' I don't want babblers in my kennel, Aaron,' he would remark to the keeper, who was a bit of a character in his way ; ' and too much tongue's no good anywhere.' ' Aie, aie, mun,' Aaron would answer dryly, ' that's right enough sometimes for single fellows.

But, marry you, my boy, and you shall see how it will be then. The first night }tou will stay out at the public a bit late you will have to answer a few questions, look you, when you do go home. But not you ! This is how it will be with you, Ned bach : the missis will say, " Where you been, Ned ?" and you will sham to be 'sleep. No good, my boy. She will ask more questions, and talk, and talk, till you shall have to answer — lies or somethin', and be glad enough, too ; but she will go on till you talk more than her, and then she will stop till next time. So you begin first next time, Ned, and you shall see there is much power in a fellow's tongue.' Ned smiled, listened, and stuck to his own ideas, thinking to himself that there were speedier ways of quieting even domestic rebellion than by the use of such a traitorous weapon as the tongue.

On the day on which we make the formal acquaintance of Squire Matthews and his friends the Castellau hounds met, as we have stated, on the common — to be exact, at the place known as the Bull Ring, a curious relic of past times, now almost hidden under the encroaching turf, but still to be seen by those keenly bent on searching out vanishing antiquities. At this spot many a bloody carnival had been enacted in the presence of gaping crowds, to the lasting disgrace of humanity ; for bating a poor tethered bull lacking the liberty to defend him self was wanting in that element of chance which constitutes the spirit of sport ; and without this saving virtue such things become mere exhibitions of brutality. A striking scene opened before the eyes of those who sauntered about the Bull Ring, waiting for the hounds at the tryst.

Away to the left, overlooking the Ely Valley, through which a silvery trout-stream wound its rippling course, a fern-clad, rugged range of mountains extended far into the dim distance ; while to the extreme right the horizon was shaped by the contour of hazy hills, heathered for the abode of grouse, and furrowed by many a turbulent winter torrent, worn deep by the storms of Time ; the inter vening country being rough and irregular until it expanded into the comparatively flat common, the surface of which was darned — like the wrinkles on the face of age — with tiny watercourses, and inter sected by two roads, the one to the right leading to a more wooded country and the Master's mansion, Castellau. Many faces crowd upon your attention at the meet, some of them standing out of the ruck of common-place experience, and compelling you to ask : ' Who is that ? — that elderly man, with white hair, keen gray eyes, and kindly, intelligent face ?' Anyone could tell you who he is, for he is known far and wide, loved and respected.

He is the Vicar of Llantrisant, the Rev. Octavius Thomas ; and that square, ugly house, under the shadow of the Graig, is his vicarage. Look how comfortably he sits his horse, in a quiet, business-like fashion, which tells of years spent in the saddle, and an aptitude for the chase that came with him into the world at his birth. Wherever the Vicar goes his ways and habits are known, and many things that might look strange in any other clergyman sit so naturally upon the Rev. Octavius, that they seem to be a part of the man, and not objectionable excrescences. He could preach a good sermon, ride well to hounds, shoot straight, and claim the first man he met on the street as his friend. When a parishioner required his services, or asked a favour, he had never to ask twice, for the great-hearted old man never hesitated when his choice lay between con venience and duty.

It is a mere coincidence that you see him at this moment conversing with the sexton — a long, slim, middle-aged man, with a patch covering one eye, but as much light in the other as served his purpose well, as gatherer of toll from the dead to keep himself comfortably alive. He is mounted on a sad looking pony, once dark-gray, but now white with age, and of a size just sufficient to keep his rider's long legs from dangling on the ground. Near these two gentlemen of a kindred calling you cannot help observing with an eye of curiosity another — a melancholy individual, with a merry twinkle in his eye, a reddish beard, pale, long face, long limbs, spare body, and a mild, benevolent aspect generally, mounted on an imposing black horse, who looks like doing hearse work conscienti ously, or any other job requiring steady respectability between the shafts.

By turns this industrious man follows the trade of weaver, draper and undertaker. His horse looks as if he had been fed on the refuse of the loom, or the remnants of unsubstantial shrouds. These gentlemen first catch the eye by virtue of their claims to distinguishing attractions : they are, of course, samples of the human oddities which are common to every hunt. A more extended examination of the field enables you to set it down in your discriminating mind as a peculiarly mixed one from every point of view : and so it is, in its social, material, and moral character istics. 'Morning, gentlemen!' exclaimed the Master, heartily greeting his friends as he cantered up to the Bull Ring and cast his keen eyes around to note with one rapid glance who were at the tryst to meet him. ' Egad, sirs,' he continued, with a laugh ; 'had we but the doctor and the lawyer here, the hunt would be well equipped for all emergencies !

A lawyer to make our will, a doctor to help us to a better world, an undertaker to box us up, a parson to mumble a prayer over us, and our jolly, blinking sexton to pile the earth a-top, to keep us out of mischief!' And the Squire slapped his thigh and laughed again at his own pleasant conceit, looking at the same time for the applause of his cronies, which, of course, he got in unstinted measure.

Had they failed to appreciate his humour by any chance, he would most probably have turned angrily upon them and bid them ' Laugh, you devils, will you ?' ' Nor are angels wanting to make the thing com plete,' whispered Prichard Williams, bending, with an insinuating smile, towards a lady who rode with the Squire — a fair-haired girl, with bluish-gray eyes, dark lashes, and a lovely, animated face which long lingered in the memory when once seen. ' Thanks for the compliment,' answered the girl, laughing ; ' but to make a thoroughly representative crew you not only want poor humans and happy angels, but a few demons and the gentleman who rules over them.' ' Egad, Mary, my dear, you are right !' cried the Squire, who overheard her remark. ' With such a handful one would need even old Harry himself to keep the ship straight.' ' Oh, Mr. Williams would be a splendid substitute, I am sure,' sweetly murmured another innocentlooking girl, with a latent spark of mischief in her drooping eyes. ' He is so good at navigating and — everything.' ' I say, Prichard, old fellow, you've got into a warm corner, haven't you ?' observed a new-comer, who had just joined the group, mounted on a good looking hunter of power and quality. ' No, my dear fellow, not by any means,' answered Prichard Williams, the suspicion of a sneer drawing down the corners of his mouth and betraying his annoyance. ' I think I am capable of distinguishing between a joke and intentional rudeness.

I may even be able to appreciate humour when Mr. Jack Morgan might not see it. There are degrees of wit, and I flatter myself that I am not likely,' he added, bowing stiffly to the girl who had borne testimony to his fitness for the post of pilot as a substitute for his sable majesty, ' that I am not likely to accuse a lady of mistaking wit for rudeness, whatever I may think.' ' You have an uncommonly nasty way of express ing superfine ideas,' replied Morgan good-humouredly. ' But then, I believe you are a wit, Prichard, aren't you ? And of course eccentricities of speech are pardonable in a man of genius.' These two men were cousins, both nephews of the Master, Jack Morgan being his reputed heir — a generally accepted idea, based on many direct state ments and acts of the Squire himself. There was a striking resemblance between Squire Matthews and his young relative Prichard, in features, mannerisms, and physique.

The latter, however, was more than suspected of cultivating eccentricity as a family right to use at his con venience as an excuse for rudeness. It seemed to sit upon him awkwardly, as every thing does which is the result of abnormal effort, and not with that easy grace noticeable in the Squire. He had a rasping, unsympathetic voice, gave himself the airs of a great man, which more frequently caused laughter than awe in those who saw the real man under the cloak of the actor, and indulged in the foolish habit of scolding and worrying his horse for faults which were the fruit of his own nervous riding. Occasionally he would condescend to notice an acquaintance when he chanced to meet him in the street, but more frequently he would pass him by with a cold stare. This self-satisfaction, so patent to everybody, stood as a shield of monumental proportions between the man and his errors, and made him impervious to the views of less exalted personages than himself.

He set himself up as a wit ; but such sayings as were witty he learned laboriously out of books, leaving himself the poor paternity of speeches that were silly when they were not rude, and grandilo quent when they were not vapid. For him to be twitted thus, in the face of his acquaintances, by a frivolous fool like Jack Morgan, and have his wit publicly paraded in the light of a flabby foible for idiots to laugh at, seemed to him almost blasphemous. He was exceedingly annoyed, his displeasure showing itself in his expression and conduct. He grew red in the face, hit his horse savagely — as he could not strike Jack, for want of courage rather than the will — and moved away to more congenial company, growling under his breath as he went. Jack Morgan laughed, highly amused at Prichard's haughty behaviour, which was nothing new to him, while the fair-haired girl bent her head down over her saddle to hide the fun which sparkled in her bright eyes, and moved her horse out of the crowd, Jack turning in the same direction and following her.

Chapter II

All who knew Morgan — and that was everyone in the district, from the oldest man or woman to the humblest lad at school — declared with one voice that he was the best man in the parish and the kindest, his immediate friends being just as ready to speak well of him. There was no humbug about Jack ; he was a downright good-hearted fellow, a bit reckless some times, perhaps, but never careless where the claims of friendship were concerned. Such was the general verdict regarding his character. He had an open laugh, an amiable, merry face, rarely serious, eyes that winked involuntarily at a pretty girl, a well-knit frame, and an inexhaustible buoyancy of spirits. No man could ride better to hounds. He sat his horse as if he had been reared in the saddle.

Slowly Jack and his fair companion moved further away from the little crowd at the meet, he silently spending the idle moments in admiring her be coming habit, the easy grace with which she sat her horse, and the bright beauty of her face ; she pro voking)}' bestowing her attention on the arduous occupation of flicking with her whip imaginary flies from her horse's mane, her expressive eyes, now dreamy and contemplative, and again lightening with the sparkle of merriment, looking away from Jack, purposely evading his gaze, one might think, from her manner of turning from him when he attempted to attract her attention. ' Why so thoughtful, my pretty maid ?' Jack asked by-and-by, pulling up his horse where he and his companion could no longer be seen by the inquisitive eyes of the curious crowd. ' My thoughts are my own, Jack, I suppose ?' she said, still looking away from him, but smiling softly to herself. ' Yes, no doubt,' answered Jack, in a tone of moody discontent, ' until you confess them to some girl in your next gossip, and then all the world will know.

Of course you will tell her not to repeat anything you say, and equally of course, she will look at you reproachfully, and say : " Dearest, how can you think so badly of me ?" And more of course still, she will rush off on the tip-toe of eagerness, and never draw breath until she has started her story in the first curious ear, and hunted it through every phase of repetition — to death ! Secrecy, indeed ! There is no sense in one girl telling her secrets to another if she wants them kept. Now, I'll tell you a plan worth two of that: just shut your eyes, imagine I am your girl friend, and open your heart to me.' ' What a funny idea !' Mary Summers cried merrily, turning her beautiful eyes critically upon Jack, wondering if he might be made to resemble one of the gentler sex by an effort of her imagination.

When she contemplated his drooping moustache she shook her head. ' Oh, your plan would never do,' she said. ' You wouldn't cut that off, even to win the privilege of being my con fidant.' ' Don't be so sure,' rejoined Jack. ' I would do that without compunction, if ' ' Now don't be ridiculous, Jack,' said Mary, interrupting him. ' I don't want you to lay such a sacrilegious sin at my door. It would make you look almost as bad as poor dear Prichard.' ' Why do you say " poor dear Prichard " ? I thought he was a favourite of yours ? He says so, at any rate.' ' Does he really ? He is very condescending ! No, he is certainly not a favourite of mine. I have tried, but, oh, dear ! so disastrously, to appreciate him in his favourite part of jester. I am afraid that I am deficient in a sense of humour.

His wit is so funny. Fancy what I heard him say to-day, to win the applause of those whom he afflicted : " How are you to-morrow morning?" Do you think it clever ? — he did, poor fellow.' ' You are hard on the genius of the family,' laughed Jack. ' I suppose I am the scapegrace, eh ?' ' Yes, Jack, you are.' ' And you— what are you ? The beautiful Princess of ' ' Oh, dear me, no ! I am the poor dependent,' she answered demurely. Then Jack looked at her, and said : ' A poor dependent you call yourself. Poverty, Mary, is the lot of every scapegrace, I know ; but it is not often that he is able to feel proud of his poverty. To my thinking, dependence is never poor when it is rich in such beauty as yours.' He would have said a good deal more in the same strain, but she peremptorily checked him.

She grew rosy red, the faint light of a tender feeling flashed into her eyes and as suddenly fled, put to flight by some sterner, sadder thought, which re minded her of the necessities of her position. She had turned her face away from Jack, and now, when she looked at him again, a smile masked her feelings, and partly deceived him, an effect which was increased by her light, purposely playful manner. ' You wicked, disobedient boy !' she cried, making a pretended onslaught upon him with her whip. ' How dare you talk such folly ? What do you think the Squire would say if he heard you ? It is very wrong of you, Jack, to indulge in such in considerate jesting. Remember, your future has been marked out for you. The Squire tells everyone that Bertha Morris will be the future mistress of Castellau.