The widower, whose somewhat frivolous and unsteady disposition had been sobered and steadied by the shock of his much-beloved young wife's death, sought compensation for her loss in his little daughter. No father was ever more devoted than he; and now he fancied he had attained a deeper understanding of that old saying of his mother about the treasure above. Old Lady Kildhurm, it should be mentioned, was still living at nearly eighty years of age, and was apparently neither more nor less vigorous than she had been twenty years before. Only now her hair was completely white, and hung down in long thick braids, reaching below her waist. Her face, also, had undergone a certain change. The vacant expression had given place to what might be described as a childlike look; for it had all the serenity and frankness of a child, and the eyes possessed that unconscious quality of penetration that is born of the child's unsullied intuitions. When these untroubled eyes rested upon the beholder's, therefore, he generally looked away, if he was a bad man; but if he was a good man he looked into them, and the further he looked, the more he found himself thinking, not of old age, but of childhood; and if, moreover, he happened to be acquainted with little Hilda, the granddaughter, he was apt to find himself thinking particularly of her. Certain it is that the infant woman and the aged one lost no time in becoming dearly attached to each other, as if they had been kindred spirits; and when Hilda was three years old, her sibylline grandmother did an unprecedented thing; for she took the child in her arms, and mounted with her to her seat in the Oak. Sir Philip almost feared for his precious little daughter's safety, and confidently expected to hear her break out into a clamour of alarm and aversion at the gloom and all the strange surroundings. But as it turned out the small neophyte underwent her initiation not only with composure but with gratification. When, after an hour's withdrawal from the world the venerable sibyl restored her to her father's arms, Hilda seemed regretful rather than relieved that the experience was over. 'What did grandmamma show you?' inquired Sir Philip. But Hilda, with praiseworthy discretion, only looked at him and shook her wise little head, with a roguish smile in her brown eyes. 'Oh, so you are going to keep the secret as well!' said Sir Philip laughing. 'It is her secret now,' said old Lady Kildhurm, laying her thin dark hand on the child's golden hair. 'The spirit of the Oak was my friend, but he is her servant. She is mistress of Kildhurm, and all it contains. In her shall the race be blessed and their sorrows be comforted: and woe unto him who would thwart her purpose or dispute her will!'