A beautiful night--not clear with the light of the moon, but solemn and
still under the pale, pure stars; there was a fitful breeze that
murmured among the trees, rippling the green leaves and stirring the
sleeping flowers. The lilies gleamed like pale spectres, the roses were
wet with dew; the deer lay under the trees in the park; there was hardly
a sound to break the holy calm.
Queen's Chase lay in dark shadow under the starlight, the windows and
doors all fastened except one, the inmates all sleeping save one. The
great clock in the turret struck ten. Had any been watching, they would
have seen a faint light in the room where Hyacinth Vaughan slept; it
glimmered there only for a minute or two, and then disappeared. Soon
afterward there appeared at the library window a pale, sweet, frightened
face; the window slowly opened and a tall, slender figure, closely
wrapped in a dark gray cloak, issued forth from the safe shelter of
home, under the solemn stars, to take the false step that was to darken
her life for so many years.
She stole along in the darkness and silence, between the trees, till
Claude came to her; and her heart gave a great bound at his approach,
while a crimson flush rose to her face.
"My darling," he said, clasping her hand in his, "how am I to thank
you?"
Then she began to realize in some faint degree what she had done. She
looked up at Claude's handsome, careless face, and began to understand
that she had given up all the world for him--all the world.
"You are frightened, Hyacinth," he said, "but there is no need. Your
hand trembles, and your face is so pale that I notice it even by
starlight."
"I am frightened," she confessed. "I have never been out at night
before. Oh, Claude, do you think I have done right?"
He spoke cheerily: "That you have, my darling. Such gloomy cages were
never made for bright birds like you; let me see you smile before you go
one step further."
It was almost midnight when they reached Oakton station; the few lamps
glimmered fitfully and there was no one about but the sleepy porters.
"Keep your veil well drawn over your face, Hyacinth," he whispered; "I
will get the tickets. Sit down here and no one need see you."
She obeyed him, trembling in every limb. She sat down on the little
wooden bench, her veil closely drawn over her face; her cloak wrapped
round her; and then, after what seemed to be but a moment of time, yet
was in reality over ten minutes, the train ran steaming into the
station. One or two passengers alighted. Claude took her hand and placed
her in a first-class carriage--no one had either seen or noticed her--he
sprang in after her, the door was shut, the whistle sounded, and the
train was off.
"It is done!" she gasped, her face growing deadly white, and the color
fading even from her lips. She laid her head back on the cushion. "It is
done!" she repeated, faintly.
"And you will see, my darling, that all is for the best."
He would not allow her time to think or to grow dull. He talked to her
till the color returned to her face and the brightness to her eyes. They
looked together from the carriage windows, watching the shining stars
and the darkened earth, wondering at the beautiful, holy silence of
night, until the faint gray dawn broke in the skies. Then a mishap
occurred.
The train had proceeded on its way safely enough until a station called
Leybridge had been reached. There the passengers for London leave it,
and await the arrival of the mail train. Hyacinth and Claude left the
carriage; the train they had travelled by went on.
"We have not long to wait for the mail train," said Claude, "and then,
thank goodness, there will be no more changing until we reach London."
The faint gray dawn of the morning was just breaking into rose and
gold. Hyacinth looked pale and cold; the excitement, the fatigue, and
the night travelling were rapidly becoming too much for her.
They walked up and down the platform for a few minutes. A quarter of an
hour passed--half an hour--and then Claude, still true to his
determination that Hyacinth should not be seen, bade her to sit down
again while he went to inquire at the office the cause of delay. There
were several other passengers, for Leybridge Junction was no
inconsiderable one.
Suddenly there seemed to arise a scene of confusion in the station. The
station master came out with a disturbed face; the porters were no
longer sleepy, but anxious. Then the rumor, whispered first with bated
breath, grew--"An accident to the mail train below Lewes. Thirty
passengers seriously injured and half as many killed. Traffic on the
line impossible."
Claude heard the sad news with a sorrowful heart. He did not wish
Hyacinth to know it--it would seem like an omen of misfortune to her.
"When will the next train start for London?" he asked one of the
porters.
"There is none between now and seven o'clock," the man replied.
"Was there ever anything so unfortunate?" muttered Claude to himself.
Leybridge was only twenty miles from Oakton.
"I should not like any one to see me about the station," he thought;
"and Hyacinth is sure to be known here. How unfortunate that we should
be detained so near home!" He went out to her: "You must not lose
patience, Hyacinth," he said; "the mail train is delayed, and we have to
wait here until seven."
She looked up at him, alarmed and perplexed. "Seven," she repeated--"and
now it is only three. What shall we do, Claude?"
"If you are willing, we will go for a walk through the fields. I fancy
we shall be recognized if we stop here."
"I am sure we shall--I have often been to Leybridge with Lady Vaughan."
They went out of the station and down the quiet street; they saw an
opening that led to the fields.
"You will like the fields better than anywhere else," said Claude, and
she assented.
They crossed a stile that led into the fertile clover meadows. It seemed
as though the beauty and fragrance of the summer morning broke into
full glow to welcome them; the rosy clouds parted, and the sun shone in
the full lustre of its golden light; the trees, the hedges, the clover,
were all impearled with dew--the drops lay thick, shining and bright, on
the grass; there was a faint twitter of birds, as though they were just
awakening; the trees seemed to stir with new life and vigor.
"Is this the morning?" said Hyacinth, looking round. "Why, Claude, it is
a thousand times more beautiful than the fulness of day!"