It may be that Hyacinth Vaughan read Adrian Darcy's determination in his
face, for she grew so coy and frightened that had he not been brave he
would have despaired. If by accident she raised her eyes and met his
glance her face burned and her heart beat; when he spoke to her it was
with difficulty she answered him. She had once innocently and eagerly
sought his society--she had loved to listen to him while he was talking
to Lady Vaughan--she had enjoyed being with him as the flowers enjoy the
sunlight. But something was awake in her heart and soul which had been
sleeping until now. When she saw Adrian, her first impulse was to turn
aside and fly, no matter whither, because of the sweet pain his presence
caused her. He met her one morning in the broad corridor of the hotel;
she looked fresh and bright, fair and sweet as the morning itself. Her
face flushed at his coming, she stopped half undecided whether to go on
or turn and fly.
"Hyacinth," he said, holding out his hand in greeting, "it seems an age
since I have had any conversation with you. Where do you hide yourself?
What are you always doing?"
Then he paused and looked at her--admiration, passion, and tenderness
unspeakable in his eyes. She little knew how fair a picture she
presented in her youthful loveliness and timidity--how graceful and pure
she was in her girlish embarrassment.
"Have you not one word of greeting, Hyacinth? It is the morning of a
fresh day. I have not seen you since the noon of yesterday. Speak to
me--after your own old bright way. Why, Hyacinth, what has changed you?
We used to laugh all the sunny summer day through, and now you give me
only a smile. What has changed you?"
She never remembered what answer she made him, nor how she escaped. She
remembered nothing until she found herself in her own room, her heart
beating, her face dyed with burning blushes, and her whole soul awake
and alarmed.
"What has changed me?" she asked. "What has come over me? I know--I
know. I love him!"
She fell on her knees and buried her face in her hands--she wept
passionately.
"I love him," she said--"oh, Heaven, make me worthy to love him!"
She knelt in a kind of waking trance, a wordless ecstasy. She loved him;
her heart was awake, her soul slept no more. That was why she dreaded
yet longed to meet him--why his presence gave her pain that was sweeter
than all joy.
This paradise she had gained was what, in her blindness and folly she
had flown from; and she knew now, as she knelt there, that, had all the
treasures of earth been offered to her, had its fairest gifts been laid
at her feet, she would have selected this from them.
At last the great joy, the great mystery, the crowning pleasure of
woman's life, was hers. She called to mind all that the poets had
written of love. Was it true? Ah, no! It fell a thousand fathoms short.
Such happiness, such joy as made music in her heart could not be told in
words, and her face burned again as she remembered the feeble sentiment
that she had dignified by the name of love. Now that she understood
herself, she knew that it was impossible she could ever have loved
Claude Lennox; he had not enough grandeur or nobility of character to
attract her.
When she went down to the _salon_, Sir Arthur and Adrian were there
alone; she fled like a startled fawn. He was to dine with them that day,
and she spent more time than usual over her toilet. How could she make
herself fair enough in the eyes of the man who was her king? Very fair
did she look, for among her treasures she found an old-fashioned
brocade, rich, heavy, and beautiful, and it was trimmed with rich point
lace. The ground was white, with small rosebuds embroidered on it. The
fair, rounded arms and white neck shone out even fairer than the white
dress; a few pearls that Lady Vaughan had given her shone like dew-drops
in the fair hair. She looked both long and anxiously in the mirror, so
anxious was she to look well in his eyes.
"Miss Vaughan grows quite difficult to please," said Pincott to her
mistress, later on; and Lady Vaughan smiled.
"There may be reasons," she returned; "we have all been young once--we
must not quite forget what youth is like. Ah--there is the dinner-bell."
But, as far as the mere material dinner was concerned, Adrian did not
show to great advantage; it was impossible to eat while that lovely
vision in white brocade sat opposite to him.
"She flies from me--she avoids me," he thought; "but she shall listen. I
have tamed the white doves--I have made the wildest, brightest
song-birds love me and eat from my hands. She shall love me, too."
He could not succeed in inducing her to look at him; when he spoke she
answered, but the sweet eyes were always downcast.
"Never mind. She shall look at me yet," he thought.
After dinner he asked her to sing. She saw with alarm that if she did so
she would be alone with him--for the piano was at the extreme end of the
room. So she excused herself, and he understood perfectly the reason
why.
"Will you play at chess?" he asked.
Not for the wealth of India could she have managed it.
"I shall win you," his eyes seemed to say. "You may try to escape.
Flutter your bright wings, my pretty bird; it is all in vain."
Then he asked her if she would go into the grounds. She murmured some
few words of apology that he could hardly hear. A sudden great love and
sweetest pity for her youth and her timidity came over him. "I will be
patient," he said to himself; "the shy bird shall not be startled. In
time she will learn not to be so coy and timid."
So he turned away and asked Sir Arthur if he should read the leading
article from the _Times_ to him, and Sir Arthur gratefully accepted the
offer. Lady Vaughan, with serenely composed face, went to sleep.
Hyacinth stole gently to the window; she wanted no books, no music; a
fairyland was unfolded before her, and she had not half explored it. She
only wanted to be quite alone, to think over and over again how
wonderful it was that she loved Adrian Darcy.
"Come out," the dewy, sleepy flowers seemed to say. "Come out," sung the
birds. "Come out," whispered the wind, bending the tall magnolia trees
and spreading abroad sweet perfume. She looked round the room; Lady
Vaughan was fast asleep, Sir Arthur listening intently, and Adrian
reading to him. "No one will miss me," she thought.
She took up a thin shawl that was lying near, opened the long window
very gently, and stepped out. But she was mistaken: some one did miss
her, and that some one was Adrian. No gesture, no movement of hers ever
escaped him. She was gone out into the sweet, dewy, fragrant gloaming,
and he longed to follow her.
He read on patiently until--oh, pleasant sight!--he saw Sir Arthur's
eyes begin to close. He had purposely chosen the dryest articles, and
had read slowly until the kind god Morpheus came to his aid, and Sir
Arthur slept. Then Adrian rose and followed Hyacinth. The band was
playing at the further end of the gardens, and Mozart's sweet music came
floating through the trees.
It was such a dim pleasant light under the vines, and the music of the
dripping water was so sweet. His instinct had not deceived him:
something white was gleaming by the rock. He walked with quiet steps.
She was sitting watching the falling waters, looking so fair and lovely
in that dim green light. He could contain himself no longer; he sprung
forward and caught her in his arms.
"I have found you at last, Hyacinth," he said--"I have found you at
last."