Hyacinth was not long absent. She bathed her face in some cool, fragrant
water, smiling to herself the while at finding that Lady Vaughan could
be sentimental, thankful that the needful little scene was over, and
wondering shyly what this new and bewildering life would be like, with
Adrian by her side as her acknowledged lover. So happy she was--ah, so
happy! There was not one drawback--not one cloud. She rearranged the
pretty lace dress and the green leaves, and then tripped down-stairs, as
fair a vision of youth, beauty, and happiness as ever gladdened the
daylight. Just as she reached the _salon_ door she dropped her
handkerchief, and stooping to pick it up, she heard Lady Vaughan say,
"Do not tell Hyacinth--it will shock her so."
"She must hear of it," Sir Arthur returned; "better tell her yourself,
my dear."
Wondering what they could be discussing she opened the door and saw a
rather unusual _tableau_. Lady Vaughan was still in her comfortable
arm-chair; she held a newspaper in her hands, and Sir Arthur and Adrian
Darcy were bending over her, evidently deeply interested. Hyacinth's
entrance seemed to put an end to their discussion. Adrian went up to
her. Sir Arthur took the paper from his lady's hand and began to read it
for himself.
"You will not refuse to sing for me to-night, Cynthy?" said Adrian. "It
is, you know, as Lady Vaughan says, our betrothal night. Will you give
me that pleasure?"
Still wondering at what she had heard, Hyacinth complied with his
request. She played well, and she had a magnificent, well-trained voice.
She sung now some simple ballad, telling of love that was never to die,
of faith that was never to change, of happiness that was to last forever
and ever; and as she sung the divine light of love played on her face
and deep warm gratitude rose in her heart. He thanked her--he kissed the
white hands that had touched the keys so deftly; and, then she heard Sir
Arthur say again:
"He cannot be guilty; it is utterly impossible. I cannot say I liked the
young fellow; he seemed to me one of the careless, reckless kind. But
rely upon it he is too much of a gentleman to be capable of such a
brutal, barbarous deed."
"If he is innocent," observed Lady Vaughan, "he will be released. In our
days justice is too sure and too careful to destroy an innocent man."
"Colonel Lennox will never get over it. Such a blow will kill a proud
man like him."
"I pity his mother most," said Lady Vaughan.
Every word of this conversation had been heard by Hyacinth and Adrian.
She was looking over some music, and he stood by her. A strange, vague,
numb sensation was gradually creeping over her. She raised her eyes to
her lover's face, and they asked, as plainly as eyes could speak:
"What are they discussing?"
"A strange, sad story," he spoke in answer to the look, for she had
uttered no word. Lady Vaughan heard him.
"You will be grieved, Hyacinth," she said; "but that you will be sure to
hear of it sooner or later, I would not tell you one word. Do you
remember young Claude Lennox, who was visiting his uncle? He came over
to the Chase several times."
"I remember him," she replied, vaguely conscious of her own words--for a
terrible dread was over her. She could have cried aloud in her anguish,
"What is it--oh, what is it?"
"Appearances are against him, certainly," continued Lady Vaughan, in her
calm tone--oh, would she never finish?--"but I cannot think him guilty."
"Guilty of what?" asked Hyacinth; and the sound of her own voice
frightened her as it left her rigid lips.
"Guilty of murder, my dear. It is a strange case. It appears that the
very day after we left the Chase, a dreadful murder was discovered at
Leybridge--a woman was found cruelly murdered under a hedge in one of
the fields near the station. In the poor woman's clinched hand was a
handkerchief, with the name 'Claude Lennox' upon it. On searching
further the police found his address, 'Claude Lennox, 200 Belgrave
Square,' written in pencil on a small folded piece of paper. The woman's
name is supposed to be Anna Barratt. Circumstantial evidence is very
strong against Claude. One of the porters at Leybridge Station swears
that he saw him walk with a woman in the direction of the fields; a
laboring man swears that he saw him returning alone to Oakton Park in
the early dawn of the morning; and the colonel's servants say he was
absent from Oakton the whole night."
"Still, that may only be circumstantial evidence," said Sir Arthur,
"though it is strongly against him. Why should he kill a woman who was
quite a stranger to him, as he solemnly swears she was?"
"Who, then, was with him at the station? You see, three people swear to
have noticed him leave Leybridge Station with a woman whom none of them
recognized."
They might perhaps have continued the discussion, but a slight sound
disturbed them, and, looking round, they saw that Hyacinth had fallen to
the floor. She had risen from her seat with a ghastly face and burning
eyes; her white lips had opened to say, "It is not Claude who killed
her, but her husband." She tried to utter the words, but her voice was
mute, and then with outstretched arms she fell face foremost to the
ground in a dead swoon. Adrian ran to her; he raised her--he looked in
wondering alarm at the colorless face with its impress of dread and
fear.
"It has frightened her almost to death," he said. "Did she know this
Claude Lennox, Lady Vaughan?"
"Yes, very slightly; we met him once or twice at Oakton Park, and he
called at the Chase. But I did not like him. I kept Hyacinth carefully
out of his way."
"What can we do for her?" he asked, in a trembling voice.
"Nothing," said Lady Vaughan. "Do not call the servants; they make such
a fuss about anything of this kind. Let the fresh air blow over her."
They raised her up and laid her upon the couch. Sir Arthur threw open
the doors into the conservatory, and opened the windows in that room
also, to admit currents of fresh air. Lady Vaughan withdrew with
noiseless step to another room for a glass of cool water. Adrian bent
over the wholly unconscious form of his darling, his face almost as
white as her own in his anxiety. Suddenly he remembered that he had
acquired a slight knowledge of surgery in his University life, and
drawing a lancet from his pocket, he made a slight incision in the
beautiful snowy arm that lay so limp and lifeless upon his hand.
One or two drops of blood from the cut stained his fingers. Passionately
he kissed the wound that he had made in his love, but though a slight
moan escaped her lips, Hyacinth did not yet move nor awaken from her
swoon. The old people returned, and Lady Vaughan moistened the pallid
brow and colorless lips. Again that moan came, the girl moved, and
presently the white lips parted with a sigh, and the eyes opened with a
look of terror in them which Adrian never forgot.
"I am so frightened!" she said.
"My darling!" cried Adrian, "I am sorry you heard anything about it. Why
need you be frightened?"
"I am shocked," she said, and the ghastly fear deepened in her eyes.
"Of course you are--one so young, so fair, so gentle. The very word
'murder' is enough to terrify you."
Then she lay perfectly still--holding her lover's hand in hers, looking
at him with such wordless sorrow, such unutterable woe in her face. Lady
Vaughan brought her a glass of wine; she drank it, hardly knowing what
she did, and then the elder lady, bending over her, kissed her face.
"You must not be so sensitive, my dear," she said. "How will you get
through life if you feel for everybody's trouble in this fashion? Of
course we are all deeply grieved for the young man, but he is nothing to
us."
Her words fell on dulled ears and an unconscious brain; the girl, still
holding her lover's hand, turned her face to the wall. She had not been
able to collect her thoughts--they were in a state of chaos. Of all that
crowded upon her, that seemed to burn into her brain, that crushed and
crowded like living figures around her, one stood out clear, distinct,
and terrible--Claude was innocent, and no one in the world knew it but
herself. Look where she would, these words seemed to be before her, in
great red letters--"No one but myself!" She turned her white face
suddenly to Adrian Darcy:
"If they find him guilty," she asked, "what will they do to him?"
"If he is guilty, he will pay for the crime with his life. But now,
Cynthy, you must not think so intently of this. Try to forget it for a
little time."
Forget it! Ah, if he knew? When should she forget again?
"He is innocent, and no one in the world knows it but myself, and no one
else can prove it."
Over and over again she said the words; it seemed to her they had
bewitched her. As soon as she had finished them, she began the terrible
phrase over again. Then the darkness seemed to fall over her. When she
raised her eyes again, Adrian was reading to her. She tried hard to
grasp the sense of what he was saying. She tried to understand the
words, but they were like a dull distant sound--not one was plain or
distinct to her.
"I must be going mad," she thought, starting up in wild affright; and
then Adrian's arms were encircling her. He could feel the terrible
beating of her heart; he could see the awful fear in her face.
"My dearest Hyacinth," he said gently, "you must not give way to this
nervous fear--you will do yourself harm."
He laid the fair young head on his breast; he soothed and caressed her
as he would have soothed a frightened child; and then Lady Vaughan
insisted that she was tired and must go to rest. They did not notice
that as she left the room she took with her the paper Sir Arthur had
been reading.