The search that Adrian Darcy made proved as unsatisfactory as that which
had been conducted by Colonel Lennox. Do what he would, Adrian could
find no trace of Hyacinth. He was not long in procuring a copy of the
_Loadstone Journal_, and there, in simple, truthful words, he read her
story. His first feeling was one of intense indignation against Claude
Lennox.
"She is so young," he said to himself--"so young and so easily led. Her
very simplicity ought to have been her shield. How could he betray the
trust she placed in him?"
Then he saw what was said of Claude. He was young, handsome, gifted,
eagerly sought after, greatly admired. It was not to be wondered at that
a girl who had led the retired, dull, monotonous life of Hyacinth
Vaughan should have been dazzled by him and have placed implicit faith
in him. But, after all, she did not love him. If she had she would not
have repented of her elopement before it was concluded--she would not
have returned home. It had been but a temporary charm after all. She
had, doubtless, been captivated by his handsome face. Youth invariably
loves youth. It must have been a novelty to her, living as she did in
the midst of old people, who, though kind, were cold and formal, to meet
someone lively, gay, and fascinating. It was not wonderful that she
should let her calmer, better judgment sleep, and act under his
influence.
It was such a simple story, and she had told it so clearly, with such
humble acknowledgment of her own fault in every word--with such an
entire conviction that in coming forward to save Claude Lennox she had
lost every hope in life--that his heart ached as he read. He could
picture that fair sweet face, with its sorrowful eyes and quivering
lips, the centre of all observation in that crowded court. He could
almost feel the shock and the horror that had mastered her when she
found that she must appear in public and tell the story that she had
never dared to tell even him.
"My poor Hyacinth!" he said. "Oh, if she had but trusted me--if she had
but trusted me--if she had but told me herself of this error, and not
left me to hear it from others! I can forgive that half-elopement; it
was but the shadow of a sin, after all, repented of before it was half
committed, and atoned for by bitter suffering. But I find it hard to
forgive her for not having trusted me." Then, again he remembered how
young, how shy, how timid she was. "I must not be hard on her, even in
my thoughts," he said; "perhaps she intended to tell me when she was
more at her ease with me."
Then, as the simple story of her heroism told upon him, he ceased to
think of her fault, and was lost in admiration of her courage.
"How many there are," he thought, "who would have let the prisoner take
his chance, and would have thought more of saving their reputation than
of preserving his life! How simple and brave, how true and loyal she is!
Oh, Cynthy, my lost love, if you had but trusted me!"
He took up the _Times_, and there he found the story told again. All
notice of her fault was quite hidden by the admiration expressed for her
courage, her unselfish heroism, her undaunted bravery. "If I could but
find her," he said--"find her and tell her the world admires instead of
condemning her!"
He understood better than anyone her sensitive disposition; he knew that
she would deem herself all unworthy--that she would look upon herself as
lost to home, to friends, to hope, to happiness, to love; he knew how
her tender conscience magnified even trifling faults, and his heart grew
heavy for her. Where was she? What was she doing? What would become of
her? He redoubled his efforts, but they were all in vain. After days and
weeks fruitlessly spent, he returned to Bergheim, having no good news to
tell. By the stately baronet and his wife Adrian's story was heard
without one comment. Lady Vaughan's fair old face grew cold and sad.
"Did she--the child I trusted--deceive me so far as to leave my roof
with a stranger? Tell me no more, Adrian; my heart is heavy and sore.
This is the first taint that has ever fallen on the Vaughans."
"You must not call it a taint," cried Adrian. "Do not forget how young
she was, how full of poetry and romance, how easily persuaded--a girl
like Hyacinth would be but as a reed in the hands of Claude Lennox."
"The Vaughans are never weak, Adrian; they have ever been a brave and
noble race."
"Not one of them has been braver or more noble than Hyacinth," cried
Adrian, hotly. "I do not say that she is without fault, or that she is
not to blame; but I do say the atonement made far exceeds the fault;
think of the courage required of a young girl like her to stand up in a
public court and tell the story of an error like hers, even though it
was so quickly repented of."
"Think of the shame," said Lady Vaughan, with a shudder. But Adrian
would not have it so. He told Lady Vaughan what the newspapers said of
her granddaughter.
"To me," remarked the lady, "it is almost immaterial whether the papers
praise her or blame her; the disgrace lies in such a name as hers being
in the newspapers at all."
But Sir Arthur was not quite so hard.
"She must have been very dull at Queen's Chase," he said. "I have often
thought so. There was not a young face about the place but hers. That
young Lennox is very handsome--just the man to take a girl's fancy."
"You have used the right word, Sir Arthur," observed Adrian. "He did
stir her fancy, but not her heart; he stirred her imagination. I have no
doubt that in his eloquent way he made her believe that in leaving home
she was doing something grand and heroic. See how quickly her better
judgment came to her aid, and how quickly she repented of her error."
"It is very noble of you to defend her," said Lady Vaughan, "but--but I
cannot hold with you. She was the dearly loved child of my old age--all
my hopes rested on her. I thought I had preserved her like a lily in the
shade, and the result of all my care was an elopement and a public
appearance in a court of justice. Oh, Adrian, say no more to me--say no
more!"
He found it was useless to defend Hyacinth; the proud and stately old
lady could not brook the idea.
"No lady--mind, I mean no true lady--ever makes a public sensation. The
child has ruined, blighted her whole life, and no one can help her."
But even Lady Vaughan, after her first resentment had died away, began
to share Adrian's uneasiness. "It would have been better," she said, "if
the child had returned to us and lived it down!"
It dawned upon her at last, as it did upon all of them, that Hyacinth
believed herself cut off from them forever. "It shows at least," said
Lady Vaughan, "how keenly she felt the enormity of the wrong done."
As the long months passed on and no news came of Hyacinth, the hot,
proud anger died from Lady Vaughan, the fair old face grew wistful and
sad; her grandchild's offence grew less in her eyes, and the great
atonement made grew greater; and then other events happened: Lord
Chandon died, and then Adrian was obliged to return to England. Sir
Arthur absolutely refused to remain at Bergheim without him.
"We must go home some time, my lady," he said; "why not now? After all,
I think you exaggerate what you call the disgrace: let us go! People, I
am sure, will not distress us by even mentioning the matter."
And Sir Arthur was right: whatever opinions might have been expressed
among the inhabitants at Oakton, they had, one and all, too much respect
for the stately mistress of Queen's Chase to speak their minds before
her. It was understood that Miss Vaughan preferred remaining abroad, so
there was nothing more to be said. No one knew how sorely the sweet face
was missed from the old mansion, or what long hours Lady Vaughan spent
in wondering what had become of Hyacinth. Sir Arthur and his wife
settled down to the old life again, but they found out then how much
brightness had vanished with the fair face they missed so sorely.
The new Lord Chandon took possession of his estate; there was no
difficulty about it; he was the direct heir, and the old lord had always
spoken of him as his successor. He took possession of Chandon Court,
with its magnificent rent-roll, and its thousand treasures of art; but
despite his wealth, his position, and his grandeur, Lord Adrian was the
most unhappy of men. He would have given all he had, and all he ever
hoped to enjoy, to find Hyacinth Vaughan; he would have poured out his
wealth like water, so that he might find her. But long months had passed
now since the day on which she disappeared, and no news had been heard
of her yet.