"There is one thing we are quite forgetting," said Dr. Chalmers,
"although we call ourselves such clever people."
He pointed as he spoke to the little rings of golden hair, soft, fine as
silk, light as gold in color, like the small tendrils of a vine in
shape. She raised her beautiful, blushing face to his.
"You did it," she said, half-reproachfully. "I look just like a boy.
What shall I do?"
The doctor touched one of the soft golden rings with his finger. "This
is anything but the conventional governess style; Millicent should have
plain, Madonna-like braids of a dull gray tint--should she not, mother?"
"I do not like your plan at all, Robert," said Mrs. Chalmers, looking at
her sweet, sad face. "I do not see why Millicent cannot be happy with
us, nor why she can not recover her strength here. I suppose you know
best. One thing is certain; she cannot leave us thus. Should you like,
my dear, to wear hair that was not your own?"
"No, I should not like it at all," she replied, her face flushing.
The doctor laughed aloud.
"You will never make a woman of fashion, Millicent, as far as I
understand such beings. A lady with a magnificent head of hair of her
own carefully puts it out of sight and covers it with some one else's
hair. I think the fashion most hateful, but my opinion of course matters
little. Seriously speaking, Millicent, my mother must take you to a
hair-dresser's, as something must be done; this beautiful, graceful,
infantile head would never suit her ladyship."
Much against Millicent's will a hair-dresser was taken into their
confidence.
"Could I not wear a cap?" asked Millicent, looking shyly at the
magnificent coiffures of all colors.
"It would be very unbecoming," said the hair-dresser.
"A governess in a cap!" spoke Mrs. Chalmers. "No, that will not do at
all."
"What does it matter?" thought the girl. "After all, my appearance will
really interest no one."
And she submitted passively while a plain band of hair was chosen for
her by the hair-dresser and Mrs. Chalmers. When it had been arranged,
and she looked in the glass, she hardly recognized her face, the wavy
golden hair had always given such a graceful, fairy-like character to
her beauty. She looked many years older than she was--sad and subdued.
The plain band of hair seemed quite to alter her face. Mrs. Chalmers
kissed her.
"Never mind, my dear," she said; "you will soon be your own pretty self
again," and the kindly words smote the young girl with deadliest pain.
Her own self? Ah, no!--that self was dead, never to live again. It was
but fitting that the old, graceful beauty--the girlish beauty Adrian had
loved so dearly--should die with it.
* * * * *
"A very proper person indeed," thought Lady Dartelle, when the interview
was nearly at an end; "evidently knows her place and mine; and I may own
to myself that the outlay is very little."
For Lady Dartelle had, during the course of the interview, been
delighted with the brilliant accomplishments of the young girl. Her
playing was magnificent, her singing most exquisite--the pure, sweet
contralto voice had been highly cultivated. Then she spoke French and
German with such a pure, perfect accent, that Lady Dartelle began to
think that the terms expected would be high. She managed the matter
skilfully. She carefully concealed her admiration, and dwelt principally
on the fact that the young lady had never before been engaged in
teaching.
"That makes an immense difference," said her ladyship, diplomatically.
"Still, as Miss Holte's appearance pleases me, I will not think of the
deficiencies. In addition, Miss Holte, to your teaching my youngest
daughter, I should wish you to speak French and Italian with my eldest
girls."
Miss Holte bowed acquiescence, and her ladyship, finding that she
offered no objection to any amount of work, then mentioned a few other
"little duties" she wished to be attended to--"duties" she would not
have dared to exact from any one else.
All arrangements were concluded greatly to her satisfaction, and then
Lady Dartelle asked Millicent if she would not like to see her new
pupil. The young girl said "Yes," and in answer to a summons from her
ladyship, the child came into the room.
Then, for the first time, Millicent's heart was touched; the large,
earnest eyes looked into her own with an appealing expression, the
little burning hand trembled as it lay in her own. Millicent bent down
and kissed the sweet face. Something stirred in her heart that had long
seemed dead--something that brought with it exquisite pleasure and
exquisite pain.
"In cases of this kind," said Lady Dartelle, "I find there is nothing
like a clear and straightforward understanding. I should like to tell
you, Miss Holte, that when we are quite alone you will sometimes dine
with us, and occasionally spend the evening in the drawing-room; but
when we have visitors such an arrangement will be impossible. My reasons
for saying this," continued her ladyship, blandly, turning to Mrs.
Chalmers, "are these. My son Aubrey is a frequent visitor at Hulme
Abbey; he often brings friends with him; and then I think precautions
with young people are necessary. I have seen sad results among my
friends where the precautions I think so necessary have not been taken."
"I shall never wish for any society but that of my little pupil, Lady
Dartelle," said Millicent.
And her ladyship was graciously pleased to observe that Miss Holte
seemed to be very sensible.
It was all arranged; but as they drove home a sudden doubt came to
Hyacinth. Lady Dartelle spoke of her son's bringing visitors with him.
Suppose among them there should be any one she knew--any one who would
recognize her? The very thought of it made her sick and faint. No, it
was not likely; she had seen so few people, she had known so
few--besides, when visitors came, it was Lady Dartelle's wish that she
should not appear.
"Even if I do appear," she said, "who that has known me in my bright
happy days--who that has known me as Hyacinth Vaughan--would recognize
me now?"
Who could discover the lovely, smiling, radiant face under that sad,
careworn look? Where was the light that had shone in the beautiful
eyes--where were the smiles that had played round the perfect
lips--where the grace and happiness that had made the face like
sunshine? Years seemed to have passed over that bowed head--years of
sorrow, of care, of misery. No one could recognize her. She need have no
fear.
She blushed crimson when Dr. Chalmers, on seeing her, laughed. She had
forgotten the false braids of hair. Nothing had the power to interest
her long. Her thoughts always flew to Adrian. What had he thought of
her? Had he forgotten her? What was he doing? She had completely
forgotten the braids. The doctor's mischievous laugh made her remember
them.
"I declare, Millicent," he said, "I should have passed you in the street
without recognizing you. Why, you look ten years older, child, and so
altered!" His face grew serious and sad as he remembered the girl as he
had seen her first.
"Shall you like Lady Dartelle?" he asked.
Severe suffering had not blunted her keen instinct--the instinct that
had shown her that Claude was more enthusiastic than sincere, and that
Adrian was the most noble of men.
"I shall like my pupil," she said, "I shall love her in time."
"Now," observed the doctor, "I have hopes of you. This is the first time
you have used that word. Millicent," he continued, kindly, yet gravely,
"to love any thing, even though it be only a child, will be the
salvation of you."
It was arranged that Millicent--Hyacinth had even learned to think of
herself by that name--should join Lady Dartelle on the Friday evening;
and on the following Saturday they were to go down to Hulme Abbey
together. Dr. Chalmers had promised to find time to run down in the
course of a few months.
"You will naturally be anxious to see how Miss Holte gets on," said her
ladyship, adroitly; "and I shall be glad of your advice about Clara."
Then the time for parting came. The separation proved harder than they
had thought. Millicent had grown to love the place and the people, as it
was characteristic of her grateful, loving nature, to care for all those
who were kind to her. It was her only home now; and the friends who
dwelt there had been goodness itself. Her sad heart grew heavier as she
thought of leaving them.
"Yet, if I live on here as I have been doing," she said to herself, "I
shall lose my reason."
When the time came to say farewell, Dr. Chalmers held her hands in his.
"I am not a man of many words," he said, "but I tell you this--the
sunshine and joy of my heart go with you. How much I care for you, you
will never know; but Heaven's best blessing go with you and prosper you!
If you ever want a friend, send for me."
In another minute Hyacinth had left the house that had been to her as a
haven of refuge and a heaven of rest.