Hyacinth had looked upon Adrian. In her simplicity she had believed that
with that one look all her fever of pain would vanish. Had it been so?
Three days since she had stood in Miss Dartelle's room and watched him
from the window; and now she looked like one consumed by some hidden
fire. In that great busy household no one noticed her, or possibly
remarks would have been made. There was a brilliant flush on the
beautiful face, the light in her eyes was unnaturally bright, no lips
were ever more crimson. She had slept but little. She had spent the
nights in pacing her room, doing battle with her sorrow and her love;
she had spent the days in fighting against the physical weakness that
threatened to overwhelm her.
"It would have been better," she owned to herself in a passion of
despair, "never to have seen him. That one look upon his face has made
me more wretched than ever."
"It is all my own fault," she would say again--"all my own fault--no one
is in the least degree to blame but myself. I have brought it all upon
myself. If I had been content with my home--satisfied with the gifts
Heaven had given me--if I had refused to listen to Claude's
suggestions--if I had been true to my teachings and true to myself, all
this would never have happened--I should have been Adrian's wife. There
is no one--no one to blame but myself. I have shipwrecked my own
happiness, and all I suffer is just punishment."
Like a vision sent purposely to torture her, there came before her a
picture of what might have been but for her folly in consenting to meet
Claude. By this time she would have been Adrian's wife, living with him
in that grand old house he had described to her, loving and beloved,
going sometimes to see Lady Vaughan, and brightening the fair old face
by the sight of her own great happiness. All this was impossible now
because she had been guilty of a terrible folly. It was all at an end.
She had to live her own dreary life, and never while the sun shone or
the flowers bloomed would the faintest ray of happiness reach her. What
Lady Dartelle had foreseen came to pass. She had so many guests to
accommodate that she was obliged to ask Miss Holte to give up her large
airy room and take a smaller one on the floor above.
"I hope it will not inconvenience you," said her ladyship. "It will not
be for long; we are all going to London in May."
The young governess appeared quite unconcerned, and Lady Dartelle felt
more pleased with her than ever.
The window of Hyacinth's new apartment looked upon the rose-garden; and
at the end of the rose-garden there ran a long path, where the gentlemen
visitors were accustomed to smoke their cigars.
One morning Miss Dartelle, with a smiling face, entered the school-room
where the young governess and her little pupil sat. She bowed graciously
to "Miss Holte" and kissed Clara.
"We are all alone to-day," she said. "Our visitors have gone over to
Broughton Park. Mamma thinks Clara may have a holiday."
The child did not look so pleased as the elder sister expected.
"And Miss Holte," continued the young lady, "I want to ask you
something. You sketch very beautifully, I know. I have seen some of your
drawings, they are exceedingly good." This was a preamble that meant
work of some kind. "Have you noticed that very remarkable tree in the
park, called 'The King's Oak?' It is a large spreading tree, with an
enormous trunk overgrown with ivy, and huge overhanging boughs."
"Yes," was the quiet reply, "I know it very well."
"Lord Chandon has asked me to sketch it for him, Miss Holte. It appears
that he is as fond of trees as he is of flowers. I draw very well, but I
should like the sketch to be something better than I can do. Will you
help me, please?"
"Certainly--if you wish it;" and Hyacinth smiled in bitter scorn. "If he
had asked me for a sketch," she thought, "no other fingers should have
touched it."
"I thought," resumed Miss Dartelle, "that, as the gentlemen are all away
to-day, we might spend a few hours over it."
"If you will put on your hat," said Miss Holte, "I will be ready in a
few minutes."
Both sisters appeared presently, and they were unusually gracious to
Miss Holte. After a pleasant walk they came in sight of the grand old
forest-giant. A servant had followed them, bearing camp-stools and all
the necessaries for sketching.
"Will you make a sketch of the tree, please, Miss Holte? And, as I must
do something toward it, I will work at the minor details."
Hyacinth sat down at some little distance from the tree and began her
task. The morning was bright and almost warm. The sisters at times sat
and watched her progress, at others, walked up and down. They conversed
before her as unconcernedly as though she had been one of the branches
of the oak-tree, and their conversation was all about Lord Chandon.
Hyacinth could not hear all they said, but it was evident that Veronica
Dartelle was in the highest spirit, and felt sure of her conquest.
Tired of walking, they sat down at last close to Hyacinth, and Miss
Dartelle, turning to her sister, said:
"You have no idea how he has altered since he has been here; he was so
dull, so reserved, so gloomy at first--now he talks quite freely to me."
"He does not seem to say anything to the purpose," sneered Mildred.
"But he will in time, you will see, Milly. If he could only forget that
horrid girl!"
"What 'horrid girl?'" asked Mildred, with some curiosity.
"The girl he used to like--the one who did something or other
discreditable. Aubrey told mamma she was a heroine, and one of the
truest and noblest girls that ever lived. When Lord Chandon spoke of her
to Aubrey, the tears were in his eyes. The girl gave some evidence at a
trial, it seems, which saved somebody's life, but lost her home, her
friends, and her lover; and has never been seen since."
"She must have been a great simpleton," said Mildred, contemptuously.
"What would you have done in her place?" asked Veronica.
"I should have let the man die," replied her sister. "Self-preservation
is the first law of nature. I would not have lost my home, friends,
character, lover, and, above all, the chance of being Lady Chandon of
Chandon Court, to save the life of any man;" and Mildred Dartelle
laughed at the notion of such heroism.
"This girl did. Aubrey says that when Lord Chandon speaks of her it is
as though she had done something no other woman could do. All the men
are the same. Major Elton said he would give his right hand to see her.
What nonsense!"
"Then does Lord Chandon care for her still?" asked Mildred.
"Not as a lover, I should imagine. He affects the greatest admiration
for her, and talks of her incessantly; but I should not think he would
ever marry a girl who had compromised herself--besides, he cannot find
her. She disappeared after the trial, and the general impression seems
to be that she is dead. I will teach him to forget her. You shall come
to Chandon Court when I am mistress there, and perhaps we may find a
rich husband for you."
"Many thanks," returned Mildred; "perhaps I may find one before you do.
Who knows? If Lord Chandon has been so much in love, I do not see how
you can hope that he will ever care for you."
"We shall see. Time works wonders."
And then Veronica stood up and looked over the governess's shoulders.
"This is beautifully done," she said; "but you have not done much--and
how your fingers tremble! How pale you are too! Surely you are not ill
again, Miss Holte?" she added, impatiently.
"I am quite well," answered Hyacinth, coldly; and then with an iron will
she put back the surging thoughts and memories that were gradually
overcoming her. "I will think when I am alone," she said to
herself--"now I must work." And work she did--so well that in a short
time the sketch was almost completed. Presently Veronica came up to her
again, and took the pencil from her hands.
"I must do a little," she said; and she finished some of the shading,
and then signed her initials in the corner--"V. D."--and laughed as she
did so.
"If Lord Chandon praises the sketch, Miss Holte," she said, "I will
repeat his compliments to you. He cannot help being pleased with it, it
is so beautifully done. You are a true artist."
"I am glad that you are pleased with it," Hyacinth replied.
And then she began to wonder. She had often been out sketching with
Adrian, and he had given her many valuable hints. Would he recognize her
pencil? Would it be possible? And then she laughed to herself, and said
it was only an idle fear--only her nervous imagination that troubled
her.
If what they said was true--and they had no motive for speaking
falsely--Adrian did not hate her--he did not even despise her. He had
called her true and brave; he had spoken of her with admiration and
with tears in his eyes. Ah, thank Heaven for that! Her heart had almost
withered believing in his contempt. She knew his estimation of women to
be so high that she had not believed it possible he could do anything
but hate her. Yet he did not hate her. Tears such as she had not shed
since her troubles fell like rain from her eyes--tears that cooled the
cruel fever, that were like healing drops. It seemed as though one-half
her sorrow had vanished--Adrian did not hate her.
Life would be a thousand times easier now. She felt that no greater
happiness could have been bestowed upon her than to know that he thought
well of her. Of course, as Miss Dartelle said, he could never marry
her--she had compromised herself. The old sweet tie between them could
never be renewed. Less than ever now could she bear the thought of
meeting him; but the sharpest sting of her pain was gone--he did not
hate her.
She was still dead to him, but how much lighter the load was to her. His
hatred and contempt had weighed her to the very earth--had bowed her
beautiful head in unutterable shame. That was all gone now; he knew the
worst there was to know of her, and yet he had called her brave and
true. He had mourned for her, he liked to talk about her, and they all
believed her dead.
"So I am, my darling," she sobbed; "I would not make myself known for
all the world. In time you will forget me and learn to be happy with
some one else. I would not be so selfish as to let you know that I am
living. He will love me dead--he will forget all my errors, and remember
only that I cared for him so much more than any one can care. I little
thought, a few weeks since, that so much happiness was in store for me.
I have looked upon his face again; and I know that he speaks kindly of
me. I shall never see him more, but my life will be brighter."
The rest of that day passed like a tranquil dream; a deep sweet calm had
fallen over her, the hot flush dried from her face, her eyes lost their
unnatural brilliancy. Little Clara, looking at her governess, said:
"How beautiful you are, Miss Holte! You look as though you had been
talking to angels."
"So I have," she replied; "the angels of comfort and peace."
That night Hyacinth slept, and when she stood before her glass the next
morning so much of her beauty had been restored to her that she blushed
as she looked at herself. On this eventful morning Clara was not well.
"Let us go down to the shore," she begged; "I cannot learn any lesson or
do anything until we have been there."
The young governess complied with the child's wish. It was not nine
o'clock when they left the house.
"The sea is rough this morning," said Clara. "Do you hear how hollow the
sound of the waves is? I like high waves--they are all foam."
They hurried down to the shore. The waves ran high; they broke on the
sands in great sheets of foam; they seemed to be contesting with each
other which should be highest and which should be swiftest.
"I am sure they are playing, Miss Holte," cried the child, clapping her
hands for joy. "Let us sit down and watch them."
"I am afraid it is too cold for you to sit down; I must wrap you in my
shawl and hold you in my arms, Clara."
So they sat, the child crying out with delight when one wave higher than
the others broke at their feet. The fresh salt breeze brought a lovely
color into Hyacinth's face, and there were peace and serenity in the
depths of her beautiful eyes. Governess and pupil were suddenly startled
by seeing a gentleman hastening to them across the sands. The child
sprung from the gentle arms that encircled her.
"It is my brother," she cried, "my brother Aubrey!"
The gentleman caught the little figure in his arms.
"I thought it was a mermaid, Clara--upon my word I did. What are you
doing here?"
"We came to watch the waves--Miss Holte and I both love the waves."
Sir Aubrey looked round, and with some difficulty repressed a cry of
astonishment as his eyes fell upon Hyacinth's lovely face. He raised his
hat and turned to his little sister. "You must introduce me, Clara," he
said. The child smiled.
"I do not know how to introduce people," she returned, with a happy
little laugh. "Miss Holte, this is my big brother, Aubrey--Aubrey, this
is Miss Holte, and I love her with all my heart."
They both laughed at the quaint introduction.
"This is charming, Clara. Now, may I stay for a few minutes and watch
the waves with you?"
"You must ask Miss Holte," said the child.
"Miss Holte, will you give me the required permission?" he inquired.
"You must ask Lady Dartelle, Sir Aubrey," she replied, "we are supposed
to take our walks by ourselves."
The blush and the smile made her so attractive that without another word
Sir Aubrey sat down by her side. He was careful to keep Clara in his
arms lest Miss Holte should take her by the hand and retire. "How is it,
Miss Holte," he said, "that I have not had the pleasure of seeing you
before?"
"I do not know," she replied, "unless it is because my duties have never
brought me into the part of the house where you, Sir Aubrey, happened to
be."
"I knew Clara had a governess but I did not know--" that she was young
and beautiful, he was about to add; but one look at the lovely face
checked the words on his lips. "I did not know anything more," he said.
"Are you in the habit of coming to the shore every morning?"
"Yes," said Clara, "we love the waves."
"I wish I were a wave," said Sir Aubrey, laughingly.
The child looked up at him with great solemn eyes. "Why, brother?" she
asked.
"Because then you would love me."
"I love you now," said Clara, clasping her arms around his neck and
kissing his face.
"You are a dear, loving little child," he said, and his voice was so
sincere that Miss Holte forgot her shyness and looked at him.
He was a tall, stately gentleman; not handsome, but with a face of
decision and truth. He had frank, clear eyes, a good mouth, with kindly
lines about it, a quantity of clustering hair, and a brown beard. It was
a true, good face, and the young governess liked him at once. Nothing in
his appearance, however, caused her to take such a deep interest in him,
but solely the fact that he was Adrian's friend.
Perhaps even that very morning he had been conversing with Adrian--had,
perhaps touched his hand. She knew for certain that Adrian had spoken to
him of her. Her beautiful eyes lingered on his face as though she would
fain read all his thoughts. On his part, Sir Aubrey Dartelle was charmed
with the young governess. He said to himself that he had never seen any
one half so fair, half so lovely; and he vowed to himself that it should
not be his fault if he did not meet her again.