The Shadow of a Sin

"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.

CHAPTER XXXIII

Sir Aubrey Dartelle did not forget that interview; the beautiful face of the young governess haunted him. He went to the sea-shore in the hope of meeting her, but she was prudent and did not go thither. She knew Lady Dartelle's wish that she should not meet any of her visitors – above all, her son. Indeed, when the young girl thought of all that might arise from even that interview, she became frightened.

Those words of Veronica's were always present to her – "he cannot marry her because she has compromised herself." She would not have Adrian see her in this, her fallen and altered state, for the whole world. More than ever she wished to hide herself under the mantle of obscurity. He believed her dead; and, in her noble, self-sacrificing love, she said it was better it should be so. Suppose that Sir Aubrey should say something to Lord Chandon about her, and he should ask to see her? She must be prudent, and not let Sir Aubrey see her again. So the baronet walked disconsolately along the shore; but the lovely face he had seen there once was not to be met again. He determined that he would see her. She evidently loved Clara, and Clara loved her. It was plain, too, that they spent all their time together. Consequently, wherever Clara went, she would go. He would propose to take the child over to Broughton Park, under the pretext of showing her the beautiful swans there. Most certainly if the child went, the governess would go.

He was absorbed in his plan. Walking one morning with Lord Chandon, he was so long silent that his companion looked into his face with a smile.

"What are you thinking about, Aubrey?" he asked. "I have never seen you so meditative before."

The baronet laughed in his gay, careless fashion.

"I have never had the same cause," he said. "I have seen a face that haunts me, and I cannot forget it."

One of the peculiarities of Lord Chandon was that he never laughed after the fashion of many men, and never jested about affaires du cœur. There was no answering smile on his face, and he said kindly: "There is no cure for that; I know what it is to be haunted through long days and longer nights by one fair face."

"My mother has such a lovely governess," said Sir Aubrey confidingly. "I have never seen a face so beautiful. It seems to me that they keep her a close prisoner, and I am quite determined to see her again."

"Of what use will that be?" inquired Lord Chandon. "Her face haunts you now, you say; the chances are that if you see her again it will trouble you still more. You cannot marry her; why fall in love with her?"

"I have not fallen in love with her yet," said Sir Aubrey; "but I shall if I see much more of her. As for marrying her, I do not see why I should not. She is fair, graceful, and lovely."

"Still, perhaps, she is not the kind of lady you should marry. Let the little child's governess remain in peace, Aubrey. Straight ways are the best ways."

"You are a good fellow," returned the young baronet, easily touched by good advice. "I should like to see you happier, Adrian."

"I shall live my life," said Lord Chandon – and his voice was full of pathos – "do my duty, and die like a Christian, I hope; but my earthly happiness died when I lost my love."

"That was a sad affair," remarked Sir Aubrey.

"Yes; we will not discuss it. I only mention it to warn you as to admitting the love of any woman into your heart, for you can never drive it away again."

That day, after the gentlemen had entered the drawing-room, Sir Aubrey went up to Lady Dartelle. She was both proud and fond of her handsome son, who as a rule could do pretty much as he liked with her.

"Mother," he said, "why does not little Clara come down sometimes?"

"She can come, my dear Aubrey, whenever you wish," was the smiling reply.

"And her governess – what has she done that she is never asked to play and sing?"

At the mention of the word "governess" Lady Dartelle became suspicious. "He has seen her," she thought, "and has found out how pretty she is."

"One of our arrangements," she said aloud, "was that Clara's governess was not to be asked into the drawing-room when we had visitors."

"Why not?" inquired the baronet, carelessly.

"My dear boy, it would not be prudent; and it would displease your sisters very much, and perhaps interfere with their plans and wishes."

"Being a very pretty – nay, a most lovely girl, she is to be punished for her beauty, then, by being shut out of all society?"

"How do you know she is beautiful?" asked Lady Dartelle. "Do not speak too loudly, my dear; your sisters may hear you."

"I saw her the other morning on the shore, and I tell you honestly, mother, I think her the most beautiful girl I have ever seen; and she is as good as she is beautiful."

"How do you know that?" asked Lady Dartelle a little anxiously.

"Because she told me quite frankly that you did not wish her to be in the way of visitors, and because she has kept out of my way ever since."

"She is a prudent girl," said Lady Dartelle. "Aubrey, my dear, I know how weak young men are in the matter of beauty. Do not try to get up a flirtation with her. Your sisters do not like her very much; and if there should be anything of what I have mentioned, I shall be obliged to send her away at once. Your own good sense will tell you that."

"My sisters are – what are they?" returned Sir Aubrey, indignantly; "all women are jealous of each other, I suppose."

"Aubrey," said Lady Dartelle, thinking it advisable to change the subject of conversation, "tell me whether you think either Veronica or Mildred has any chance of succeeding with Lord Chandon?"

"Not the least in the world, I should say," he replied, "I fancied when he came down that he would take a little consolation; now I know there is not the least chance."

"Why not?" inquired his mother.

"Because of his love for that brave girl, Miss Vaughan, he will never care for any one else while he lives."

Lady Dartelle's face fell considerably.

"I thought he fancied her dead," she observed.

"So he does; and so she must be; or, with all the search that has been made for her, she would have been found."

"But, Aubrey, if she were living, and he did find her, do you really think that he would marry her?"

"Indeed he would, mother. Were she alive he would marry her to-morrow, if he could."

"After that terrible exposé?" cried Lady Dartelle.

"There was nothing terrible in it," he opposed. "The worst thing the girl did was to half-elope with one of the best partis in England. If she had completed the elopement, every one would have admired her, and she would have been received at once amongst the spotless band of English matrons. The very truth and sincerity with which the girl told her story ennobled her in the eyes of every sensible person."

"Well," said Lady Dartelle, with a sigh, "if you really think, my dear, that there is no chance of his liking either of the girls, I should not ask him to prolong his visit." Lady Dartelle hardly liked the hearty laughter with which her son received her words.

"I will remember, mother," he said. "Will it console you to know that Sir Richard told me yesterday that he never saw such a perfectly-shaped hand as Mildred's?"

"Did he? Mildred likes him, I think. It would be such a comfort to me, Aubrey, if one or the other were married."

"While there's life there's hope. Here comes Major Elton to remind me of my engagement to play a billiard match. Good-night, mother."

But after a few days the good-natured baronet returned to the charge, and begged hard that Clara might be allowed to go to Broughton Park to see the swans. He thought, as a matter of course, that the governess would go with her, but, to make sure, he added: "Be good-natured for once, mother, and let the governess go. I promise neither to speak to her nor to look at her."

But the next morning when the carriage came round, and little Clara, flushed with excitement, took her seat by Lady Dartelle's side, Sir Aubrey looked in vain for the lovely face and graceful figure. He went to the side of the carriage.

"Mother," he said in a low voice, "where is Miss – I do not even know her name – the governess?"

"My dear Aubrey," replied Lady Dartelle, "the governess is fortunately a very sensible young woman, and when I mentioned the matter to her, she positively and resolutely declined to come. I quite approve of her resolution. I have no doubt that she will greatly enjoy a day to herself."

They little dreamed what this day was to bring forth. They were to lunch and dine at Broughton Park, and then drive home in the evening. Veronica was in the highest spirits, for Lord Chandon, declining to ride, had taken his seat in the carriage.

CHAPTER XXXIV

"A day to myself," said the young governess, as she heard the carriage drive away. "I have not been alone for so long, and I have so much to think of."

A great silence had fallen over the house; there was no sound of laughing voices, no busy tread of feet, no murmur of conversation; the silence seemed strange after the late gayety and noise. At first a great temptation came over her to roam through the rooms and seek out the traces of Adrian's presence. She might see the books he had been reading, the papers he had touched. She remembered how precious at Bergheim everything seemed to her that he had ever used. It was a great temptation, but she resisted it. She would not disturb the calm that had fallen on her.

"It is of no use," she said to herself, "to open my old wounds. I will go out, and then, if the temptation comes to me again, I cannot yield to it. I will go down to the shore and read; there is no one to interrupt me to-day."

She found a volume that pleased her; and then, book in hand, she walked through the woods and down to the shore, where the restless waves were chanting their grand old anthem. It was only the middle of April, but the day was warm and bright; the sun shone on the blue heaving sea. She sat down under the shelter of a huge bowlder and opened her book, but the beautiful eyes soon wandered from the printed pages; a fairer and far more wonderful volume lay open before her. The place where she sat was so retired and solitary that it seemed as though she were alone in the world. She gave herself up entirely to thought. Past and present were all mingled in one long dream.

It was too delightful to be alone, the luxury was so great. She gave a sigh of unutterable relief. Presently the hat she wore incommoded her; she took it off and laid it on the sands. In removing it she disarranged the brown plaits which Mrs. Chalmers had thought such a success. With impatient fingers she removed them, and the graceful head appeared in all its beauty of clustering hair – golden waves of indescribable loveliness. She laughed as the wind played among them.

"I am my own self again," she said; "and I may be myself for a few minutes without any one seeing me."

The wind that stirred the clustering hair had brightened her eyes and brought the most exquisite bloom to her face.

She began to think of Adrian, and forgot all about the brown plaits; she was living over and over again those happy days at Bergheim. She was recalling his looks and words, every one of which was impressed on her heart. She had forgotten even where she was; the song of the sea had lulled her into a half-waking dream; she forgot that she was sitting there – forgot the whole world – all save Adrian – when she was suddenly startled by a shadow falling between herself and the sunshine, while a voice, half frightened, half wondering, cried out, in tones she never forgot:

"Miss Vaughan!"

With a low cry she rose from her seat and stood with blanched lips; a great dark mist came before her eyes; for one terrible moment it seemed to her that the waters and the sky had met. Then she steadied herself and looked into the face of the man who had uttered her name.

She recognized him; it was Gustave, the favorite valet and confidential servant of Lord Chandon. She clasped her hands with a low moan, while he cried again, in a wondering, frightened voice – "Miss Vaughan!" He looked at her, a strange fear dilating his eyes.

"I am Hyacinth Vaughan," she said, in a low hoarse voice.

The next moment he had taken off his hat, and stood bareheaded before her. "Miss Vaughan," he stammered, "we – we thought you dead."

"So I am," she cried passionately – "I am dead in life! You must not betray me, Gustave. For Heaven's sake, promise not to tell that you have seen me!"

The man looked anxious and agitated.

"I cannot, miss," he replied – "I dare not keep such a secret from my lord."

She stepped back with a moaning cry and white lips. She wrung her hands like one who has no hope, no help.

"What shall I do?" she cried. "Oh, Heaven take pity upon me, and tell me what to do!"

"If you knew, miss," said the man, "what my lord has suffered you would not ask me to keep such a secret from him. I do not think he has ever smiled since you went away. He is worn to a shadow – he has spent a fortune in trying to find you. I know that night and day he knows no peace, no hope, no comfort, no happiness, because he has lost you. I love my lord – I would lay down my life to serve him."

"You do not know all," she cried.

"I beg your pardon, miss," he returned, sturdily. "I do know all; and I know that my lord would give all he has on earth to find you – he would give the last drop of blood in his heart, the last shilling in his purse. How could I be a faithful servant to him, and see him worn, wretched, and miserable under my very eyes, while I kept from him that which would make him happy?"

"You are wrong," she said, with dignity. "It would not add to your master's happiness to know that I am living; rather the contrary. Believing me dead, he will in time recover his spirits; he will forget me and marry some one who will be far better suited to him than I could ever be. Oh, believe me – believe I know best! You will only add to his distress, not relieve it."

But the man shook his head doubtfully.

"You are mistaken, Miss Vaughan," he said. "If you had seen my master's distress, you would know that life is no life to him without you."

A sudden passion of despair seemed to seize her.

"I have asked you not to betray me," she said. "Now I warn you that if you do, I will never forgive you; and I tell you that you will cause even greater misery than now exists. I am dead to Lord Chandon and to all my past life. I tell you plainly that if you say one word to your master, I will go away to the uttermost ends of the earth, where no one shall recognize me. Be persuaded – do not – as you are a man yourself – do not drive a helpless, suffering woman to despair. My fate is hard enough – do not render it any harder. I have enough to bear – do not add to my burden."