The Shadow of a Sin

"What is the cause of the delay?" asked Lady Vaughan.

"Some accident to the mail train. The company ought to be more careful."

"Adrian will perhaps be able to do something to amuse you," said Lady Vaughan.

"Adrian has gone out," returned Sir Arthur, in an injured tone of voice. "Some friends of his came to the hotel late last night, and he has gone out with them; he will not return till evening."

"Who told you so?" asked Lady Vaughan.

"He wrote this note," said Sir Arthur, "and sent it to me the first thing this morning." Then Hyacinth smiled to herself, for she knew the note was written for her.

"We must get through the day as well as we can," said Lady Vaughan.

Greatly to Sir Arthur's surprise, Hyacinth volunteered to spend the morning with him.

"I can amuse you," she said – "not perhaps as well as Mr. Darcy, but I will do my best. We will go out into the grounds if you like; the band is going to play a selection from 'Il Flauto Magico.'"

And Sir Arthur consented, inwardly wondering how sweet, gentle, and compliant his granddaughter was.

Just before dinner a messenger came to the salon to say that Mr. Darcy had returned, and, with Lady Vaughan's permission would spend the evening with them.

"He will tell Lady Vaughan this evening," thought Hyacinth; "and then every one will know."

She dressed herself with unusual care; it would be the first time of seeing him since she had promised to be his wife. Amongst her treasures was a dress of white lace, simple and elegant, somewhat elaborately trimmed with green leaves. Pincott came again, by Lady Vaughan's wish, to superintend the young lady's toilet. She looked curiously at the white lace dress.

"Begging your pardon, Miss Vaughan," she said, "but I never saw a young lady so changed. I used to feel quite grieved when you were so careless about your dress."

"I will try not to grieve you again," said the young girl, laughingly.

"You must not wear either jewels or ribbons with this dress," observed Pincott. "There must be nothing but a simple cluster of green leaves."

"It shall be just as you like," observed Miss Vaughan.

But the maid's taste was correct – nothing more simply elegant or effective could have been devised than the dress of white lace and the cluster of green leaves on the fair hair. Hyacinth hardly remembered how the time passed until he came. She heard his footsteps – heard his voice; and her heart beat, her face flushed, her whole soul seemed to go out to meet him.

"Hyacinth," he cried, clasping her hand, "this day seemed to me as long as a century."

Lady Vaughan was sitting alone in her favorite arm-chair near the open window. Adrian went up to her, leading Hyacinth by the hand.

"Dearest Lady Vaughan," he said, "can you guess what I have to tell you?"

The fair old face beamed with smiles.

"Is it what I have expected, Adrian?" she asked. "Does my little Hyacinth love you?"

The girl hid her blushing face; then she sunk slowly on her knees, and the kind old hands were raised to bless her. They trembled on her bowed head; Hyacinth seized them and covered them with passionate kisses and tears. She had thought them stern hands once, and had felt disposed to fly from their guidance; but now, as she kissed them, she blessed and thanked them that their guidance had brought her to this happy haven of rest.

"Heaven bless you, my child!" said the feeble voice. The lady bowed her stately head and fair old face over the young girl.

"If you have ever thought me stern, Hyacinth," she said – "if you have ever fancied the rules I laid down for you hard – remember it was all for your own good. The world is full of snares – some of them cruel ones – for the unwary. I saw that you were full of romance and poetry; and I – I did my best, my dear. If you have thought me hard, you must forgive me now – it was all for your own good. I know the value of a pure mind, an innocent heart, and a spotless name; and that is the dowry you bring your husband. No queen ever had one more regal. The Vaughans are a proud old race. There has never been even the faintest slur or shadow resting on any one who bore the name; and the highest praise that I can give you is that you are worthy to bear it."

Adrian did not know why the fair young head was bent in such lowly humility, why such passionate sobs rose to the girl's lips as he raised her and held her for a moment in his arms.

"Go to your room, Hyacinth, and remove all traces of tears," said Lady Vaughan. "We must be glad, not sorry, this evening – it is your betrothal night. And see, here are the papers, Sir Arthur; now you will be quite happy, and forgive that unfortunate mail train."

CHAPTER XVI

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.