The Shadow of a Sin

"Marry her at once, Claude," said Colonel Lennox.

"She would not have me. You do not know her, uncle; she is truth itself. How many girls do you think would have had the resolution to turn back on such a journey as she had begun? She does not love me, I am sure; but after what has happened to-day, I would die for her. Where is she? My mother must take her home at once."

They made inquiries, but there was no trace of her. In the general confusion that ensued, amid the crowding of friends to congratulate Claude, and the hurrying of witnesses, no one had noticed her. She had been the centre of observation for a brief interval, and then she had disappeared, and no one had noticed which way she went. Colonel Lennox and Claude were both deeply grieved; they sought Hyacinth everywhere, they sent messengers all over the town, but no trace of her could be found. Claude was almost desperate; he had made every arrangement – his mother was to take her back to Belgrave Square, and he himself was to go at once to Bergheim to win Hyacinth's pardon from her relatives there.

"There is nothing," he said to himself, over and over again, "that I would not do for her."

He was bitterly disappointed; he would not leave Loadstone until every instruction had been given for communication with him or with Colonel Lennox, if any news should be heard of her. When this was done, he complied with his mother's anxious entreaty and returned with her to London.

"It has been a narrow escape," she said, with a shudder, "and a terrible disgrace. I cannot bear to think of it. You, with your unblemished name, your high position and prospects in life, to be accused of wilful murder! I do not believe you will ever live it down, Claude!"

"Yes, he will," cried the colonel, heartily; "whoever remembers his disgrace, as you term it, will remember also that he was saved by the truth and bravery of the finest and noblest girl in England."

"I will redeem my character, mother," said Claude, earnestly; "this has made a true man of me. I was not very earnest before, but I have paid a terrible price for my boyish escapade. The future with me shall atone for the past."

"The boy is right enough," cried the colonel; "what he says is perfectly true. He wanted more of earnest purpose, and the ordeal that he has just undergone will give it to him. He shall not suffer for the mistake. I will say now what I have never said before – Claude shall be my heir; and," added the colonel, with unconscious egotism, "the world will easily pardon the youthful escapades of the master of Oakton Park."

So Claude's mother did not return quite broken-hearted to London. The trial had been a nine days' wonder – a great sensation; but people seemed more inclined to blame the stupidity of Hyacinth's relatives than the young man, whose fault had been simply that of loving a lovely girl too well. Mrs. Lennox watched anxiously to see if her son had lost caste; but she could not perceive that he had. He was heir of the rich old Indian colonel – heir of Oakton Park. The Duchess of Grandecourt invited him to Rummere Park, and Lady Ansley gave him pretty clearly to understand that her daughter knew how to appreciate him.

"No great harm has been done," sighed the anxious mother, "and I may thank that brave young girl for matters being no worse."

On the third day after the assizes had begun a gentleman – a stranger – drove up hurriedly to the Loadstone court-house. His handsome face was white and haggard, his eyes were dim with fear. He looked as though he had been travelling night and day, and had known neither sleep nor rest. He sprung impatiently from the carriage and hurried up the steps of the court-house. He saw one of the officers standing inside, and he went up to him eagerly.

"Has the trial for murder commenced?" he asked.

"It is over, sir. It was finished the day that it was begun."

"Tell me all about it, please. Make haste – my time is precious. Was there a young lady – did a young lady come to give evidence?"

"Yes; and her evidence saved the prisoner's life, sir. I will tell you as briefly as I can."

He repeated what had taken place, and as he spoke, an expression of pity came over the handsome face of the listener.

"Poor child," he murmured to himself – "my brave, noble love! What was the young lady's name?" he asked, aloud.

"Vaughan, sir – I remember it well – Hyacinth Vaughan."

"Thank you," said the gentleman, remunerating his informant. "And now can you tell me where she is? Where did she go after the trial?"

"There are many who would like to know that, sir. Colonel Lennox has offered a hundred pounds to anyone who will bring him news of her. I should say every inch of ground in Loadstone had been searched over and over again."

Adrian Darcy – for it was he – looked at the man in bewildered surprise.

"You don't mean to tell me that she is lost?" he cried.

"She is indeed, sir. There have been advertisements, and rewards have been offered; but all has been in vain. The gentleman whose life she saved – Mr. Lennox – is almost wild about her disappearance. But, if you are interested in the case, read the report in the Loadstone Journal. It is a splendid one."

"Lost one!" repeated Adrian. "It is impossible! Oh, my darling, my child-like, innocent love, what terrible fate has befallen you?"

CHAPTER XXII

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.