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Shadow of a Sin (Dramatic reading)

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<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> She was roused from her heavy trance of exhaustion and grief by a knock at her door. It was one of the housemaids bearing in her hand a bouquet of beautiful flowers—"From Mr. Darcy." The girl looked in wonder at her young lady's pale face and heavy eyes. "You do not seem well this morning, miss," she said. "I have not slept," returned Hyacinth. But the few words put her on her guard. She bathed her face, rearranged her hair, and changed her dress, though the weight of misery lay like a weight of lead upon her. Then Lady Vaughan, thinking that she was tired from the emotion and shock of the previous evening, sent word that Miss Vaughan had better remain in her own room for a few hours. The hapless girl was thankful for the respite. She looked so terribly ill, so ghastly pale, that, when Pincott brought her breakfast, she started in alarm. "There is nothing the matter," said Hyacinth, "but that I did not sleep well." Pincott went away only half satisfied. Hyacinth managed to obtain a railway guide. A train would leave Bergheim at ten that night, and reach Ostend on the following morning before the boat started. She would have time to secure a passage and cross. She could take the mail train for Dover, and reach Loadstone so as to be in time for the trial. At ten that night she must go. She had run away from home once before. Then she had been blinded, tempted and persuaded—then she had believed herself going straight into the fairyland of love and happiness; but now it was all changed. She was running away once more; but this time she was leaving all the hope, all the happiness of her life behind her. It was well for her that the dull stupor of exhaustion fell over her, or the pain she was suffering must have killed her. She did not know how the time passed. It was like one long, cruel dream of anguish, until the summons came for luncheon. Then she went down stairs. Adrian was not there—that was some consolation. She looked quickly around the room. [Pg 78] "How could I look on his face and live, knowing that I shall see it no more?" she said to herself. It was like a horrible travesty—the movements of the servants, the changing of the dishes, Lady Vaughan's anxiety about the cold chicken, Sir Arthur's complaint about the wine, while her heart was breaking, and Claude lay in the prison from which she must free him. Lady Vaughan was very kind to her. She expressed great concern at seeing her look so ill—tried to induce her to eat some grapes—told her that Adrian was coming to dinner, and would bring some friends with him; then said a few words about Claude, pitied his mother, yet blamed her for not bringing him up better, and the ordeal was over. Hyacinth went away from the dining-room with a faint, low moan. "How shall I bear it?" she said—"how shall I live through it?" It was two o'clock then. How were the long hours to be passed? How was she to bear the torture of her own thoughts? Whither could she go for refuge? Suddenly it occurred to her that she had no money. How was she to travel in England without some? She did not give herself time for thought; if she had, her courage would have failed her. She went to Sir Arthur's room and tapped at the door. The tremulous, feeble voice bade her enter. Sir Arthur was writing some letters. She went up to him. "Grandpa," she said, "I have no money—and I want some. Will you give me a little, please?" He looked at her in surprise—she had never made such a request to him before. "Money, child," he repeated—"of course you shall have some. You want to buy some trinkets—something for Adrian. What shall I give you—ten—twenty pounds?" "Twenty, if you please." He drew a small cash-box near to him, and counted twenty bright sovereigns into her hand. "Five more, for luck!" he said with a smile. "Always come to me when you want money, Hyacinth." She kissed him—he was so kind, and she had to leave him so soon. "Good girl," he said. "You will be very happy, Hyacinth. Adrian Darcy is the noblest man in the wide world." [Pg 79] She turned aside with a groan. Alas! Adrian Darcy was to be nothing to her—in this terrible future that was coming he would have no place. Then she went to her own room, and sat there mute and still. Pincott came to dress her, and the girl went through her toilet mechanically. She never remembered what dress she wore. The maid asked something about it, and Hyacinth looked up with a vague, dreamy expression. "It does not matter—anything will do," she said, almost wondering that people could think of such trifles when life and death were in the balance. "There has been a lover's quarrel," thought Pincott, "and my young lady does not care how she looks." When the bell rang Hyacinth went down. How she suffered when she looked in her lover's face and listened to his voice, knowing it was for the last time! She did not even hear the name of his friends, when they were introduced to her. She sat wondering whether any one living had ever gone through such torture before—wondering why it did not kill her; and then it seemed to her but two or three minutes before dinner was over. Mr. and Mrs. Vernon—two of the visitors—suggested that they should go out into the grounds; and Adrian, delighted at the chance of a tête-à-tête with Hyacinth, gladly consented. In after years she liked to recall this last interview. "Let us walk to the waterfall," said Adrian. "I shall have a photograph taken of it, Cynthy, because it reminds me so much of you." She said to herself he would not when he knew all—that he would hate it, and would not think of the place. They sat down in the old favorite resort. Suddenly she turned to him, and clasped his hand with one of hers. "Adrian," she asked, "do you love me very much?" The face bent over her afforded answer sufficient. "Love you?" he replied. "I do not think, Hyacinth, that I could love you more; to me it does not seem possible." "If you were to lose me, then, it would be a great sorrow?" "Lose you!" he cried. "Why, Cynthy, I would rather ten thousand times over lose my own life." She liked to remember afterward how he drew her head upon his breast—how he caressed her and murmured sweet words of tenderness to her—how he told her of his love in such ardent words that the fervor of them lasted[Pg 80] with her until she died. It was for the last time. A great solemn calm of despair fell over her. To-morrow she would be far away; his arm would never enfold her, his eyes never linger on her, his lips never touch her more. It was for the last time, and she loved him better than her life; but for her sin and folly, she would now have been the happiest girl in the wide world. "My darling," he murmured, "as though weak words could tell how dear you are to me." He kissed her trembling lips and then she broke from him with a great cry. She could bear no more. She fled through the pine grove, crying to herself with bitter tears: "If I could but die! Oh, Heaven, be merciful to me, and let me die!" <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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