The Shadow of a Sin Part 8

"Oh, no--not as I should love you, to be your wife. I thought I did not, but you said I did. I am quite sure of it, Claude; ever since we started I have been thinking so."

"Well, I must bear my disappointment like a man, I suppose," he said; "and since you wish to go back, I suppose you must. But remember all that you are going back to, Cynthy."

"It is better to break one's heart at home than to run away from it,"

she rejoined.

"I see," he said quietly; "that woman has frightened you. I thought you brave--you are a coward. I thought you capable of great sacrifice for my sake--you are not so. You shall go home in safety and security, Miss Vaughan."

"Heaven bless you, Claude!" she cried. "You are very good to me."

"I do not like it, mind," he said. "I think it is the shabbiest trick that was ever played on any man. Still, your wishes shall be obeyed."

Without another word, they went back to the station.

"I will inquire at what time the train leaves here for Oakton," he said.

"Stay outside, Hyacinth--it will not do for you to be seen now."

She was very fortunate. A train went back to Oakton at six o'clock--a quick train too--so that she would be there in little more than half an hour.

"Then," she said breathlessly, "I can walk quickly back again. I can get into the grounds--perhaps into the house--unnoticed. I pray Heaven that I may do so! If I may but once get safely freed from this danger, never will I run into any more. How much would I not give to be once more safe at home!"

Claude looked as he felt--exceedingly angry. "I will accompany you," he said, "as far as the Oakton station, and then I must walk back to the park. I can only hope that I have not been missed. I will take care that no woman ever makes such a simpleton of me again."

He went to the booking-office and obtained two tickets. When the train was ready for starting, and not before, he went to summon Hyacinth, and by a little dexterous management, she got into a carriage unseen.

They did not exchange words on that return journey; he was too angry--too indignant; she was praying that she might reach home safely--that she might not be too heavily punished for her sin.

At last the train reached Oakton. There were few people at the station.

She gave up the ticket to the official, who little guessed who she was.

"Thank Heaven," she said, with quivering lips. The next minute she was on the road that led to the woods. Claude followed her.

"We will say good-by here, Claude," she said, holding out her hand to him.

"And you were to have been my wife before noon!" he cried. "How cold, how heartless women are!"

"You should not have persuaded me," she said, with gentle dignity. "You blinded me by talking of the romance. I forgot to think of the right and wrong. But I will not reproach you. Good-by."

He held her hand one minute; all the love he had felt for her seemed to rise and overwhelm him--his face grew white with the pain of parting from her.

"You know that this good-by is forever," he said sadly; "you know that we who were to have been all in all to each other, who were to have been married by noon, will now in all probability never meet again."

"Better that than an elopement," she returned "Good-by, Claude."

He bent down and kissed her white brow; and then, without another word, she broke from him, and hastened away, while he, strong man as he was, lay sobbing on the gra.s.s.

Fortune favored her. No one saw her hurrying back through the woods and the pleasure-grounds. She waited until the back gates were all unfastened, and the maid whose office it was to feed the bantams Lady Vaughan was so proud of, came out. She spoke to her, and the maid thought Miss Vaughan had come, as she had often done before, to watch the feeding of the poultry. She wondered a little that the young lady was dressed in a gray travelling cloak, and wore a thick veil.

"Just for all the world," said the maid to herself, "as though she were going on a long journey." She was struck, too, by the sound of Miss Vaughan's voice; it was so weak, so exhausted; it had none of its usual clear, musical tones.

"Mary," said Hyacinth, at last, "do you think you could get me a cup of tea from the kitchen? Breakfast will not be ready for some time yet."

The good-natured maid hastened down into the kitchen, and soon returned with a cup of hot, strong tea. Hyacinth drank it eagerly; her lips were parched and dry. The tea revived her wonderfully. Suddenly Mary exclaimed,

"Oh, Miss Vaughan where have you been? Your cloak is covered with dust."

"Hush, Mary," she said, with a forced smile. "Do not tell tales of me."

And then she hastened into the house. She met no one; her little room was just as she had left it. No one had entered, nothing was disturbed.

She locked the door and fell on her knees. Rarely has maiden prayed as Hyacinth Vaughan prayed then. How she thanked Providence--how her heart, full of grat.i.tude, was raised to Heaven! How she promised that for all the remainder of her life she would be resigned and submissive.

How safe and secure was this haven of home after all! She shuddered as she thought of that dreadful night pa.s.sed in the confusion of railway travelling; of the woman whose pitiful story still rang in her ears.

"Thank Heaven, I have escaped!" she cried. "With all my heart I offer thanks!"

Then she changed her dress and did her best to remove all traces of fatigue, and when the breakfast bell rang she went down-stairs with a prayer on her lips--she was so thankful, so grateful, for her escape.

Claude Lennox did not fare so well; he had been missed and the colonel was very angry about it.

"You have been dining with the officers again, I suppose," he said, "and have spent the night over cards and wine. It is bad, sir--bad. I do not like it. It is well Mrs. Lennox does not know it."

He made no excuses; he said nothing to defend himself; all the servants in the house knew there was a dispute between the colonel, their master, and Mr. Lennox.

"If my conduct does not please you, uncle," said the young man, "I can go, you know."

This threat somewhat mollified the colonel, who had no great wish to quarrel with his handsome young nephew.

"I have no wish to be harsh," he said, "but a whole night at cards is too much."

"I am sorry I have not pleased you," rejoined Claude. "I shall go back to London on Sat.u.r.day; my engagements will not permit me to remain here after then."

He was angry and annoyed; he had been baffled, irritated, placed in a false and most absurd position; he did not care to remain at Oakton. He could not endure to look at Hyacinth Vaughan's face again. But he did not know what terrible events were to happen before Sat.u.r.day. The future, with its horrible shame and disgrace, was hidden from him.

CHAPTER IX.

"What has come over the child?" thought Lady Vaughan to herself. "She is so submissive, so quiet, so obedient, I hardly know her."

For, though Lady Vaughan exercised Hyacinth's patience very severely the whole of that day, in the packing up, no murmur escaped her lips; she was very quiet and subdued, and made no complaint even when she heard that they were to travel in a close carriage; no impetuous bursts of song came from her lips--no half-murmured reply to Lady Vaughan's homilies. That lady thought, with great complacency, how very efficacious her few words must have been.

"It is the prospect of being married, I suppose, that has made her so good," she said to herself.

She little knew that the girl's heart was weighed down with grat.i.tude to Heaven for an escape that she deemed almost miraculous. She little thought how suddenly the quiet old home had become a sure refuge and harbor to her--and how, for the first time in her life, Hyacinth clung to it with love and fondness.

She was busy at work all day, for they were to start early on the next morning. She executed all Lady Vaughan's commissions--she did all her errands--she helped in every possible way, thinking all the time how fortunate she was--that the past two months were like a horrible dream from which she had only just awoke. How could she have been so blinded, so foolish, so mad? Ah, thank heaven, she had awoke in time!

She was not afraid of discovery, though she knew perfectly well that, if ever Lady Vaughan should know what she had done, she would never speak to her again--she would not allow her to remain at Queen's Chase.

But there was no fear of her ever learning what she had done; thanks to Claude's care, no one had recognized her--her secret was quite safe. But the consciousness that she had such a secret, humiliated her as nothing else could have done. Her grandmother might well wonder what brought that expression of grateful contentment to her beautiful face.