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Shadow of a Sin (Dramatic reading)

<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> "This is something like life," thought Hyacinth Vaughan, as the summer sun came streaming into her room. It was yet early in the morning, but there was a sound of music from the gardens. She drew aside the blinds, and saw a lake in all its beauty, the most cheerful, the brightest scene upon which she had ever gazed. The Hotel du Roi is by far the most aristocratic resort in Bergheim. "Kings, queens, and emperors" have lodged there; some of the leading men and the fairest women in Europe have at times made their home there. The hotel has a certain aristocratic character of its own. Second-rate people never go there; its magnificence is of too quiet and dignified a kind. The gorgeous suites of rooms are always inhabited by some of the leading Continental families. Bergheim itself is a sleepy little town. The lake is very beautiful; tall mountains slope down to the edge; the water is deep, clear, and calm; green trees fringe the banks; water-lilies sleep on its tranquil breast. The Lake of Bergheim has figured in poetry, in song, and in pictures. Hyacinth gazed at it with keen delight. Suddenly it struck her that the house was not Lady Vaughan's, consequently[Pg 45] not under her ladyship's control, and that she could go out into those fairylike looking grounds if she wished. She took her hat and a black lace shawl and went down-stairs. She was soon reassured. She was doing nothing unusual. One or two ladies were already in the gardens, and in one of the broad open paths she saw an English nursemaid with some little children around her. Hyacinth walked on with a light, joyous heart. She never remembered to have seen the world so fair; she had never seen sunshine so bright, or flowers so fair; nor had she ever heard such musical songs from the birds. Over the girl's whole soul, as she stood, there came a rapturous sense of security and gratitude. She was safe; the folly, amounting almost to sin, of her girlhood, was already fading into the obscurity of a dark, a miserable dream. She was safe under heaven's blessed sunlight, life growing fairer and more beautiful every hour. She was grateful for her escape. Then it struck her that she heard the sound of falling water, and she went down a long, vine-covered path—surely the loveliest picture in the world. The vines had been trained so as to form a perfect arch; the grapes hung in rich, ripe bunches; flowers grew underfoot; and at the end of the grove was a high white rock from which water fell with a rippling, rushing, musical sound, into a small clear pool. Hyacinth looked at the scene in wonder. She had never seen anything so pretty in her life. She went up to the water; it was cool, so clear, so fresh and sparkling. She threw off her hat and plunged her hands into it. She laughed aloud as the water ran foaming over them. She little dreamed what a lovely picture she herself made standing under the shade of the vines, her fair, brilliant face almost dazzling in the dim light, her fair hair shining like gold. The morning breeze had brought the most dainty and exquisite bloom to her face, her eyes were as bright as stars, her lips like newly-blown roses, and, as she stood with the foam rushing over her little white hands, the world might have searched in vain for one more lovely. Then she thought how refreshing a draught of that sparkling water would be. She gathered a large vine-leaf and filled it. She had just raised it to her lips when a rich, deep, musical voice said: "Do not drink that water; it is not considered good." [Pg 46] The vine-leaf fell from her hands, her face flushed crimson. She had thought that she was quite alone. She looked around, but could see no one. "I beg pardon if I have alarmed you," said the same voice, "but the water of the fall is not considered good; it is supposed to come from the lake." Then she looked in the direction whence the voice proceeded—a gentleman was reclining on a rock by the waterfall. He had been reading, for an open book lay by his side; but Hyacinth strongly suspected, from the quiet smile on his lips and in his luminous eyes, that he had been watching her. "I am afraid I startled you," he continued; "but the water is not so clear as it looks." "Thank you," she returned, gently. He took up his book again, and she turned to leave the grove. But in those few moments, the world had all changed for her. She walked out of the vine grove, and sat down by the edge of the lake, trying to live every second of those few minutes over again. What was that face like? Dark, beautiful, noble—the face of a king, with royal brows, and firm, grave, yet sweet lips—a face that in her girlish dreams she would have given to the heroes she loved—to King Arthur—to the Chevalier Bayard—to Richard the Lion Heart—the face of a man born to command, born to rule. She had looked at it for perhaps only two minutes, but she could have sketched it accurately from memory. The dark hair was thrown back in masses—not in effeminate curls, but in the same waving lines that may be seen on the heads of famous Grecian statues; the forehead was white, broad, well-developed, rounded at the temples, full of ideality, of genius, of poetry, of thought; the brows were dark and straight as those of a Greek god; the eyes luminous and bright—she could not tell what they were like—they had dazzled her. The dark mustache did not hide a beautiful mouth that had nothing effeminate in it. It was a face that filled her mind with thoughts of beauty. She mused over it. There was nobility, power, genius, loyalty, truth, in every feature. The voice had filled her ears with music. "I wish," she thought, "he had given me some other command; I should like to obey him; I would do anything he told me; he has the face and the voice of a king. I have read of god-like men; now I have seen one. Shall I[Pg 47] ever see him again? I can imagine that face flashing with indignation, eloquent with pleading, royal in command, softened in tenderness, eloquent in speech." Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of a bell. "That must be for breakfast," she thought, and she hurried back to the house. She did not see the stranger follow her, with a smile still on his face. Lady Vaughan was unusually gracious. "You have been out in the gardens, my dear," she said to the young girl, who evidently expected a reproof. "That is right. You are looking very well this morning." She spoke coldly; but in her heart she marvelled at the girl's wonderful beauty. She had seen nothing so fair, so dainty, so brilliant as the bloom that overspread her lovely face. "I have had a note from Mr. Darcy," continued her ladyship, "and he will be with us before noon." During breakfast Lady Vaughan was more gracious than ever Hyacinth remembered to have seen her. When it was over, she said to the girl: "I should like you to look your best, Cynthy, when Mr. Darcy comes. Make a fresh toilet, and then amuse yourself as you like until I send for you." Over the glowing dream of the morning the name of Adrian Darcy seemed to fall like the breath of a cold east wind over flowers. She had for the time almost forgotten him, and at the sound of his name a whole host of disagreeable memories arose. "Never mind," she said to herself; "they cannot force me to marry him against my will. I can tell him I do not like him." She went away, with smiles on her lips and music in her heart, to change her dress, as Lady Vaughan had desired. A surprise awaited her in her room; Pincott, Lady Vaughan's maid, was standing before a large trunk. "These are dresses, Miss Vaughan," she said, "that my lady has ordered from Paris for you. She did not tell you, because she wished to keep it as a surprise for you." The girl's face flushed crimson. "For me!" she cried. "How kind of her! Oh, Pincott, how beautiful they are!" The maid unfolded the glistening treasures of silk, lace, and velvet, displaying them to Hyacinth's enraptured eyes. "My lady ordered me to attend to your toilet, this morning, Miss Vaughan," continued Pincott, who knew perfectly well why her mistress desired the young girl to look[Pg 48] her best. "I have brought these blush roses; no ornaments look so well as natural flowers." From the collection of dresses one of embroidered Indian muslin was selected. It was daintily trimmed with pale pink ribbon and white lace, and was exquisitely made. The girlish graceful figure, with its beautiful curves and symmetrical lines, was shown to perfection; the sleeves fell back, showing a fair, rounded arm. Pincott had great natural taste; she dressed the fair hair after some simple girlish fashion, and fastened a blush rose in it; she fastened another in the high bodice of the white dress. "You look lovely, Miss Vaughan," she said; and Hyacinth, looking at her fair flower-like face, blushed for her own great beauty. Then Pincott left her, and the way in which she amused herself was by sitting at the open window, dreaming of the face she had seen at the waterfall. She was roused by the maid's return. "Lady Vaughan will be glad to see you in her room, Miss Vaughan. Mr. Darcy is there." Again the name fell like cold water over her, chilling her bright dreams, her growing content and happiness: and again she consoled herself by remembering that no one could force her to marry Mr. Darcy against her will. She heard the sound of voices as she drew near the room; she opened the door and entered, her beautiful face calm and serene, looking as fair a picture of youth and loveliness as ever greeted human eyes. "Hyacinth," said Lady Vaughan, "come here my dear. I want to introduce you to Mr. Darcy." She went up to her. A tall figure stood near Lady Vaughan's chair. Lady Vaughan took her hand. "This is my granddaughter. Hyacinth—Mr. Darcy." Hyacinth raised her eyes. Was she blinded by a great golden sunbeam? Was she dreaming? Was she haunted or bewitched? Adrian Darcy, whom she had dreaded to see, whose name even she had detested, was the same gentleman that she had seen by the waterfall. When she remembered all she had been thinking and dreaming, it was no wonder that the beautiful face grew crimson as a damask rose, and that the bright eyes fell until he could see nothing of them. She was spell-bound—this unknown hero of whom she had dreamed the whole summer morning was Adrian Darcy! He held out his hand to her. "We are old friends," he said frankly. "I saw this[Pg 49] young lady about to drink some clear, cold, sparkling poison this morning, and I interfered to prevent her doing so." Then he was obliged to explain to Lady Vaughan who smiled most graciously; but Hyacinth said never a word. She could not realize the truth, yet she sat like one blinded by a great flood of sunlight. If she had known how this sweet shy confusion became her—how beautiful it was—how Adrian Darcy admired it! Nothing could have charmed him half so much. "How beautiful she is!" he thought. "She is like a rosebud shrouded in green leaves." Hyacinth was almost in despair. "How stupid he will think me!" she reflected. "But I cannot help it—I cannot speak." When she had collected her senses sufficiently to listen, Adrian was saying— "Yes; we have very good music here, indeed. I think the hotel gardens on a bright summer day the most charming place I know. The fountains are very beautiful; and the band is one of the best I have heard. Lady Vaughan, I hear the music beginning now; will you allow me to escort you? There are very comfortable seats in the gardens!" He saw the sudden, startled flush of joy in the young face. Hyacinth raised her head and looked eagerly at her grandmamma; but Lady Vaughan excused herself. "The journey has been delightful," she said, "but fatiguing. To-morrow I will go out, but not to-day. Hyacinth will go, though, Adrian, if you will be so kind as to give the child the pleasure." The "child" rose, her cheeks aflame, her heart beating as it had never beat before. To go out into those sunlit gardens and to listen to music with him—well, she had not even guessed before what a beautiful, happy world it was. She put on the prettiest of her hats—one with a white plume—and a lace mantilla, and then stood, half smiling, but wholly happy, waiting for him. He came up to her smiling. "Hyacinth," he said, "we are—to use an old-fashioned term—of the same kin; so I am not going to call you Miss Vaughan. And I want you not to look so shy, but to feel quite at home with me." At home with him, this hero, this king amongst men, whose presence filled her whole soul with light! It could never be. [Pg 50] "I had no idea," he continued, "that I had such a fair young kinswoman. Lady Vaughan had always written as though you were a child." Her heart sank. Was this how he thought of her—was this what made him so kind and gracious to her? "I am not a child," she said, with some little attempt at dignity, "I am more than eighteen." "Quite a philosophic age," was the smiling reply. "Now, Hyacinth, tell me, what do you like to look at best—flowers, trees, or water?" "I like all three," she said truthfully. "Do you? Then I will find you a seat where you can see all. Here is one not too near the music." He had found a quaint, pretty garden seat, under the shade of a tall spreading tree. In front of them were beds of lilies and roses, and the blue waters of the lake. The band began to play the sad, passionate music of Verdi's "Miserere;" and to Hyacinth Vaughan it seemed as though the earth had changed into heaven. "Do you like music?" he said watching the changes on the beautiful young face. "Yes," she replied, "but I have heard so little." "You have had a very quiet life at Queen's Chase, I should imagine," he said. "Yes, as quiet as life could well be." "You should not regret it. I am quite of the old régime. I think young girls should be so reared." "For what reason?" she asked. "For a hundred reasons. If there is one character I detest more than another, it is that of a worldly woman. Delicacy, purity, refinement, are all so essential—and no girl can possess them brought up under the glare and glitter of the world. You have been singularly fortunate in living at Queen's Chase." "Thank Heaven," she thought to herself, "that he does not know the shameful escape I tried to make—that he does not know how I loathed and hated the place." "But," she said aloud, "it is not pleasant to be always dull." "Dull! No. Youth is the very time for enjoyment; every thing rejoices in youth. You, for instance, have been happy with your books and flowers at Queen's Chase: the world now is all new to you. You are not what fashionable jargon calls 'used up.' You have not been playing at being a woman while you were yet a child; your[Pg 51] heart has not been hardened by flirtations; your soul has not been soiled by contact with worldlings; you are fresh, and pure, and beautiful as the flowers themselves. If you had been living all these years in the hot-bed of society, this would not have been the case. There is nothing so detestable, so unnatural, as a worldly young girl." He liked her as she was! For the first time in her life Hyacinth blessed Lady Vaughan and Queen's Chase. "I do not want to tire you with argument," he continued, "but tell me Hyacinth, what becomes of a flower, the growth of which has been forced?" "It soon dies," she replied. "Yes; and girls brought up in the artificial atmosphere of modern society, and its worship of Mammon, its false estimates, its love of sensation and excitement, soon die to all that is fairest and best in life. You," he continued, "enjoy—see, your face tells tales, Hyacinth—you enjoy the sunshine, the flowers, the music, the lake." "Yes, indeed I do," she confessed. "If you had danced and flirted through one or two London seasons, you would not enjoy nature as you do; it would pall upon you—you would be apt to look at it through an eye-glass, and criticise the color of the water and the tints of the flowers—you would detect motes in the sunbeam and false notes in music." She laughed. "I should not be so keen a critic, Mr. Darcy." "One who can criticise is not always one who enjoys most," he said. "I like to see people honestly enjoying themselves, and leaving criticism alone." The gardens were not crowded; there were seldom visitors enough at the hotel to form a crowd; but Hyacinth was struck by the pleasant, high-bred faces and elegant dresses. "Do you see that lady there in the gray dress," said Mr. Darcy—"the one with two children by her side?" Hyacinth looked in the direction indicated. "That is the Princess Von Arten, the daughter of a queen. How simple and unassuming she is! She is staying here with her children. The gentleman now saluting her is the eminent Weilmath." Her face lighted up. "I am glad to have seen him," she said; "I have read of him so often. Do you admire him?" "I admire bravery," he replied, "but not unscrupulous[Pg 52] daring. Do you see that lady sitting under the ilex tree?" "The one with the sad, thoughtful face?" asked Hyacinth. "Yes. Twelve months ago she was the leading star of the most brilliant court in Europe; now she has no home that she can call her own." Hyacinth turned her face to his. "Mr. Darcy," she said, "is the world then so full of reverses? I thought that, when one was happy and prosperous, sorrow and trouble did not approach. What is stable if money, and friendship, and happiness fail?" "Just one thing," he replied, with the beautiful luminous smile she had never seen on any other face—"Heaven!" <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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