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Shadow of a Sin (Dramatic reading)

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<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> It may be that Hyacinth Vaughan read Adrian Darcy's determination in his face, for she grew so coy and frightened that had he not been brave he would have despaired. If by accident she raised her eyes and met his glance her face burned and her heart beat; when he spoke to her it was with difficulty she answered him. She had once innocently[Pg 59] and eagerly sought his society—she had loved to listen to him while he was talking to Lady Vaughan—she had enjoyed being with him as the flowers enjoy the sunlight. But something was awake in her heart and soul which had been sleeping until now. When she saw Adrian, her first impulse was to turn aside and fly, no matter whither, because of the sweet pain his presence caused her. He met her one morning in the broad corridor of the hotel; she looked fresh and bright, fair and sweet as the morning itself. Her face flushed at his coming, she stopped half undecided whether to go on or turn and fly. "Hyacinth," he said, holding out his hand in greeting, "it seems an age since I have had any conversation with you. Where do you hide yourself? What are you always doing?" Then he paused and looked at her—admiration, passion, and tenderness unspeakable in his eyes. She little knew how fair a picture she presented in her youthful loveliness and timidity—how graceful and pure she was in her girlish embarrassment. "Have you not one word of greeting, Hyacinth? It is the morning of a fresh day. I have not seen you since the noon of yesterday. Speak to me—after your own old bright way. Why, Hyacinth, what has changed you? We used to laugh all the sunny summer day through, and now you give me only a smile. What has changed you?" She never remembered what answer she made him, nor how she escaped. She remembered nothing until she found herself in her own room, her heart beating, her face dyed with burning blushes, and her whole soul awake and alarmed. "What has changed me?" she asked. "What has come over me? I know—I know. I love him!" She fell on her knees and buried her face in her hands—she wept passionately. "I love him," she said—"oh, Heaven, make me worthy to love him!" She knelt in a kind of waking trance, a wordless ecstasy. She loved him; her heart was awake, her soul slept no more. That was why she dreaded yet longed to meet him—why his presence gave her pain that was sweeter than all joy. This paradise she had gained was what, in her blindness and folly she had flown from; and she knew now, as she knelt there, that, had all the treasures of earth been offered[Pg 60] to her, had its fairest gifts been laid at her feet, she would have selected this from them. At last the great joy, the great mystery, the crowning pleasure of woman's life, was hers. She called to mind all that the poets had written of love. Was it true? Ah, no! It fell a thousand fathoms short. Such happiness, such joy as made music in her heart could not be told in words, and her face burned again as she remembered the feeble sentiment that she had dignified by the name of love. Now that she understood herself, she knew that it was impossible she could ever have loved Claude Lennox; he had not enough grandeur or nobility of character to attract her. When she went down to the salon, Sir Arthur and Adrian were there alone; she fled like a startled fawn. He was to dine with them that day, and she spent more time than usual over her toilet. How could she make herself fair enough in the eyes of the man who was her king? Very fair did she look, for among her treasures she found an old-fashioned brocade, rich, heavy, and beautiful, and it was trimmed with rich point lace. The ground was white, with small rosebuds embroidered on it. The fair, rounded arms and white neck shone out even fairer than the white dress; a few pearls that Lady Vaughan had given her shone like dew-drops in the fair hair. She looked both long and anxiously in the mirror, so anxious was she to look well in his eyes. "Miss Vaughan grows quite difficult to please," said Pincott to her mistress, later on; and Lady Vaughan smiled. "There may be reasons," she returned; "we have all been young once—we must not quite forget what youth is like. Ah—there is the dinner-bell." But, as far as the mere material dinner was concerned, Adrian did not show to great advantage; it was impossible to eat while that lovely vision in white brocade sat opposite to him. "She flies from me—she avoids me," he thought; "but she shall listen. I have tamed the white doves—I have made the wildest, brightest song-birds love me and eat from my hands. She shall love me, too." He could not succeed in inducing her to look at him; when he spoke she answered, but the sweet eyes were always downcast. "Never mind. She shall look at me yet," he thought. [Pg 61] After dinner he asked her to sing. She saw with alarm that if she did so she would be alone with him—for the piano was at the extreme end of the room. So she excused herself, and he understood perfectly the reason why. "Will you play at chess?" he asked. Not for the wealth of India could she have managed it. "I shall win you," his eyes seemed to say. "You may try to escape. Flutter your bright wings, my pretty bird; it is all in vain." Then he asked her if she would go into the grounds. She murmured some few words of apology that he could hardly hear. A sudden great love and sweetest pity for her youth and her timidity came over him. "I will be patient," he said to himself; "the shy bird shall not be startled. In time she will learn not to be so coy and timid." So he turned away and asked Sir Arthur if he should read the leading article from the Times to him, and Sir Arthur gratefully accepted the offer. Lady Vaughan, with serenely composed face, went to sleep. Hyacinth stole gently to the window; she wanted no books, no music; a fairyland was unfolded before her, and she had not half explored it. She only wanted to be quite alone, to think over and over again how wonderful it was that she loved Adrian Darcy. "Come out," the dewy, sleepy flowers seemed to say. "Come out," sung the birds. "Come out," whispered the wind, bending the tall magnolia trees and spreading abroad sweet perfume. She looked round the room; Lady Vaughan was fast asleep, Sir Arthur listening intently, and Adrian reading to him. "No one will miss me," she thought. She took up a thin shawl that was lying near, opened the long window very gently, and stepped out. But she was mistaken: some one did miss her, and that some one was Adrian. No gesture, no movement of hers ever escaped him. She was gone out into the sweet, dewy, fragrant gloaming, and he longed to follow her. He read on patiently until—oh, pleasant sight!—he saw Sir Arthur's eyes begin to close. He had purposely chosen the dryest articles, and had read slowly until the kind god Morpheus came to his aid, and Sir Arthur slept. Then Adrian rose and followed Hyacinth. The band was playing at the further end of the gardens, and Mozart's sweet music came floating through the trees. [Pg 62] It was such a dim pleasant light under the vines, and the music of the dripping water was so sweet. His instinct had not deceived him: something white was gleaming by the rock. He walked with quiet steps. She was sitting watching the falling waters, looking so fair and lovely in that dim green light. He could contain himself no longer; he sprung forward and caught her in his arms. "I have found you at last, Hyacinth," he said—"I have found you at last." <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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