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Shadow of a Sin (Dramatic reading)

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<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> "A day to myself," said the young governess, as she heard the carriage drive away. "I have not been alone for so long, and I have so much to think of." A great silence had fallen over the house; there was no sound of laughing voices, no busy tread of feet, no murmur of conversation; the silence seemed strange after the late gayety and noise. At first a great temptation came over her to roam through the rooms and seek out the traces of Adrian's presence. She might see the books he had been reading, the papers he had touched. She remembered how precious at Bergheim everything seemed to her that he had ever used. It was a great temptation, but she resisted it. She would not disturb the calm that had fallen on her. "It is of no use," she said to herself, "to open my old wounds. I will go out, and then, if the temptation comes to me again, I cannot yield to it. I will go down to the shore and read; there is no one to interrupt me to-day." She found a volume that pleased her; and then, book in hand, she walked through the woods and down to the shore, where the restless waves were chanting their grand old anthem. It was only the middle of April, but the day was warm and bright; the sun shone on the blue heaving sea. She sat down under the shelter of a huge bowlder and opened her book, but the beautiful eyes soon wandered from the printed pages; a fairer and far more wonderful volume lay open before her. The place where she sat was so retired and solitary that it seemed as though she were alone in the world. She gave herself up entirely to thought. Past and present were all mingled in one long dream. It was too delightful to be alone, the luxury was so great. She gave a sigh of unutterable relief. Presently the hat she wore incommoded her; she took it off and laid it on the sands. In removing it she disarranged the brown plaits which Mrs. Chalmers had thought such a success. With impatient fingers she removed them, and the graceful head appeared in all its beauty of clustering hair—golden waves of indescribable loveliness. She laughed as the wind played among them. "I am my own self again," she said; "and I may be myself for a few minutes without any one seeing me." [Pg 147] The wind that stirred the clustering hair had brightened her eyes and brought the most exquisite bloom to her face. She began to think of Adrian, and forgot all about the brown plaits; she was living over and over again those happy days at Bergheim. She was recalling his looks and words, every one of which was impressed on her heart. She had forgotten even where she was; the song of the sea had lulled her into a half-waking dream; she forgot that she was sitting there—forgot the whole world—all save Adrian—when she was suddenly startled by a shadow falling between herself and the sunshine, while a voice, half frightened, half wondering, cried out, in tones she never forgot: "Miss Vaughan!" With a low cry she rose from her seat and stood with blanched lips; a great dark mist came before her eyes; for one terrible moment it seemed to her that the waters and the sky had met. Then she steadied herself and looked into the face of the man who had uttered her name. She recognized him; it was Gustave, the favorite valet and confidential servant of Lord Chandon. She clasped her hands with a low moan, while he cried again, in a wondering, frightened voice—"Miss Vaughan!" He looked at her, a strange fear dilating his eyes. "I am Hyacinth Vaughan," she said, in a low hoarse voice. The next moment he had taken off his hat, and stood bareheaded before her. "Miss Vaughan," he stammered, "we—we thought you dead." "So I am," she cried passionately—"I am dead in life! You must not betray me, Gustave. For Heaven's sake, promise not to tell that you have seen me!" The man looked anxious and agitated. "I cannot, miss," he replied—"I dare not keep such a secret from my lord." She stepped back with a moaning cry and white lips. She wrung her hands like one who has no hope, no help. "What shall I do?" she cried. "Oh, Heaven take pity upon me, and tell me what to do!" "If you knew, miss," said the man, "what my lord has suffered you would not ask me to keep such a secret from him. I do not think he has ever smiled since you went away. He is worn to a shadow—he has spent a fortune in trying to find you. I know that night and day he[Pg 148] knows no peace, no hope, no comfort, no happiness, because he has lost you. I love my lord—I would lay down my life to serve him." "You do not know all," she cried. "I beg your pardon, miss," he returned, sturdily. "I do know all; and I know that my lord would give all he has on earth to find you—he would give the last drop of blood in his heart, the last shilling in his purse. How could I be a faithful servant to him, and see him worn, wretched, and miserable under my very eyes, while I kept from him that which would make him happy?" "You are wrong," she said, with dignity. "It would not add to your master's happiness to know that I am living; rather the contrary. Believing me dead, he will in time recover his spirits; he will forget me and marry some one who will be far better suited to him than I could ever be. Oh, believe me—believe I know best! You will only add to his distress, not relieve it." But the man shook his head doubtfully. "You are mistaken, Miss Vaughan," he said. "If you had seen my master's distress, you would know that life is no life to him without you." A sudden passion of despair seemed to seize her. "I have asked you not to betray me," she said. "Now I warn you that if you do, I will never forgive you; and I tell you that you will cause even greater misery than now exists. I am dead to Lord Chandon and to all my past life. I tell you plainly that if you say one word to your master, I will go away to the uttermost ends of the earth, where no one shall recognize me. Be persuaded—do not—as you are a man yourself—do not drive a helpless, suffering woman to despair. My fate is hard enough—do not render it any harder. I have enough to bear—do not add to my burden." "Upon my word, Miss Vaughan," returned the man irresolutely, "I do not know what to do." "You can think the matter over," she said. "Meanwhile, Gustave, grant me one favor—promise me that you will not tell Lord Chandon without first warning me." "I will promise that," he agreed. "Thanks," said Hyacinth, gratefully, to whom even this concession was a great deal. "I shall not, perhaps, be able to see you again, Gustave; but you can write to me and tell me what you have decided on doing." "I will, Miss Vaughan," he assented. [Pg 149] "And pray be careful that my name does not pass your lips. I am known as Miss Holte here." With a low bow the man walked away; and they were both unconscious that the angry eyes of a jealous woman had been upon them. <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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