reckoned the circumstance among the wisely-improved opportunities
of my life.
To return to the serious interests of the present
narrative, I
may now announce that my evidence as an eye-witness of events has
come to an end. The day after Lord Loring's visit, domestic
troubles separated me, to my most
sincere regret, from Romayne. I
have only to add, that the
foregoingnarrative of personal
experience has been written with a due sense of responsibility,
and that it may be depended on throughout as an exact statement
of the truth.
JOHN PHILIP HYND,
(late Major, 110th
Regiment).
THE STORY.
BOOK THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
THE CONFIDENCES.
IN an upper room of one of the palatial houses which are situated
on the north side of Hyde Park, two ladies sat at breakfast, and
gossiped over their tea.
The elder of the two was Lady Loring--still in the prime of life;
possessed of the golden hair and the clear blue eyes, the
delicately-florid
complexion, and the
freely developed figure,
which are among the favorite attractions popularly associated
with the beauty of Englishwomen. Her younger
companion was the
unknown lady admired by Major Hynd on the sea passage from France
to England. With hair and eyes of the darkest brown; with a pure
pallor of
complexion, only changing to a faint rose tint in
moments of
agitation; with a tall
graceful figure, incompletely
developed in substance and
strength--she presented an almost complete
contrast to Lady
Loring. Two more opposite types of beauty it would have been
hardly possible to place at the same table.
The servant brought in the letters of the morning. Lady Loring
ran through her
correspondence rapidly, pushed away the letters
in a heap, and poured herself out a second cup of tea.
"Nothing interesting this morning for me," she said. "Any news of
your mother, Stella?"
The young lady handed an open letter to her
hostess, with a faint
smile. "See for yourself, Adelaide," she answered, with the
tender
sweetness of tone which made her voice irresistibly
charming--"and tell me if there were ever two women so utterly
unlike each other as my mother and myself."
Lady Loring ran through the letter, as she had run through her
own
correspondence. "Never, dearest Stella, have I enjoyed myself
as I do in this
delightful country house--twenty-seven at dinner
every day, without including the neighbors--a little
carpet dance
every evening--we play billiards, and go into the smoking
room--the hounds meet three times a week--all sorts of
celebrities among the company, famous beauties included--such
dresses! such conversation!--and serious duties, my dear, not
neglected--high church and choral service in the town on
Sundays--recitations in the evening from Paradise Lost, by an
amateur elocutionist--oh, you foolish, headstrong child! why did
you make excuses and stay in London, when you might have
accompanied me to this
earthly Paradise?--are you really ill?--my
love to Lady Loring--and of course, if you _are_ ill, you must
have
medical advice--they ask after you so kindly here--the first
dinner bell is ringing, before I have half done my letter--what
_am_ I to wear?--why is my daughter not here to
advise me," etc.,
etc., etc.
"There is time to change your mind and
advise your mother," Lady
Loring remarked with grave irony as she returned the letter.
"Don't even speak of it!" said Stella. "I really know no life
that I should not prefer to the life that my mother is enjoying
at this moment. What should I have done, Adelaide, if you had not
offered me a happy
refuge in your house? _My_ '
earthly Paradise'
is here, where I am allowed to dream away my time over my
drawings and my books, and to
resign myself to poor health and
low spirits, without being dragged into society, and (worse
still) threatened with that '
medical advice' in which, when she
isn't threatened with it herself, my poor dear mother believes so
implicitly. I wish you would hire me as your '
companion,' and let
me stay here for the rest of my life."
Lady Loring's bright face became grave while Stella was
speaking.