Hulme Abbey was neither so spacious nor so magnificent as Queen's Chase. It was an ancient building of imposing aspect, with square towers and an old-fashioned gateway, the windows were large, and the exterior of the house was ornamented with heavy carvings of stone. The building stood in the midst of the beautiful grounds; a long chestnut avenue at the back led to the woods, and these last sloped down to the very edge of the sea.
"We are not many minutes' walk from the shore," said Lady Dartelle, "and one of your most important duties, Miss Holte, will be to take Miss Clara down to the sea every day. The walk will be most beneficial to her."
The lonely, sorrowful heart clung to that idea of the sea; it would be a companion, almost a friend to her. It had a voice that would speak to her, that would tell her of her love, lost forever, and that would whisper of the mysteries of life, so hard to understand. Lady Dartelle almost wondered at the rapt, sublime expression that came over the sweet, sad face. In another moment they were in the spacious entrance-hall, servants bowing, Lady Dartelle proud and patronizing.
"You are tired, and will like to go to your room," she said. "King, show Miss Holte to her room."
So for that one night the young girl escaped the ordeal she had dreaded—the introduction to the daughters of Lady Dartelle.
Hyacinth rose early the next morning. She could not control her impatience to see the sea; it was as though some one she loved were waiting for her. After a few inquiries from one of the servants, she found her way to the shore; her whole heart went out in rapture to the restless waters. She sat down and watched the waves as they rolled in and broke on the shore. The smell of the salt breeze was delicious, the grand anthem of the waves was magnificent to hear; and as she sat there she wept—as she had not wept since her sorrow fell upon her—tears that eased her heart of its burning load, and that seemed to relieve her brain of its terrible pressure.
Where was Adrian? The waves murmured his name. "My love, my lost, my own," they seemed to chant, as the murmur died along the shore. Where was he? Could it be that these same waves were chanting to him?
"If I could only go to him," she said, "and fall sobbing at his feet, and tell him how I love him!"
Presently she went back to the house, feeling better than she had felt for long months, and found, to her great relief, that none of the ladies were up yet. The servant who had attended to her the night before was in her room.
"My name is Mary King, miss," she said, "and my lady told me I was to attend the school-room. Would you like to see it?"