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.