The Shadow of a Sin

by Charlotte M. Brame

"Call her a lady!" she said to herself sneeringly. "Ladies do not talk to servants in that fashion. Why, she clasps hands as though she were begging and praying him about something! I will say nothing now, but I will tell Miss Dartelle; she will see about it." And Kate went home in what she called a "temper."

Gustave walked away full of thought. He would certainly act honorably toward Miss Vaughan—would give her fair warning before he said anything to Lord Chandon. Perhaps, after all, she knew best. It might be better that his master should know nothing of her being there; it was just possible that there were circumstances in the case of which he knew nothing, and there was some rumor in the servant's hall about his master and Miss Dartelle. Doubtless it would be wise to accede to Miss Vaughan's request and say nothing.

But during the remainder of that day Gustave was so silent, so preoccupied, that his fellow-servants were puzzled to discover the reason. He did not even take notice of Kate's anger. He spoke to her, and did not observe that she was disinclined to answer; nor did he seem to understand her numerous allusions to "underhand people" and "cunning ways."

"I almost think," said Gustave to himself, "that I will send Miss Vaughan three lines to say that I have decided not to mention anything about her; she looked so imploringly at me, I had better not interfere."

Of all the blows that could have fallen on the hapless girl, she least expected this. She had feared to meet Lord Chandon, and had most carefully kept out of his way; she had avoided Sir Aubrey lest any chance word of his should awaken Adrian's curiosity. She had taken every possible precaution, but she had never given one thought to Gustave. She remembered now having heard Lady Vaughan say how faithful he was, and how highly Adrian valued his services—how Gustave had never had any other master, and how he spared no pains to please him.

And now suddenly he had become the chief person in her world. Her fate—nay, her life—lay in his hands—honest hands they were, she knew, and could rely implicitly on his word.

He would give her fair warning. "And when I get the warning," she said to herself, "I shall go far away from England. No place is safe here. For I would not drag him down—my noble, princely Adrian, who has searched for me, sorrowed for me, and who loves me still. I would not let him link his noble life with mine; the name that he bears must not be sullied by me. It shall not be said of the noblest of his race that he married a girl who had compromised herself. People shall not point to his wife and say, 'She was the girl who was talked about in the murder case.' Ah, no, my darling, I will save you from yourself—I will save you from the degradation of marrying me!"

She spent the remainder of the day—her holiday—in forming plans for going abroad. It was not safe for her to remain in England; at some time or other she must be inevitably discovered. It would be far better to go abroad—to leave England and go to some distant land—where no one would know her. She had one friend who could help her in her new decision. Her heart turned gratefully to Dr. Chalmers. Heaven bless him—he would not fail her.

She must tell him that she was not happy—that a great danger threatened her; and she must ask him to help her to procure some situation abroad. Nor would she delay—she would write that very day, and ask him to begin to make inquiries at once. Soon all danger would be over, and she would be in peace. The long day passed all too quickly, she was so busy with her plans. It was late in the evening when she heard the carriage return, and soon afterward she knew that Adrian was once more under the same roof.

Veronica Dartelle was not in the most sunny of tempers. She had spent a long day with Lord Chandon, yet during the whole of it he had not said a word that gave her the least hope of his ultimately caring for her, while she liked him better and better every day. She wondered if that "tiresome girl" was really the cause of his indifference, or if there was any one else he liked better.