"My darling," he said, "I have nothing to forgive; it was, after all, but the shadow of a sin."
Never had the May sun shone more brightly. It was the twenty-second of the month, yet everyone declared it was more like the middle of June than of May.
Hyacinth and Adrian were to be married in the old parish church at Oakton. Long before the hour of celebration, crowds of people had assembled, all bearing flowers to throw beneath the bride's feet.
Sir Aubrey Dartelle—best man—with Lord Chandon, was already waiting at the altar, and to all appearances seemed inclined to envy his friend's good fortune.
The ceremony was performed, the marriage vows were repeated, and Adrian Lord Chandon and Hyacinth Vaughan were made husband and wife—never to be parted more until death.
Three years have passed since that bright wedding day. Looking on the radiant face of Lady Chandon, one could hardly believe that desolation and anguish had marked her for their own. There was no shadow now in those beautiful eyes, for the face was full of love and of happiness.
One morning Lady Chandon was in the nursery with Lady Vaughan, who had gone to look at the baby. They were admiring him, his golden curls, his dark eyes, the grace of his rounded limbs, when Lord Chandon suddenly appeared on the scene.
"Hyacinth," he said, "will you come down stairs? There are visitors for you."