Fortune favored her. No one saw her hurrying back through the woods and the pleasure-grounds. She waited until the back gates were all unfastened, and the maid whose office it was to feed the bantams Lady Vaughan was so proud of, came out. She spoke to her, and the maid thought Miss Vaughan had come, as she had often done before, to watch the feeding of the poultry. She wondered a little that the young lady was dressed in a gray travelling cloak, and wore a thick veil.
"Just for all the world," said the maid to herself, "as though she were going on a long journey." She was struck, too, by the sound of Miss Vaughan's voice; it was so weak, so exhausted; it had none of its usual clear, musical tones.
"Mary," said Hyacinth, at last, "do you think you could get me a cup of tea from the kitchen? Breakfast will not be ready for some time yet."
The good-natured maid hastened down into the kitchen, and soon returned with a cup of hot, strong tea. Hyacinth drank it eagerly; her lips were parched and dry. The tea revived her wonderfully. Suddenly Mary exclaimed,
"Oh, Miss Vaughan where have you been? Your cloak is covered with dust."
"Hush, Mary," she said, with a forced smile. "Do not tell tales of me." And then she hastened into the house. She met no one; her little room was just as she had left it. No one had entered, nothing was disturbed. She locked the door and fell on her knees. Rarely has maiden prayed as Hyacinth Vaughan prayed then. How she thanked Providence—how her heart, full of gratitude, was raised to Heaven! How she promised that for all the remainder of her life she would be resigned and submissive.
How safe and secure was this haven of home after all! She shuddered as she thought of that dreadful night passed in the confusion of railway travelling; of the woman whose pitiful story still rang in her ears.
"Thank Heaven, I have escaped!" she cried. "With all my heart I offer thanks!"
Then she changed her dress and did her best to remove all traces of fatigue, and when the breakfast bell rang she went down-stairs with a prayer on her lips—she was so thankful, so grateful, for her escape. Claude Lennox did not fare so well; he had been missed and the colonel was very angry about it.
"You have been dining with the officers again, I suppose," he said, "and have spent the night over cards and wine. It is bad, sir—bad. I do not like it. It is well Mrs. Lennox does not know it."