"She looks like a beautiful statue; but if she takes to this kind of thing, mamma will not find her so very useful after all. Here, King," to the servant who entered, "Miss Holte has fainted; tend to her." And the two sisters swept from the room with the air of two very superior beings indeed. They never dreamed of helping the unconscious girl; such condescension would have been far too great. Mary King and a fellow-servant carried Hyacinth to her room, and laid her on her bed. Kindly hands ministered to her; she was respected and beloved by the servants, who, quick to judge, pronounced her "a real lady"--much more of a lady than the Misses Dartelle. So now in her distress they ministered unto her. "If I might but die," she said, with a great tearless sob--"if I might but die!" That she should be looked upon as so utterly lost--as having done something so terrible--seemed worse to her than all. "I did right to leave them," she said, "and now I shall never look upon them again. I did right to hide myself from the faces of all who knew me. Adrian despises me. I cannot bear it." Her face burned and her heart beat wildly as she thought of Veronica's insulting words and sneering tones. What she had done was too terrible even for Lady Dartelle to speak of. How rightly she had judged that her proper position was past for ever! How rightly she had decided that her own deed had banished her forever from those whom she loved best! Lady Dartelle, with unusual consideration, had sent word that Miss Holte was not to rise; so Hyacinth lay through the day in a stupor of fear and dread, one longing in her heart, one prayer on her lips, and that was to die. She lay trying to form feeble plans of escape, and breaking down every now and then with a terrible cry. Dr. Chalmers had told her if she wanted a friend to send for him; but if he came now, exposure must follow. She was hopeless, helpless, bewildered. Then she began to think how heavily she had been punished for her sin. Some girls ran away from their home, were married, and lived happily. Why had so cruel a fate befallen her? She lay until evening, her brain burning, her head aching, her whole body one throb of pain. A new fear came to her: what if that terrible fever came back, robbing her of her senses and reason? They would find out then that she was here in some kind of disguise. It was night when she heard the sound of carriage wheels; this was followed by a noise as of many arrivals. Her heart gave one great bound, and then seemed to stand still. She did not know how time passed until Mary King entered with a basin of soup. "They are all gone to dinner, miss," she said, "and cook has sent you this." "Have the visitors arrived?" she asked. "Yes, miss; there seems to be quite a crowd of them. Try to take this--it will do you good." She tried, but failed. Adrian was there under the same roof, and the wonder was that her sorrow did not kill her. CHAPTER XXXI.