"Sir Arthur tells us first of what he dreamed and how he slept. Lady Vaughan follows suit. After that, for one hour by the clock, I must read aloud from Mrs. Hannah More, from a book of meditations for each day of the year, and from Blair's sermons--nothing more lively than that. Then the books are put away, with solemn reflections from Lady Vaughan, and for the next hour we are busy with needlework. We sit in that dull breakfast-room, Claude, without speaking, until I am ready to cry aloud--I grow so tired of the dull monotony. When we have worked for an hour, I write letters--Lady Vaughan dictates them. Then comes luncheon. We change from the dull breakfast-room to the still more dull dining-room, from which sunshine and fragrance are also carefully excluded. After that comes the greatest trial of all. A closed carriage comes to the door, and for two long, wearisome hours I drive with Sir Arthur and Lady Vaughan. The blinds are drawn at the carriage windows, and the horses creep at a snail's pace. Then we return home. I go to the piano until dinner time. After dinner Lady Vaughan goes to sleep, and I play at chess or backgammon, or something equally stupid, until half-past nine; and then the bell rings for prayers, and the day is done." "It is not a very exhilarating life, certainly," said Claude Lennox. "Exhilarating! I tell you, Claude, that sometimes I am frightened at myself--frightened that I shall do something very desperate. I am only just eighteen, and my heart is craving for what every one else has; yet it is denied me. I am eighteen, and I love life--oh, so dearly! I should like to be in the very midst of gayety and pleasure. I should like to dance and sing--to laugh and talk. Yet no one seems to remember that I am young. I never see a young face--I never hear a pleasant voice. If I sing, Lady Vaughan raises her hands to her head, and implores me 'not to make a noise.' Yet I love singing just as the birds do." "I see only one remedy for such a state of things, Hyacinth," said the young lover, and his eyes brightened as he looked on her beautiful face. "I am just eighteen," continued the girl, "and I assure you that looking back on my life, I do not remember one happy day in it." "Perhaps the happiness is all to come," said he quietly. "I do not know. This is Tuesday; on Thursday we start for Bergheim--a quiet and sleepy little town in Germany--and there we are to meet my fate." "What is your fate?" he asked. "You remember the story I told you--Lady Vaughan says I am to marry Adrian Darcy. I suppose he is a model of perfection--as quiet and as stupid as perfection always is." "Lady Vaughan cannot force you to marry any one," he cried eagerly. "No, there will be no forcing in the strict sense of the word--they will only preach to me, and talk at me, until I shall be driven mad, and I shall marry him, or do anything else in sheer desperation." "Who is he, Hyacinth?" asked her young lover.