She said to herself he would not when he knew all--that he would hate it, and would not think of the place. They sat down in the old favorite resort. Suddenly she turned to him, and clasped his hand with one of hers. "Adrian," she asked, "do you love me very much?" The face bent over her afforded answer sufficient. "Love you?" he replied. "I do not think, Hyacinth, that I could love you more; to me it does not seem possible." "If you were to lose me, then, it would be a great sorrow?" "Lose you!" he cried. "Why, Cynthy, I would rather ten thousand times over lose my own life." She liked to remember afterward how he drew her head upon his breast--how he caressed her and murmured sweet words of tenderness to her--how he told her of his love in such ardent words that the fervor of them lasted with her until she died. It was for the last time. A great solemn calm of despair fell over her. To-morrow she would be far away; his arm would never enfold her, his eyes never linger on her, his lips never touch her more. It was for the last time, and she loved him better than her life; but for her sin and folly, she would now have been the happiest girl in the wide world. "My darling," he murmured, "as though weak words could tell how dear you are to me." He kissed her trembling lips and then she broke from him with a great cry. She could bear no more. She fled through the pine grove, crying to herself with bitter tears: "If I could but die! Oh, Heaven, be merciful to me, and let me die!" CHAPTER XIX. "Good-night, Hyacinth," Lady Vaughan said, when, half an hour afterward, the girl went to her with a white face and cold rigid lips; "good-night. I hope to see you something like yourself to-morrow--you do not seem well." And for the last time, Hyacinth Vaughan kissed the fair, stately old face. "To-morrow--ah, where would she be to-morrow?" "You have been very kind to me," she murmured, "and I am not ungrateful." Afterward Lady Vaughan understood why the girl lingered near her, why she kissed the withered, wrinkled hands with such passionate tenderness, why her lips opened as if she would fain speak, and then closed mutely. She thought of Hyacinth's strange manner for several minutes after the young girl had quitted the room. "That terrible news shocked her. She is very sensitive and very tender-hearted--the Vaughans are all the same. I am heartily glad she is to marry Adrian: he is gentle enough to understand and firm enough to manage her. I shall have no more anxiety about the child." * * * * *