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diff --git a/1623.txt b/1623.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6f2a357..0000000 --- a/1623.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12230 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The New Magdalen, by Wilkie Collins - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The New Magdalen - -Author: Wilkie Collins - -Posting Date: October 28, 2008 [EBook #1623] -Release Date: February, 1999 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW MAGDALEN *** - - - - -Produced by James Rusk - - - - - -THE NEW MAGDALEN - -by Wilkie Collins - - - - -TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES ALLSTON COLLINS. (9th April, 1873.) - - - - -FIRST SCENE.--The Cottage on the Frontier. - - -PREAMBLE. - -THE place is France. - -The time is autumn, in the year eighteen hundred and seventy--the year -of the war between France and Germany. - -The persons are, Captain Arnault, of the French army; Surgeon Surville, -of the French ambulance; Surgeon Wetzel, of the German army; Mercy -Merrick, attached as nurse to the French ambulance; and Grace Roseberry, -a traveling lady on her way to England. - - - -CHAPTER I. THE TWO WOMEN. - - -IT was a dark night. The rain was pouring in torrents. - -Late in the evening a skirmishing party of the French and a skirmishing -party of the Germans had met, by accident, near the little village of -Lagrange, close to the German frontier. In the struggle that followed, -the French had (for once) got the better of the enemy. For the time, at -least, a few hundreds out of the host of the invaders had been forced -back over the frontier. It was a trifling affair, occurring not long -after the great German victory of Weissenbourg, and the newspapers took -little or no notice of it. - -Captain Arnault, commanding on the French side, sat alone in one of the -cottages of the village, inhabited by the miller of the district. The -Captain was reading, by the light of a solitary tallow-candle, some -intercepted dispatches taken from the Germans. He had suffered the wood -fire, scattered over the large open grate, to burn low; the red embers -only faintly illuminated a part of the room. On the floor behind him lay -some of the miller's empty sacks. In a corner opposite to him was the -miller's solid walnut-wood bed. On the walls all around him were the -miller's colored prints, representing a happy mixture of devotional and -domestic subjects. A door of communication leading into the kitchen of -the cottage had been torn from its hinges, and used to carry the men -wounded in the skirmish from the field. They were now comfortably laid -at rest in the kitchen, under the care of the French surgeon and the -English nurse attached to the ambulance. A piece of coarse canvas -screened the opening between the two rooms in place of the door. A -second door, leading from the bed-chamber into the yard, was locked; and -the wooden shutter protecting the one window of the room was carefully -barred. Sentinels, doubled in number, were placed at all the outposts. -The French commander had neglected no precaution which could reasonably -insure for himself and for his men a quiet and comfortable night. - -Still absorbed in his perusal of the dispatches, and now and then making -notes of what he read by the help of writing materials placed at his -side, Captain Arnault was interrupted by the appearance of an intruder -in the room. Surgeon Surville, entering from the kitchen, drew aside -the canvas screen, and approached the little round table at which his -superior officer was sitting. - -"What is it?" said the captain, sharply. - -"A question to ask," replied the surgeon. "Are we safe for the night?" - -"Why do you want to know?" inquired the captain, suspiciously. - -The surgeon pointed to the kitchen, now the hospital devoted to the -wounded men. - -"The poor fellows are anxious about the next few hours," he replied. -"They dread a surprise, and they ask me if there is any reasonable hope -of their having one night's rest. What do you think of the chances?" - -The captain shrugged his shoulders. The surgeon persisted. - -"Surely you ought to know?" he said. - -"I know that we are in possession of the village for the present," -retorted Captain Arnault, "and I know no more. Here are the papers of -the enemy." He held them up and shook them impatiently as he spoke. -"They give me no information that I can rely on. For all I can tell to -the contrary, the main body of the Germans, outnumbering us ten to one, -may be nearer this cottage than the main body of the French. Draw your -own conclusions. I have nothing more to say." - -Having answered in those discouraging terms, Captain Arnault got on his -feet, drew the hood of his great-coat over his head, and lit a cigar at -the candle. - -"Where are you going?" asked the surgeon. - -"To visit the outposts." - -"Do you want this room for a little while?" - -"Not for some hours to come. Are you thinking of moving any of your -wounded men in here?" - -"I was thinking of the English lady," answered the surgeon. "The kitchen -is not quite the place for her. She would be more comfortable here; and -the English nurse might keep her company." - -Captain Arnault smiled, not very pleasantly. "They are two fine women," -he said, "and Surgeon Surville is a ladies' man. Let them come in, if -they are rash enough to trust themselves here with you." He checked -himself on the point of going out, and looked back distrustfully at the -lighted candle. "Caution the women," he said, "to limit the exercise of -their curiosity to the inside of this room." - -"What do you mean?" - -The captain's forefinger pointed significantly to the closed -window-shutter. - -"Did you ever know a woman who could resist looking out of window?" he -asked. "Dark as it is, sooner or later these ladies of yours will feel -tempted to open that shutter. Tell them I don't want the light of -the candle to betray my headquarters to the German scouts. How is the -weather? Still raining?" - -"Pouring." - -"So much the better. The Germans won't see us." With that consolatory -remark he unlocked the door leading into the yard, and walked out. - -The surgeon lifted the canvas screen and called into the kitchen: - -"Miss Merrick, have you time to take a little rest?" - -"Plenty of time," answered a soft voice with an underlying melancholy in -it, plainly distinguishable though it had only spoken three words. - -"Come in, then," continued the surgeon, "and bring the English lady with -you. Here is a quiet room all to yourselves." - -He held back the canvas, and the two women appeared. - -The nurse led the way--tall, lithe, graceful--attired in her uniform -dress of neat black stuff, with plain linen collar and cuffs, and with -the scarlet cross of the Geneva Convention embroidered on her left -shoulder. Pale and sad, her expression and manner both eloquently -suggestive of suppressed suffering and sorrow, there was an innate -nobility in the carriage of this woman's head, an innate grandeur in the -gaze of her large gray eyes and in the lines of her finely proportioned -face, which made her irresistibly striking and beautiful, seen under any -circumstances and clad in any dress. Her companion, darker in complexion -and smaller in stature, possessed attractions which were quite marked -enough to account for the surgeon's polite anxiety to shelter her in the -captain's room. The common consent of mankind would have declared her to -be an unusually pretty woman. She wore the large gray cloak that covered -her from head to foot with a grace that lent its own attractions to a -plain and even a shabby article of dress. The languor in her movements, -and the uncertainty of tone in her voice as she thanked the surgeon -suggested that she was suffering from fatigue. Her dark eyes searched -the dimly-lighted room timidly, and she held fast by the nurse's arm -with the air of a woman whose nerves had been severely shaken by some -recent alarm. - -"You have one thing to remember, ladies," said the surgeon. "Beware -of opening the shutter, for fear of the light being seen through the -window. For the rest, we are free to make ourselves as comfortable here -as we can. Compose yourself, dear madam, and rely on the protection of a -Frenchman who is devoted to you!" He gallantly emphasized his last words -by raising the hand of the English lady to his lips. At the moment when -he kissed it the canvas screen was again drawn aside. A person in -the service of the ambulance appeared, announcing that a bandage had -slipped, and that one of the wounded men was to all appearance bleeding -to death. The surgeon, submitting to destiny with the worst possible -grace, dropped the charming Englishwoman's hand, and returned to his -duties in the kitchen. The two ladies were left together in the room. - -"Will you take a chair, madam?" asked the nurse. - -"Don't call me 'madam,'" returned the young lady, cordially. "My name is -Grace Roseberry. What is your name?" - -The nurse hesitated. "Not a pretty name, like yours," she said, and -hesitated again. "Call me 'Mercy Merrick,'" she added, after a moment's -consideration. - -Had she given an assumed name? Was there some unhappy celebrity attached -to her own name? Miss Roseberry did not wait to ask herself these -questions. "How can I thank you," she exclaimed, gratefully, "for your -sisterly kindness to a stranger like me?" - -"I have only done my duty," said Mercy Merrick, a little coldly. "Don't -speak of it." - -"I must speak of it. What a situation you found me in when the French -soldiers had driven the Germans away! My traveling-carriage stopped; the -horses seized; I myself in a strange country at nightfall, robbed of my -money and my luggage, and drenched to the skin by the pouring rain! I am -indebted to you for shelter in this place--I am wearing your clothes--I -should have died of the fright and the exposure but for you. What return -can I make for such services as these?" - -Mercy placed a chair for her guest near the captain's table, and seated -herself, at some little distance, on an old chest in a corner of the -room. "May I ask you a question?" she said, abruptly. - -"A hundred questions," cried Grace, "if you like." She looked at the -expiring fire, and at the dimly visible figure of her companion seated -in the obscurest corner of the room. "That wretched candle hardly gives -any light," she said, impatiently. "It won't last much longer. Can't -we make the place more cheerful? Come out of your corner. Call for more -wood and more lights." - -Mercy remained in her corner and shook her head. "Candles and wood are -scarce things here," she answered. "We must be patient, even if we -are left in the dark. Tell me," she went on, raising her quiet voice a -little, "how came you to risk crossing the frontier in wartime?" - -Grace's voice dropped when she answered the question. Grace's momentary -gayety of manner suddenly left her. - -"I had urgent reasons," she said, "for returning to England." - -"Alone?" rejoined the other. "Without any one to protect you?" - -Grace's head sank on her bosom. "I have left my only protector--my -father--in the English burial-ground at Rome," she answered simply. "My -mother died, years since, in Canada." - -The shadowy figure of the nurse suddenly changed its position on the -chest. She had started as the last word passed Miss Roseberry's lips. - -"Do you know Canada?" asked Grace. - -"Well," was the brief answer--reluctantly given, short as it was. - -"Were you ever near Port Logan?" - -"I once lived within a few miles of Port Logan." - -"When?" - -"Some time since." With those words Mercy Merrick shrank back into her -corner and changed the subject. "Your relatives in England must be very -anxious about you," she said. - -Grace sighed. "I have no relatives in England. You can hardly imagine -a person more friendless than I am. We went away from Canada, when my -father's health failed, to try the climate of Italy, by the doctor's -advice. His death has left me not only friendless but poor." She paused, -and took a leather letter-case from the pocket of the large gray cloak -which the nurse had lent to her. "My prospects in life," she resumed, -"are all contained in this little case. Here is the one treasure I -contrived to conceal when I was robbed of my other things." - -Mercy could just see the letter-case as Grace held it up in the -deepening obscurity of the room. "Have you got money in it?" she asked. - -"No; only a few family papers, and a letter from my father, introducing -me to an elderly lady in England--a connection of his by marriage, whom -I have never seen. The lady has consented to receive me as her companion -and reader. If I don't return to England soon, some other person may get -the place." - -"Have you no other resource?" - -"None. My education has been neglected--we led a wild life in the -far West. I am quite unfit to go out as a governess. I am absolutely -dependent on this stranger, who receives me for my father's sake." -She put the letter-case back in the pocket of her cloak, and ended her -little narrative as unaffectedly as she had begun it. "Mine is a sad -story, is it not?" she said. - -The voice of the nurse answered her suddenly and bitterly in these -strange words: - -"There are sadder stories than yours. There are thousands of miserable -women who would ask for no greater blessing than to change places with -you." - -Grace started. "What can there possibly be to envy in such a lot as -mine?" - -"Your unblemished character, and your prospect of being established -honorably in a respectable house." - -Grace turned in her chair, and looked wonderingly into the dim corner of -the room. - -"How strangely you say that!" she exclaimed. There was no answer; the -shadowy figure on the chest never moved. Grace rose impulsively, and -drawing her chair after her, approached the nurse. "Is there some -romance in your life?" she asked. "Why have you sacrificed yourself to -the terrible duties which I find you performing here? You interest me -indescribably. Give me your hand." - -Mercy shrank back, and refused the offered hand. - -"Are we not friends?" Grace asked, in astonishment. - -"We can never be friends." - -"Why not?" - -The nurse was dumb. Grace called to mind the hesitation that she had -shown when she had mentioned her name, and drew a new conclusion from -it. "Should I be guessing right," she asked, eagerly, "if I guessed you -to be some great lady in disguise?" - -Mercy laughed to herself--low and bitterly. "I a great lady!" she said, -contemptuously. "For Heaven's sake, let us talk of something else!" - -Grace's curiosity was thoroughly roused. She persisted. "Once more," she -whispered, persuasively, "let us be friends." She gently laid her hand -as she spoke on Mercy's shoulder. Mercy roughly shook it off. There -was a rudeness in the action which would have offended the most patient -woman living. Grace drew back indignantly. "Ah!" she cried, "you are -cruel." - -"I am kind," answered the nurse, speaking more sternly than ever. - -"Is it kind to keep me at a distance? I have told you my story." - -The nurse's voice rose excitedly. "Don't tempt me to speak out," she -said; "you will regret it." - -Grace declined to accept the warning. "I have placed confidence in you," -she went on. "It is ungenerous to lay me under an obligation, and then -to shut me out of your confidence in return." - -"You _will_ have it?" said Mercy Merrick. "You _shall_ have it! Sit down -again." Grace's heart began to quicken its beat in expectation of the -disclosure that was to come. She drew her chair closer to the chest on -which the nurse was sitting. With a firm hand Mercy put the chair back -to a distance from her. "Not so near me!" she said, harshly. - -"Why not?" - -"Not so near," repeated the sternly resolute voice. "Wait till you have -heard what I have to say." - -Grace obeyed without a word more. There was a momentary silence. A faint -flash of light leaped up from the expiring candle, and showed Mercy -crouching on the chest, with her elbows on her knees, and her face -hidden in her hands. The next instant the room was buried in obscurity. -As the darkness fell on the two women the nurse spoke. - - - -CHAPTER II. MAGDALEN--IN MODERN TIMES. - -"WHEN your mother was alive were you ever out with her after nightfall -in the streets of a great city?" - -In those extraordinary terms Mercy Merrick opened the confidential -interview which Grace Roseberry had forced on her. Grace answered, -simply, "I don't understand you." - -"I will put it in another way," said the nurse. Its unnatural hardness -and sternness of tone passed away from her voice, and its native -gentleness and sadness returned, as she made that reply. "You read the -newspapers like the rest of the world," she went on; "have you ever -read of your unhappy fellow-creatures (the starving outcasts of the -population) whom Want has driven into Sin?" - -Still wondering, Grace answered that she had read of such things often, -in newspapers and in books. - -"Have you heard--when those starving and sinning fellow-creatures -happened to be women--of Refuges established to protect and reclaim -them?" - -The wonder in Grace's mind passed away, and a vague suspicion of -something painful to come took its place. "These are extraordinary -questions," she said, nervously. "What do you mean?" - -"Answer me," the nurse insisted. "Have you heard of the Refuges? Have -you heard of the Women?" - -"Yes." - -"Move your chair a little further away from me." She paused. Her voice, -without losing its steadiness, fell to its lowest tones. "_I_ was once -of those women," she said, quietly. - -Grace sprang to her feet with a faint cry. She stood petrified-- -incapable of uttering a word. - -"_I_ have been in a Refuge," pursued the sweet, sad voice of the other -woman. "_I_ have been in a Prison. Do you still wish to be my friend? Do -you still insist on sitting close by me and taking my hand?" She waited -for a reply, and no reply came. "You see you were wrong," she went on, -gently, "when you called me cruel--and I was right when I told you I was -kind." - -At that appeal Grace composed herself, and spoke. "I don't wish to -offend you--" she began, confusedly. - -Mercy Merrick stopped her there. - -"You don't offend me," she said, without the faintest note of -displeasure in her tone. "I am accustomed to stand in the pillory of -my own past life. I sometimes ask myself if it was all my fault. I -sometimes wonder if Society had no duties toward me when I was a child -selling matches in the street--when I was a hard-working girl fainting -at my needle for want of food." Her voice faltered a little for the -first time as it pronounced those words; she waited a moment, and -recovered herself. "It's too late to dwell on these things now," she -said, resignedly. "Society can subscribe to reclaim me; but Society -can't take me back. You see me here in a place of trust--patiently, -humbly, doing all the good I can. It doesn't matter! Here, or elsewhere, -what I _am_ can never alter what I _was_. For three years past all that -a sincerely penitent woman can do I have done. It doesn't matter! Once -let my past story be known, and the shadow of it covers me; the kindest -people shrink." - -She waited again. Would a word of sympathy come to comfort her from the -other woman's lips? No! Miss Roseberry was shocked; Miss Roseberry was -confused. "I am very sorry for you," was all that Miss Roseberry could -say. - -"Everybody is sorry for me," answered the nurse, as patiently as ever; -"everybody is kind to me. But the lost place is not to be regained. I -can't get back! I can't get back?" she cried, with a passionate outburst -of despair--checked instantly the moment it had escaped her. "Shall I -tell you what my experience has been?" she resumed. "Will you hear the -story of Magdalen--in modern times?" - -Grace drew back a step; Mercy instantly understood her. - -"I am going to tell you nothing that you need shrink from hearing," she -said. "A lady in your position would not understand the trials and -the struggles that I have passed through. My story shall begin at the -Refuge. The matron sent me out to service with the character that I had -honestly earned--the character of a reclaimed woman. I justified the -confidence placed in me; I was a faithful servant. One day my mistress -sent for me--a kind mistress, if ever there was one yet. 'Mercy, I am -sorry for you; it has come out that I took you from a Refuge; I shall -lose every servant in the house; you must go.' I went back to the -matron--another kind woman. She received me like a mother. 'We will try -again, Mercy; don't be cast down.' I told you I had been in Canada?" - -Grace began to feel interested in spite of herself. She answered with -something like warmth in her tone. She returned to her chair--placed at -its safe and significant distance from the chest. - -The nurse went on: - -"My next place was in Canada, with an officer's wife: gentlefolks who -had emigrated. More kindness; and, this time, a pleasant, peaceful life -for me. I said to myself, 'Is the lost place regained? _Have_ I got -back?' My mistress died. New people came into our neighborhood. There -was a young lady among them--my master began to think of another wife. -I have the misfortune (in my situation) to be what is called a handsome -woman; I rouse the curiosity of strangers. The new people asked -questions about me; my master's answers did not satisfy them. In a word, -they found me out. The old story again! 'Mercy, I am very sorry; scandal -is busy with you and with me; we are innocent, but there is no help for -it--we must part.' I left the place; having gained one advantage during -my stay in Canada, which I find of use to me here." - -"What is it?" - -"Our nearest neighbors were French-Canadians. I learned to speak the -French language." - -"Did you return to London?" - -"Where else could I go, without a character?" said Mercy, sadly. "I went -back again to the matron. Sickness had broken out in the Refuge; I made -myself useful as a nurse. One of the doctors was struck with me--'fell -in love' with me, as the phrase is. He would have married me. The nurse, -as an honest woman, was bound to tell him the truth. He never appeared -again. The old story! I began to be weary of saying to myself, 'I can't -get back! I can't get back!' Despair got hold of me, the despair that -hardens the heart. I might have committed suicide; I might even have -drifted back into my old life--but for one man." - -At those last words her voice--quiet and even through the earlier part -of her sad story--began to falter once more. She stopped, following -silently the memories and associations roused in her by what she had -just said. Had she forgotten the presence of another person in the room? -Grace's curiosity left Grace no resource but to say a word on her side. - -"Who was the man?" she asked. "How did he befriend you?" - -"Befriend me? He doesn't even know that such a person as I am is in -existence." - -That strange answer, naturally enough, only strengthened the anxiety of -Grace to hear more. "You said just now--" she began. - -"I said just now that he saved me. He did save me; you shall hear -how. One Sunday our regular clergyman at the Refuge was not able to -officiate. His place was taken by a stranger, quite a young man. The -matron told us the stranger's name was Julian Gray. I sat in the back -row of seats, under the shadow of the gallery, where I could see him -without his seeing me. His text was from the words, 'Joy shall be in -heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine -just persons, which need no repentance. 'What happier women might have -thought of his sermon I cannot say; there was not a dry eye among us -at the Refuge. As for me, he touched my heart as no man has touched -it before or since. The hard despair melted in me at the sound of his -voice; the weary round of my life showed its nobler side again while he -spoke. From that time I have accepted my hard lot, I have been a patient -woman. I might have been something more, I might have been a happy -woman, if I could have prevailed on myself to speak to Julian Gray." - -"What hindered you from speaking to him?" - -"I was afraid." - -"Afraid of what?" - -"Afraid of making my hard life harder still." - -A woman who could have sympathized with her would perhaps have guessed -what those words meant. Grace was simply embarrassed by her; and Grace -failed to guess. - -"I don't understand you," she said. - -There was no alternative for Mercy but to own the truth in plain words. -She sighed, and said the words. "I was afraid I might interest him in my -sorrows, and might set my heart on him in return." The utter absence -of any fellow-feeling with her on Grace's side expressed itself -unconsciously in the plainest terms. - -"You!" she exclaimed, in a tone of blank astonishment. - -The nurse rose slowly to her feet. Grace's expression of surprise told -her plainly--almost brutally--that her confession had gone far enough. - -"I astonish you?" she said. "Ah, my young lady, you don't know what -rough usage a woman's heart can bear, and still beat truly! Before I saw -Julian Gray I only knew men as objects of horror to me. Let us drop -the subject. The preacher at the Refuge is nothing but a remembrance -now--the one welcome remembrance of my life! I have nothing more to tell -you. You insisted on hearing my story--you have heard it." - -"I have not heard how you found employment here," said Grace, continuing -the conversation with uneasy politeness, as she best might. - -Mercy crossed the room, and slowly raked together the last living embers -of the fire. - -"The matron has friends in France," she answered, "who are connected -with the military hospitals. It was not difficult to get me the place, -under those circumstances. Society can find a use for me here. My hand -is as light, my words of comfort are as welcome, among those suffering -wretches" (she pointed to the room in which the wounded men were lying) -"as if I was the most reputable woman breathing. And if a stray shot -comes my way before the war is over--well! Society will be rid of me on -easy terms." - -She stood looking thoughtfully into the wreck of the fire--as if she -saw in it the wreck of her own life. Common humanity made it an act of -necessity to say something to her. Grace considered--advanced a step -toward her--stopped--and took refuge in the most trivial of all the -common phrases which one human being can address to another. - -"If there is anything I can do for you--" she began. The sentence, -halting there, was never finished. Miss Roseberry was just merciful -enough toward the lost woman who had rescued and sheltered her to feel -that it was needless to say more. - -The nurse lifted her noble head and advanced slowly toward the canvas -screen to return to her duties. "Miss Roseberry might have taken my -hand!" she thought to herself, bitterly. No! Miss Roseberry stood there -at a distance, at a loss what to say next. "What can you do for -me?" Mercy asked, stung by the cold courtesy of her companion into a -momentary outbreak of contempt. "Can you change my identity? Can you -give me the name and the place of an innocent woman? If I only had your -chance! If I only had your reputation and your prospects!" She laid one -hand over her bosom, and controlled herself. "Stay here," she resumed, -"while I go back to my work. I will see that your clothes are dried. You -shall wear my clothes as short a time as possible." - -With those melancholy words--touchingly, not bitterly spoken--she moved -to pass into the kitchen, when she noticed that the pattering sound of -the rain against the window was audible no more. Dropping the canvas for -the moment, she retraced her steps, and, unfastening the wooden shutter, -looked out. - -The moon was rising dimly in the watery sky; the rain had ceased; the -friendly darkness which had hidden the French position from the German -scouts was lessening every moment. In a few hours more (if nothing -happened) the English lady might resume her journey. In a few hours more -the morning would dawn. - -Mercy lifted her hand to close the shutter. Before she could fasten it -the report of a rifle-shot reached the cottage from one of the distant -posts. It was followed almost instantly by a second report, nearer and -louder than the first. Mercy paused, with the shutter in her hand, and -listened intently for the next sound. - - - -CHAPTER III. THE GERMAN SHELL. - -A THIRD rifle-shot rang through the night air, close to the cottage. -Grace started and approached the window in alarm. - -"What does that firing mean?" she asked. - -"Signals from the outposts," the nurse quietly replied. - -"Is there any danger? Have the Germans come back?" - -Surgeon Surville answered the question. He lifted the canvas screen, and -looked into the room as Miss Roseberry spoke. - -"The Germans are advancing on us," he said. "Their vanguard is in -sight." - -Grace sank on the chair near her, trembling from head to foot. Mercy -advanced to the surgeon, and put the decisive question to him. - -"Do we defend the position?" she inquired. - -Surgeon Surville ominously shook his head. - -"Impossible! We are outnumbered as usual--ten to one." - -The shrill roll of the French drums was heard outside. - -"There is the retreat sounded!" said the surgeon. "The captain is not -a man to think twice about what he does. We are left to take care of -ourselves. In five minutes we must be out of this place." - -A volley of rifle-shots rang out as he spoke. The German vanguard -was attacking the French at the outposts. Grace caught the surgeon -entreatingly by the arm. "Take me with you," she cried. "Oh, sir, I have -suffered from the Germans already! Don't forsake me, if they come back!" -The surgeon was equal to the occasion; he placed the hand of the pretty -Englishwoman on his breast. "Fear nothing, madam," he said, looking -as if he could have annihilated the whole German force with his -own invincible arm. "A Frenchman's heart beats under your hand. A -Frenchman's devotion protects you." Grace's head sank on his shoulder. -Monsieur Surville felt that he had asserted himself; he looked round -invitingly at Mercy. She, too, was an attractive woman. The Frenchman -had another shoulder at _her_ service. Unhappily the room was dark--the -look was lost on Mercy. She was thinking of the helpless men in the -inner chamber, and she quietly recalled the surgeon to a sense of his -professional duties. - -"What is to become of the sick and wounded?" she asked. - -Monsieur Surville shrugged one shoulder--the shoulder that was free. - -"The strongest among them we can take away with us," he said. "The -others must be left here. Fear nothing for yourself, dear lady. There -will be a place for you in the baggage-wagon." - -"And for me, too?" Grace pleaded, eagerly. - -The surgeon's invincible arm stole round the young lady's waist, and -answered mutely with a squeeze. - -"Take her with you," said Mercy. "My place is with the men whom you -leave behind." - -Grace listened in amazement. "Think what you risk," she said "if you -stop here." - -Mercy pointed to her left shoulder. - -"Don't alarm yourself on my account," she answered; "the red cross will -protect me." - -Another roll of the drum warned the susceptible surgeon to take his -place as director-general of the ambulance without any further delay. He -conducted Grace to a chair, and placed both her hands on his heart this -time, to reconcile her to the misfortune of his absence. "Wait here till -I return for you," he whispered. "Fear nothing, my charming friend. -Say to yourself, 'Surville is the soul of honor! Surville is devoted to -me!'" He struck his breast; he again forgot the obscurity in the room, -and cast one look of unutterable homage at his charming friend. "A -_bientot!_" he cried, and kissed his hand and disappeared. - -As the canvas screen fell over him the sharp report of the rifle-firing -was suddenly and grandly dominated by the roar of cannon. The instant -after a shell exploded in the garden outside, within a few yards of the -window. - -Grace sank on her knees with a shriek of terror. Mercy, without losing -her self-possession, advanced to the window and looked out. - -"The moon has risen," she said. "The Germans are shelling the village." - -Grace rose, and ran to her for protection. - -"Take me away!" she cried. "We shall be killed if we stay here." She -stopped, looking in astonishment at the tall black figure of the nurse, -standing immovably by the window. "Are you made of iron?" she exclaimed. -"Will nothing frighten you?" - -Mercy smiled sadly. "Why should I be afraid of losing my life?" she -answered. "I have nothing worth living for!" - -The roar of the cannon shook the cottage for the second time. A second -shell exploded in the courtyard, on the opposite side of the building. - -Bewildered by the noise, panic-stricken as the danger from the shells -threatened the cottage more and more nearly, Grace threw her arms round -the nurse, and clung, in the abject familiarity of terror, to the woman -whose hand she had shrunk from touching not five minutes since. "Where -is it safest?" she cried. "Where can I hide myself?" - -"How can I tell where the next shell will fall?" Mercy answered, -quietly. - -The steady composure of the one woman seemed to madden the other. -Releasing the nurse, Grace looked wildly round for a way of escape from -the cottage. Making first for the kitchen, she was driven back by the -clamor and confusion attending the removal of those among the wounded -who were strong enough to be placed in the wagon. A second look round -showed her the door leading into the yard. She rushed to it with a cry -of relief. She had just laid her hand on the lock when the third report -of cannon burst over the place. - -Starting back a step, Grace lifted her hands mechanically to her -ears. At the same moment the third shell burst through the roof of the -cottage, and exploded in the room, just inside the door. Mercy sprang -forward, unhurt, from her place at the window. The burning fragments of -the shell were already firing the dry wooden floor, and in the midst -of them, dimly seen through the smoke, lay the insensible body of her -companion in the room. Even at that dreadful moment the nurse's presence -of mind did not fail her. Hurrying back to the place that she had just -left, near which she had already noticed the miller's empty sacks lying -in a heap, she seized two of them, and, throwing them on the smoldering -floor, trampled out the fire. That done, she knelt by the senseless -woman, and lifted her head. - -Was she wounded? or dead? - -Mercy raised one helpless hand, and laid her fingers on the wrist. -While she was still vainly trying to feel for the beating of the pulse, -Surgeon Surville (alarmed for the ladies) hurried in to inquire if any -harm had been done. - -Mercy called to him to approach. "I am afraid the shell has struck her," -she said, yielding her place to him. "See if she is badly hurt." - -The surgeon's anxiety for his charming patient expressed itself briefly -in an oath, with a prodigious emphasis laid on one of the letters in -it--the letter R. "Take off her cloak," he cried, raising his hand to -her neck. "Poor angel! She has turned in falling; the string is twisted -round her throat." - -Mercy removed the cloak. It dropped on the floor as the surgeon lifted -Grace in his arms. "Get a candle," he said, impatiently; "they will give -you one in the kitchen." He tried to feel the pulse: his hand trembled, -the noise and confusion in the kitchen bewildered him. "Just Heaven!" -he exclaimed. "My emotions overpower me!" Mercy approached him with the -candle. The light disclosed the frightful injury which a fragment of -the shell had inflicted on the Englishwoman's head. Surgeon Surville's -manner altered on the instant. The expression of anxiety left his face; -its professional composure covered it suddenly like a mask. What was the -object of his admiration now? An inert burden in his arms--nothing more. - -The change in his face was not lost on Mercy. Her large gray eyes -watched him attentively. "Is the lady seriously wounded?" she asked. - -"Don't trouble yourself to hold the light any longer," was the cool -reply. "It's all over--I can do nothing for her." - -"Dead?" - -Surgeon Surville nodded and shook his fist in the direction of the -outposts. "Accursed Germans!" he cried, and looked down at the dead face -on his arm, and shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "The fortune of war!" -he said as he lifted the body and placed it on the bed in one corner of -the room. "Next time, nurse, it may be you or me. Who knows? Bah! the -problem of human destiny disgusts me." He turned from the bed, and -illustrated his disgust by spitting on the fragments of the exploded -shell. "We must leave her there," he resumed. "She was once a charming -person--she is nothing now. Come away, Miss Mercy, before it is too -late." - -He offered his arm to the nurse; the creaking of the baggage-wagon, -starting on its journey, was heard outside, and the shrill roll of the -drums was renewed in the distance. The retreat had begun. - -Mercy drew aside the canvas, and saw the badly wounded men, left -helpless at the mercy of the enemy, on their straw beds. She refused the -offer of Monsieur Surville's arm. - -"I have already told you that I shall stay here," she answered. - -Monsieur Surville lifted his hands in polite remonstrance. Mercy held -back the curtain, and pointed to the cottage door. - -"Go," she said. "My mind is made up." - -Even at that final moment the Frenchman asserted himself. He made his -exit with unimpaired grace and dignity. "Madam," he said, "you are -sublime!" With that parting compliment the man of gallantry--true to the -last to his admiration of the sex--bowed, with his hand on his heart, -and left the cottage. - -Mercy dropped the canvas over the doorway. She was alone with the dead -woman. - -The last tramp of footsteps, the last rumbling of the wagon wheels, died -away in the distance. No renewal of firing from the position occupied by -the enemy disturbed the silence that followed. The Germans knew that -the French were in retreat. A few minutes more and they would take -possession of the abandoned village: the tumult of their approach -should become audible at the cottage. In the meantime the stillness was -terrible. Even the wounded wretches who were left in the kitchen waited -their fate in silence. - -Alone in the room, Mercy's first look was directed to the bed. - -The two women had met in the confusion of the first skirmish at the -close of twilight. Separated, on their arrival at the cottage, by the -duties required of the nurse, they had only met again in the captain's -room. The acquaintance between them had been a short one; and it had -given no promise of ripening into friendship. But the fatal accident -had roused Mercy's interest in the stranger. She took the candle, and -approached the corpse of the woman who had been literally killed at her -side. - -She stood by the bed, looking down in the silence of the night at the -stillness of the dead face. - -It was a striking face--once seen (in life or in death) not to be -forgotten afterward. The forehead was unusually low and broad; the eyes -unusually far apart; the mouth and chin remarkably small. With tender -hands Mercy smoothed the disheveled hair and arranged the crumpled -dress. "Not five minutes since," she thought to herself, "I was longing -to change places with _you!_" She turned from the bed with a sigh. "I -wish I could change places now!" - -The silence began to oppress her. She walked slowly to the other end of -the room. - -The cloak on the floor--her own cloak, which she had lent to Miss -Roseberry--attracted her attention as she passed it. She picked it up -and brushed the dust from it, and laid it across a chair. This done, she -put the light back on the table, and going to the window, listened for -the first sounds of the German advance. The faint passage of the wind -through some trees near at hand was the only sound that caught her ears. -She turned from the window, and seated herself at the table, thinking. -Was there any duty still left undone that Christian charity owed to the -dead? Was there any further service that pressed for performance in the -interval before the Germans appeared? - -Mercy recalled the conversation that had passed between her ill-fated -companion and herself. Miss Roseberry had spoken of her object in -returning to England. She had mentioned a lady--a connection by -marriage, to whom she was personally a stranger--who was waiting to -receive her. Some one capable of stating how the poor creature had met -with her death ought to write to her only friend. Who was to do it? -There was nobody to do it but the one witness of the catastrophe now -left in the cottage--Mercy herself. - -She lifted the cloak from the chair on which she had placed it, and took -from the pocket the leather letter-case which Grace had shown to her. -The only way of discovering the address to write to in England was to -open the case and examine the papers inside. Mercy opened the case--and -stopped, feeling a strange reluctance to carry the investigation any -farther. - -A moment's consideration satisfied her that her scruples were misplaced. -If she respected the case as inviolable, the Germans would certainly not -hesitate to examine it, and the Germans would hardly trouble themselves -to write to England. Which were the fittest eyes to inspect the papers -of the deceased lady--the eyes of men and foreigners, or the eyes of her -own countrywoman? Mercy's hesitation left her. She emptied the contents -of the case on the table. - -That trifling action decided the whole future course of her life. - - - -CHAPTER IV. THE TEMPTATION. - -Some letters, tied together with a ribbon, attracted Mercy's attention -first. The ink in which the addresses were written had faded with -age. The letters, directed alternately to Colonel Roseberry and to the -Honorable Mrs. Roseberry, contained a correspondence between the husband -and wife at a time when the Colonel's military duties had obliged him to -be absent from home. Mercy tied the letters up again, and passed on to -the papers that lay next in order under her hand. - -These consisted of a few leaves pinned together, and headed (in a -woman's handwriting) "My Journal at Rome." A brief examination showed -that the journal had been written by Miss Roseberry, and that it was -mainly devoted to a record of the last days of her father's life. - -After replacing the journal and the correspondence in the case, the one -paper left on the table was a letter. The envelope, which was unclosed, -bore this address: "Lady Janet Roy, Mablethorpe House, Kensington, -London." Mercy took the inclosure from the open envelope. The first -lines she read informed her that she had found the Colonel's letter of -introduction, presenting his daughter to her protectress on her arrival -in England. - -Mercy read the letter through. It was described by the writer as the -last efforts of a dying man. Colonel Roseberry wrote affectionately -of his daughter's merits, and regretfully of her neglected -education--ascribing the latter to the pecuniary losses which had -forced him to emigrate to Canada in the character of a poor man. Fervent -expressions of gratitude followed, addressed to Lady Janet. "I owe it to -you," the letter concluded, "that I am dying with my mind at ease about -the future of my darling girl. To your generous protection I commit the -one treasure I have left to me on earth. Through your long lifetime -you have nobly used your high rank and your great fortune as a means -of doing good. I believe it will not be counted among the least of your -virtues hereafter that you comforted the last hours of an old soldier by -opening your heart and your home to his friendless child." - -So the letter ended. Mercy laid it down with a heavy heart. What a -chance the poor girl had lost! A woman of rank and fortune waiting to -receive her--a woman so merciful and so generous that the father's mind -had been easy about the daughter on his deathbed--and there the daughter -lay, beyond the reach of Lady Janet's kindness, beyond the need of Lady -Janet's help! - -The French captain's writing-materials were left on the table. Mercy -turned the letter over so that she might write the news of Miss -Roseberry's death on the blank page at the end. She was still -considering what expressions she should use, when the sound of -complaining voices from the next room caught her ear. The wounded men -left behind were moaning for help--the deserted soldiers were losing -their fortitude at last. - -She entered the kitchen. A cry of delight welcomed her appearance--the -mere sight of her composed the men. From one straw bed to another she -passed with comforting words that gave them hope, with skilled and -tender hands that soothed their pain. They kissed the hem of her black -dress, they called her their guardian angel, as the beautiful creature -moved among them, and bent over their hard pillows her gentle, -compassionate face. "I will be with you when the Germans come," she -said, as she left them to return to her unwritten letter. "Courage, my -poor fellows! you are not deserted by your nurse." - -"Courage, madam!" the men replied; "and God bless you!" - -If the firing had been resumed at that moment--if a shell had struck -her dead in the act of succoring the afflicted, what Christian judgment -would have hesitated to declare that there was a place for this woman -in heaven? But if the war ended and left her still living, where was the -place for her on earth? Where were her prospects? Where was her home? - -She returned to the letter. Instead, however, of seating herself to -write, she stood by the table, absently looking down at the morsel of -paper. - -A strange fancy had sprung to life in her mind on re-entering the room; -she herself smiled faintly at the extravagance of it. What if she were -to ask Lady Janet Roy to let her supply Miss Roseberry's place? She had -met with Miss Roseberry under critical circumstances, and she had done -for her all that one woman could do to help another. There was in this -circumstance some little claim to notice, perhaps, if Lady Janet had no -other companion and reader in view. Suppose she ventured to plead her -own cause--what would the noble and merciful lady do? She would write -back, and say, "Send me references to your character, and I will -see what can be done." Her character! Her references! Mercy laughed -bitterly, and sat down to write in the fewest words all that was needed -from her--a plain statement of the facts. - -No! Not a line could she put on the paper. That fancy of hers was not -to be dismissed at will. Her mind was perversely busy now with an -imaginative picture of the beauty of Mablethorpe House and the comfort -and elegance of the life that was led there. Once more she thought of -the chance which Miss Roseberry had lost. Unhappy creature! what a home -would have been open to her if the shell had only fallen on the side of -the window, instead of on the side of the yard! - -Mercy pushed the letter away from her, and walked impatiently to and fro -in the room. - -The perversity in her thoughts was not to be mastered in that way. Her -mind only abandoned one useless train of reflection to occupy itself -with another. She was now looking by anticipation at her own future. -What were her prospects (if she lived through it) when the war was over? -The experience of the past delineated with pitiless fidelity the dreary -scene. Go where she might, do what she might, it would always end in the -same way. Curiosity and admiration excited by her beauty; inquiries made -about her; the story of the past discovered; Society charitably sorry -for her; Society generously subscribing for her; and still, through all -the years of her life, the same result in the end--the shadow of the old -disgrace surrounding her as with a pestilence, isolating her among other -women, branding her, even when she had earned her pardon in the sight of -God, with the mark of an indelible disgrace in the sight of man: there -was the prospect! And she was only five-and-twenty last birthday; she -was in the prime of her health and her strength; she might live, in the -course of nature, fifty years more! - -She stopped again at the bedside; she looked again at the face of the -corpse. - -To what end had the shell struck the woman who had some hope in her -life, and spared the woman who had none? The words she had herself -spoken to Grace Roseberry came back to her as she thought of it. "If I -only had your chance! If I only had your reputation and your prospects!" -And there was the chance wasted! there were the enviable prospects -thrown away! It was almost maddening to contemplate that result, feeling -her own position as she felt it. In the bitter mockery of despair she -bent over the lifeless figure, and spoke to it as if it had ears to hear -her. "Oh!" she said, longingly, "if you could be Mercy Merrick, and if I -could be Grace Roseberry, _now!_" - -The instant the words passed her lips she started into an erect -position. She stood by the bed with her eyes staring wildly into empty -space; with her brain in a flame; with her heart beating as if it would -stifle her. "If you could be Mercy Merrick, and if I could be Grace -Roseberry, now!" In one breathless moment the thought assumed a new -development in her mind. In one breathless moment the conviction struck -her like an electric shock. _She might be Grace Roseberry if she dared!_ -There was absolutely nothing to stop her from presenting herself to Lady -Janet Roy under Grace's name and in Grace's place! - -What were the risks? Where was the weak point in the scheme? - -Grace had said it herself in so many words--she and Lady Janet had never -seen each other. Her friends were in Canada; her relations in England -were dead. Mercy knew the place in which she had lived--the place called -Port Logan--as well as she had known it herself. Mercy had only to read -the manuscript journal to be able to answer any questions relating to -the visit to Rome and to Colonel Roseberry's death. She had no -accomplished lady to personate: Grace had spoken herself--her father's -letter spoke also in the plainest terms--of her neglected education. -Everything, literally everything, was in the lost woman's favor. The -people with whom she had been connected in the ambulance had gone, -to return no more. Her own clothes were on Miss Roseberry at that -moment--marked with her own name. Miss Roseberry's clothes, marked with -_her_ name, were drying, at Mercy's disposal, in the next room. The way -of escape from the unendurable humiliation of her present life lay open -before her at last. What a prospect it was! A new identity, which she -might own anywhere! a new name, which was beyond reproach! a new past -life, into which all the world might search, and be welcome! Her color -rose, her eyes sparkled; she had never been so irresistibly beautiful as -she looked at the moment when the new future disclosed itself, radiant -with new hope. - -She waited a minute, until she could look at her own daring project from -another point of view. Where was the harm of it? what did her conscience -say? - -As to Grace, in the first place. What injury was she doing to a woman -who was dead? The question answered itself. No injury to the woman. No -injury to her relations. Her relations were dead also. - -As to Lady Janet, in the second place. If she served her new mistress -faithfully, if she filled her new sphere honorably, if she was diligent -under instruction and grateful for kindness--if, in one word, she was -all that she might be and would be in the heavenly peace and security -of that new life--what injury was she doing to Lady Janet? Once more the -question answered itself. She might, and would, give Lady Janet cause to -bless the day when she first entered the house. - -She snatched up Colonel Roseberry's letter, and put it into the case -with the other papers. The opportunity was before her; the chances were -all in her favor; her conscience said nothing against trying the daring -scheme. She decided then and there--"I'll do it!" - -Something jarred on her finer sense, something offended her better -nature, as she put the case into the pocket of her dress. She had -decided, and yet she was not at ease; she was not quite sure of having -fairly questioned her conscience yet. What if she laid the letter-case -on the table again, and waited until her excitement had all cooled down, -and then put the contemplated project soberly on its trial before her -own sense of right and wrong? - -She thought once--and hesitated. Before she could think twice, the -distant tramp of marching footsteps and the distant clatter of horses' -hoofs were wafted to her on the night air. The Germans were entering the -village! In a few minutes more they would appear in the cottage; they -would summon her to give an account of herself. There was no time for -waiting until she was composed again. Which should it be--the new life, -as Grace Roseberry? or the old life, as Mercy Merrick? - -She looked for the last time at the bed. Grace's course was run; Grace's -future was at her disposal. Her resolute nature, forced to a choice -on the instant, held by the daring alternative. She persisted in the -determination to take Grace's place. - -The tramping footsteps of the Germans came nearer and nearer. The voices -of the officers were audible, giving the words of command. - -She seated herself at the table, waiting steadily for what was to come. - -The ineradicable instinct of the sex directed her eyes to her dress, -before the Germans appeared. Looking it over to see that it was in -perfect order, her eyes fell upon the red cross on her left shoulder. In -a moment it struck her that her nurse's costume might involve her in a -needless risk. It associated her with a public position; it might lead -to inquiries at a later time, and those inquiries might betray her. - -She looked round. The gray cloak which she had lent to Grace attracted -her attention. She took it up, and covered herself with it from head to -foot. - -The cloak was just arranged round her when she heard the outer door -thrust open, and voices speaking in a strange tongue, and arms grounded -in the room behind her. Should she wait to be discovered? or should she -show herself of her own accord? It was less trying to such a nature as -hers to show herself than to wait. She advanced to enter the kitchen. -The canvas curtain, as she stretched out her hand to it, was suddenly -drawn back from the other side, and three men confronted her in the open -doorway. - - - -CHAPTER V. THE GERMAN SURGEON. - -THE youngest of the three strangers--judging by features, complexion, -and manner--was apparently an Englishman. He wore a military cap and -military boots, but was otherwise dressed as a civilian. Next to him -stood an officer in Prussian uniform, and next to the officer was the -third and the oldest of the party. He also was dressed in uniform, but -his appearance was far from being suggestive of the appearance of a -military man. He halted on one foot, he stooped at the shoulders, and -instead of a sword at his side he carried a stick in his hand. After -looking sharply through a large pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, first -at Mercy, then at the bed, then all round the room, he turned with -a cynical composure of manner to the Prussian officer, and broke the -silence in these words: - -"A woman ill on the bed; another woman in attendance on her, and no one -else in the room. Any necessity, major, for setting a guard here?" - -"No necessity," answered the major. He wheeled round on his heel and -returned to the kitchen. The German surgeon advanced a little, led by -his professional instinct, in the direction of the bedside. The young -Englishman, whose eyes had remained riveted in admiration on Mercy, drew -the canvas screen over the doorway and respectfully addressed her in the -French language. - -"May I ask if I am speaking to a French lady?" he said. - -"I am an Englishwoman," Mercy replied. - -The surgeon heard the answer. Stopping short on his way to the bed, -he pointed to the recumbent figure on it, and said to Mercy, in good -English, spoken with a strong German accent. - -"Can I be of any use there?" - -His manner was ironically courteous, his harsh voice was pitched in one -sardonic monotony of tone. Mercy took an instantaneous dislike to -this hobbling, ugly old man, staring at her rudely through his great -tortoiseshell spectacles. - -"You can be of no use, sir," she said, shortly. "The lady was killed -when your troops shelled this cottage." - -The Englishman started, and looked compassionately toward the bed. -The German refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff, and put another -question. - -"Has the body been examined by a medical man?" he asked. - -Mercy ungraciously limited her reply to the one necessary word "Yes." - -The present surgeon was not a man to be daunted by a lady's disapproval -of him. He went on with his questions. - -"Who has examined the body?" he inquired next. - -Mercy answered, "The doctor attached to the French ambulance." - -The German grunted in contemptuous disapproval of all Frenchmen, and -all French institutions. The Englishman seized his first opportunity of -addressing himself to Mercy once more. - -"Is the lady a countrywoman of ours?" he asked, gently. - -Mercy considered before she answered him. With the object she had in -view, there might be serious reasons for speaking with extreme caution -when she spoke of Grace. - -"I believe so," she said. "We met here by accident. I know nothing of -her." - -"Not even her name?" inquired the German surgeon. - -Mercy's resolution was hardly equal yet to giving her own name openly as -the name of Grace. She took refuge in flat denial. - -"Not even her name," she repeated obstinately. - -The old man stared at her more rudely than ever, considered with -himself, and took the candle from the table. He hobbled back to the bed -and examined the figure laid on it in silence. The Englishman continued -the conversation, no longer concealing the interest that he felt in the -beautiful woman who stood before him. - -"Pardon me," he said, "you are very young to be alone in war-time in -such a place as this." - -The sudden outbreak of a disturbance in the kitchen relieved Mercy from -any immediate necessity for answering him. She heard the voices of the -wounded men raised in feeble remonstrance, and the harsh command of the -foreign officers bidding them be silent. The generous instincts of the -woman instantly prevailed over every personal consideration imposed on -her by the position which she had assumed. Reckless whether she betrayed -herself or not as nurse in the French ambulance, she instantly drew -aside the canvas to enter the kitchen. A German sentinel barred the -way to her, and announced, in his own language, that no strangers were -admitted. The Englishman politely interposing, asked if she had any -special object in wishing to enter the room. - -"The poor Frenchmen!" she said, earnestly, her heart upbraiding her for -having forgotten them. "The poor wounded Frenchmen!" - -The German surgeon advanced from the bedside, and took the matter up -before the Englishman could say a word more. - -"You have nothing to do with the wounded Frenchmen," he croaked, in the -harshest notes of his voice. "The wounded Frenchmen are my business, and -not yours. They are _our_ prisoners, and they are being moved to _our_ -ambulance. I am Ingatius Wetzel, chief of the medical staff--and I tell -you this. Hold your tongue." He turned to the sentinel and added in -German, "Draw the curtain again; and if the woman persists, put her back -into this room with your own hand." - -Mercy attempted to remonstrate. The Englishman respectfully took her -arm, and drew her out of the sentinel's reach. - -"It is useless to resist," he said. "The German discipline never gives -way. There is not the least need to be uneasy about the Frenchmen. The -ambulance under Surgeon Wetzel is admirably administered. I answer for -it, the men will be well treated." He saw the tears in her eyes as he -spoke; his admiration for her rose higher and higher. "Kind as well as -beautiful," he thought. "What a charming creature!" - -"Well!" said Ignatius Wetzel, eying Mercy sternly through his -spectacles. "Are you satisfied? And will you hold your tongue?" - -She yielded: it was plainly useless to resist. But for the surgeon's -resistance, her devotion to the wounded men might have stopped her -on the downward way that she was going. If she could only have been -absorbed again, mind and body, in her good work as a nurse, the -temptation might even yet have found her strong enough to resist it. The -fatal severity of the German discipline had snapped asunder the last tie -that bound her to her better self. Her face hardened as she walked away -proudly from Surgeon Wetzel, and took a chair. - -The Englishman followed her, and reverted to the question of her present -situation in the cottage. - -"Don't suppose that I want to alarm you," he said. "There is, I repeat, -no need to be anxious about the Frenchmen, but there is serious reason -for anxiety on your own account. The action will be renewed round this -village by daylight; you ought really to be in a place of safety. I am -an officer in the English army--my name is Horace Holmcroft. I shall be -delighted to be of use to you, and I _can_ be of use, if you will let -me. May I ask if you are traveling?" - -Mercy gathered the cloak which concealed her nurse's dress more closely -round her, and committed herself silently to her first overt act of -deception. She bowed her head in the affirmative. - -"Are you on your way to England?" - -"Yes." - -"In that case I can pass you through the German lines, and forward you -at once on your journey." - -Mercy looked at him in unconcealed surprise. His strongly-felt interest -in her was restrained within the strictest limits of good-breeding: he -was unmistakably a gentleman. Did he really mean what he had just said? - -"You can pass me through the German lines?" she repeated. "You must -possess extraordinary influence, sir, to be able to do that." - -Mr. Horace Holmcroft smiled. - -"I possess the influence that no one can resist," he answered--"the -influence of the Press. I am serving here as war correspondent of one of -our great English newspapers. If I ask him, the commanding officer will -grant you a pass. He is close to this cottage. What do you say?" - -She summoned her resolution--not without difficulty, even now--and took -him at his word. - -"I gratefully accept your offer, sir." - -He advanced a step toward the kitchen, and stopped. - -"It may be well to make the application as privately as possible," he -said. "I shall be questioned if I pass through that room. Is there no -other way out of the cottage?" - -Mercy showed him the door leading into the yard. He bowed--and left her. - -She looked furtively toward the German surgeon. Ignatius Wetzel was -still at the bed, bending over the body, and apparently absorbed in -examining the wound which had been inflicted by the shell. Mercy's -instinctive aversion to the old man increased tenfold, now that she was -left alone with him. She withdrew uneasily to the window, and looked out -at the moonlight. - -Had she committed herself to the fraud? Hardly, yet. She had committed -herself to returning to England--nothing more. There was no necessity, -thus far, which forced her to present herself at Mablethorpe House, in -Grace's place. There was still time to reconsider her resolution--still -time to write the account of the accident, as she had proposed, and -to send it with the letter-case to Lady Janet Roy. Suppose she finally -decided on taking this course, what was to become of her when she found -herself in England again? There was no alternative open but to apply -once more to her friend the matron. There was nothing for her to do but -to return to the Refuge! - -The Refuge! The matron! What past association with these two was now -presenting itself uninvited, and taking the foremost place in her mind? -Of whom was she now thinking, in that strange place, and at that crisis -in her life? Of the man whose words had found their way to her heart, -whose influence had strengthened and comforted her, in the chapel of -the Refuge. One of the finest passages in his sermon had been especially -devoted by Julian Gray to warning the congregation whom he addressed -against the degrading influences of falsehood and deceit. The terms -in which he had appealed to the miserable women round him--terms of -sympathy and encouragement never addressed to them before--came back to -Mercy Merrick as if she had heard them an hour since. She turned deadly -pale as they now pleaded with her once more. "Oh!" she whispered to -herself, as she thought of what she had proposed and planned, "what have -I done? what have I done?" - -She turned from the window with some vague idea in her mind of following -Mr. Holmcroft and calling him back. As she faced the bed again she also -confronted Ignatius Wetzel. He was just stepping forward to speak to -her, with a white handkerchief--the handkerchief which she had lent to -Grace--held up in his hand. - -"I have found this in her pocket," he said. "Here is her name written on -it. She must be a countrywoman of yours." He read the letters marked on -the handkerchief with some difficulty. "Her name is--Mercy Merrick." - -_His_ lips had said it--not hers! _He_ had given her the name. - -"'Mercy Merrick' is an English name?" pursued Ignatius Wetzel, with his -eyes steadily fixed on her. "Is it not so?" - -The hold on her mind of the past association with Julian Gray began to -relax. One present and pressing question now possessed itself of the -foremost place in her thoughts. Should she correct the error into which -the German had fallen? The time had come--to speak, and assert her own -identity; or to be silent, and commit herself to the fraud. - -Horace Holmcroft entered the room again at the moment when Surgeon -Wetzel's staring eyes were still fastened on her, waiting for her reply. - -"I have not overrated my interest," he said, pointing to a little slip -of paper in his hand. "Here is the pass. Have you got pen and ink? I -must fill up the form." - -Mercy pointed to the writing materials on the table. Horace seated -himself, and dipped the pen in the ink. - -"Pray don't think that I wish to intrude myself into your affairs," he -said. "I am obliged to ask you one or two plain questions. What is your -name?" - -A sudden trembling seized her. She supported herself against the foot -of the bed. Her whole future existence depended on her answer. She was -incapable of uttering a word. - -Ignatius Wetzel stood her friend for once. His croaking voice filled -the empty gap of silence exactly at the right time. He doggedly held the -handkerchief under her eyes. He obstinately repeated: "Mercy Merrick is -an English name. Is it not so?" - -Horace Holmcroft looked up from the table. "Mercy Merrick?" he said. -"Who is Mercy Merrick?" - -Surgeon Wetzel pointed to the corpse on the bed. - -"I have found the name on the handkerchief," he said. "This lady, -it seems, had not curiosity enough to look for the name of her own -countrywoman." He made that mocking allusion to Mercy with a tone which -was almost a tone of suspicion, and a look which was almost a look of -contempt. Her quick temper instantly resented the discourtesy of which -she had been made the object. The irritation of the moment--so often -do the most trifling motives determine the most serious human -actions--decided her on the course that she should pursue. She turned -her back scornfully on the rude old man, and left him in the delusion -that he had discovered the dead woman's name. - -Horace returned to the business of filling up the form. "Pardon me for -pressing the question," he said. "You know what German discipline is by -this time. What is your name?" - -She answered him recklessly, defiantly, without fairly realizing what -she was doing until it was done. - -"Grace Roseberry," she said. - -The words were hardly out of her mouth before she would have given -everything she possessed in the world to recall them. - -"Miss?" asked Horace, smiling. - -She could only answer him by bowing her head. - -He wrote: "Miss Grace Roseberry"--reflected for a moment--and then -added, interrogatively, "Returning to her friends in England?" Her -friends in England? Mercy's heart swelled: she silently replied by -another sign. He wrote the words after the name, and shook the sandbox -over the wet ink. "That will be enough," he said, rising and presenting -the pass to Mercy; "I will see you through the lines myself, and arrange -for your being sent on by the railway. Where is your luggage?" - -Mercy pointed toward the front door of the building. "In a shed outside -the cottage," she answered. "It is not much; I can do everything for -myself if the sentinel will let me pass through the kitchen." - -Horace pointed to the paper in her hand. "You can go where you like -now," he said. "Shall I wait for you here or outside?" - -Mercy glanced distrustfully at Ignatius Wetzel. He was again absorbed -in his endless examination of the body on the bed. If she left him alone -with Mr. Holmcroft, there was no knowing what the hateful old man might -not say of her. She answered: - -"Wait for me outside, if you please." - -The sentinel drew back with a military salute at the sight of the pass. -All the French prisoners had been removed; there were not more than -half-a-dozen Germans in the kitchen, and the greater part of them were -asleep. Mercy took Grace Roseberry's clothes from the corner in which -they had been left to dry, and made for the shed--a rough structure of -wood, built out from the cottage wall. At the front door she encountered -a second sentinel, and showed her pass for the second time. She spoke -to this man, asking him if he understood French. He answered that he -understood a little. Mercy gave him a piece of money, and said: "I am -going to pack up my luggage in the shed. Be kind enough to see that -nobody disturbs me." The sentinel saluted, in token that he understood. -Mercy disappeared in the dark interior of the shed. - -Left alone with Surgeon Wetzel, Horace noticed the strange old man still -bending intently over the English lady who had been killed by the shell. - -"Anything remarkable," he asked, "in the manner of that poor creature's -death?" - -"Nothing to put in a newspaper," retorted the cynic, pursuing his -investigations as attentively as ever. - -"Interesting to a doctor--eh?" said Horace. - -"Yes. Interesting to a doctor," was the gruff reply. - -Horace good-humoredly accepted the hint implied in those words. He -quitted the room by the door leading into the yard, and waited for the -charming Englishwoman, as he had been instructed, outside the cottage. - -Left by himself, Ignatius Wetzel, after a first cautious look all round -him, opened the upper part of Grace's dress, and laid his left hand on -her heart. Taking a little steel instrument from his waistcoat pocket -with the other hand, he applied it carefully to the wound, raised a -morsel of the broken and depressed bone of the skull, and waited for the -result. "Aha!" he cried, addressing with a terrible gayety the -senseless creature under his hands. "The Frenchman says you are dead, -my dear--does he? The Frenchman is a Quack! The Frenchman is an Ass!" -He lifted his head, and called into the kitchen. "Max!" A sleepy young -German, covered with a dresser's apron from his chin to his feet, drew -the curtain, and waited for his instructions. "Bring me my black bag," -said Ignatius Wetzel. Having given that order, he rubbed his hands -cheerfully, and shook himself like a dog. "Now I am quite happy," -croaked the terrible old man, with his fierce eyes leering sidelong -at the bed. "My dear, dead Englishwoman, I would not have missed this -meeting with you for all the money I have in the world. Ha! you infernal -French Quack, you call it death, do you? I call it suspended animation -from pressure on the brain!" - -Max appeared with the black bag. - -Ignatius Wetzel selected two fearful instruments, bright and new, and -hugged them to his bosom. "My little boys," he said, tenderly, as if -they were his children; "my blessed little boys, come to work!" He -turned to the assistant. "Do you remember the battle of Solferino, -Max--and the Austrian soldier I operated on for a wound on the head?" - -The assistant's sleepy eyes opened wide; he was evidently interested. "I -remember," he said. "I held the candle." - -The master led the way to the bed. - -"I am not satisfied with the result of that operation at Solferino," he -said; "I have wanted to try again ever since. It's true that I saved the -man's life, but I failed to give him back his reason along with it. It -might have been something wrong in the operation, or it might have been -something wrong in the man. Whichever it was, he will live and die mad. -Now look here, my little Max, at this dear young lady on the bed. She -gives me just what I wanted; here is the case at Solferino once more. -You shall hold the candle again, my good boy; stand there, and look with -all your eyes. I am going to try if I can save the life and the reason -too this time." - -He tucked up the cuffs of his coat and began the operation. As his -fearful instruments touched Grace's head, the voice of the sentinel at -the nearest outpost was heard, giving the word in German which permitted -Mercy to take the first step on her journey to England: - -"Pass the English lady!" - -The operation proceeded. The voice of the sentinel at the next post was -heard more faintly, in its turn: "Pass the English lady!" - -The operation ended. Ignatius Wetzel held up his hand for silence and -put his ear close to the patient's mouth. - -The first trembling breath of returning life fluttered over Grace -Roseberry's lips and touched the old man's wrinkled cheek. "Aha!" he -cried. "Good girl! you breathe--you live!" As he spoke, the voice of the -sentinel at the final limit of the German lines (barely audible in the -distance) gave the word for the last time: - -"Pass the English lady!" - - - - -SECOND SCENE.--Mablethorpe House. - -PREAMBLE. - -THE place is England. - -The time is winter, in the year eighteen hundred and seventy. - -The persons are, Julian Gray, Horace Holmcroft, Lady Janet Roy, Grace -Roseberry, and Mercy Merrick. - - - -CHAPTER VI. LADY JANET'S COMPANION. - -IT is a glorious winter's day. The sky is clear, the frost is hard, the -ice bears for skating. - -The dining-room of the ancient mansion called Mablethorpe House, -situated in the London suburb of Kensington, is famous among artists -and other persons of taste for the carved wood-work, of Italian origin, -which covers the walls on three sides. On the fourth side the march of -modern improvement has broken in, and has va ried and brightened the -scene by means of a conservatory, forming an entrance to the room -through a winter-garden of rare plants and flowers. On your right hand, -as you stand fronting the conservatory, the monotony of the paneled wall -is relieved by a quaintly patterned door of old inlaid wood, leading -into the library, and thence, across the great hall, to the other -reception-rooms of the house. A corresponding door on the left hand -gives access to the billiard-room, to the smoking-room next to it, -and to a smaller hall commanding one of the secondary entrances to the -building. On the left side also is the ample fireplace, surmounted by -its marble mantelpiece, carved in the profusely and confusedly ornate -style of eighty years since. To the educated eye the dining-room, with -its modern furniture and conservatory, its ancient walls and doors, -and its lofty mantelpiece (neither very old nor very new), presents a -startling, almost a revolutionary, mixture of the decorative workmanship -of widely differing schools. To the ignorant eye the one result -produced is an impression of perfect luxury and comfort, united in the -friendliest combination, and developed on the largest scale. - -The clock has just struck two. The table is spread for luncheon. - -The persons seated at the table are three in number. First, Lady Janet -Roy. Second, a young lady who is her reader and companion. Third, a -guest staying in the house, who has already appeared in these pages -under the name of Horace Holmcroft--attached to the German army as war -correspondent of an English newspaper. - -Lady Janet Roy needs but little introduction. Everybody with the -slightest pretension to experience in London society knows Lady Janet -Roy. - -Who has not heard of her old lace and her priceless rubies? Who has not -admired her commanding figure, her beautifully dressed white hair, her -wonderful black eyes, which still preserve their youthful brightness, -after first opening on the world seventy years since? Who has not felt -the charm of her frank, easily flowing talk, her inexhaustible spirits, -her good-humored, gracious sociability of manner? Where is the modern -hermit who is not familiarly acquainted, by hearsay at least, with -the fantastic novelty and humor of her opinions; with her generous -encouragement of rising merit of any sort, in all ranks, high or low; -with her charities, which know no distinction between abroad and at -home; with her large indulgence, which no ingratitude can discourage, -and no servility pervert? Everybody has heard of the popular old -lady--the childless widow of a long-forgotten lord. Everybody knows Lady -Janet Roy. - -But who knows the handsome young woman sitting on her right hand, -playing with her luncheon instead of eating it? Nobody really knows her. - -She is prettily dressed in gray poplin, trimmed with gray velvet, and -set off by a ribbon of deep red tied in a bow at the throat. She is -nearly as tall as Lady Janet herself, and possesses a grace and beauty -of figure not always seen in women who rise above the medium height. -Judging by a certain innate grandeur in the carriage of her head and in -the expression of her large melancholy gray eyes, believers in blood and -breeding will be apt to guess that this is another noble lady. Alas! she -is nothing but Lady Janet's companion and reader. Her head, crowned with -its lovely light brown hair, bends with a gentle respect when Lady Janet -speaks. Her fine firm hand is easily and incessantly watchful to supply -Lady Janet's slightest wants. The old lady--affectionately familiar -with her--speaks to her as she might speak to an adopted child. But the -gratitude of the beautiful companion has always the same restraint in -its acknowledgment of kindness; the smile of the beautiful companion -has always the same underlying sadness when it responds to Lady Janet's -hearty laugh. Is there something wrong here, under the surface? Is she -suffering in mind, or suffering in body? What is the matter with her? - -The matter with her is secret remorse. This delicate and beautiful -creature pines under the slow torment of constant self-reproach. - -To the mistress of the house, and to all who inhabit it or enter it, -she is known as Grace Roseberry, the orphan relative by marriage of Lady -Janet Roy. To herself alone she is known as the outcast of the London -streets; the inmate of the London Refuge; the lost woman who has stolen -her way back--after vainly trying to fight her way back--to Home and -Name. There she sits in the grim shadow of her own terrible secret, -disguised in another person's identity, and established in another -person's place. Mercy Merrick had only to dare, and to become Grace -Roseberry if she pleased. She has dared, and she has been Grace -Roseberry for nearly four months past. - -At this moment, while Lady Janet is talking to Horace Holmcroft, -something that has passed between them has set her thinking of the day -when she took the first fatal step which committed her to the fraud. - -How marvelously easy of accomplishment the act of personation had been! -At first sight Lady Janet had yielded to the fascination of the noble -and interesting face. No need to present the stolen letter; no need -to repeat the ready-made story. The old lady had put the letter aside -unopened, and had stopped the story at the first words. "Your face is -your introduction, my dear; your father can say nothing for you which -you have not already said for yourself." There was the welcome which -established her firmly in her false identity at the outset. Thanks -to her own experience, and thanks to the "Journal" of events at -Rome, questions about her life in Canada and questions about Colonel -Roseberry's illness found her ready with answers which (even if -suspicion had existed) would have disarmed suspicion on the spot. While -the true Grace was slowly and painfully winning her way back to life -on her bed in a German hospital, the false Grace was presented to -Lady Janet's friends as the relative by marriage of the Mistress of -Mablethorpe House. From that time forward nothing had happened to rouse -in her the faintest suspicion that Grace Roseberry was other than a -dead-and-buried woman. So far as she now knew--so far as any one now -knew--she might live out her life in perfect security (if her conscience -would let her), respected, distinguished, and beloved, in the position -which she had usurped. - - - -She rose abruptly from the table. The effort of her life was to shake -herself free of the remembrances which haunted her perpetually as they -were haunting her now. Her memory was her worst enemy; her one refuge -from it was in change of occupation and change of scene. - -"May I go into the conservatory, Lady Janet?" she asked. - -"Certainly, my dear." - -She bent her head to her protectress, looked for a moment with a steady, -compassionate attention at Horace Holmcroft, and, slowly crossing the -room, entered the winter-garden. The eyes of Horace followed her, as -long as she was in view, with a curious contradictory expression -of admiration and disapproval. When she had passed out of sight the -admiration vanished, but the disapproval remained. The face of the young -man contracted into a frown: he sat silent, with his fork in his hand, -playing absently with the fragments on his plate. - -"Take some French pie, Horace," said Lady Janet. - -"No, thank you." - -"Some more chicken, then?" - -"No more chicken." - -"Will nothing tempt you?" - -"I will take some more wine, if you will allow me." - -He filled his glass (for the fifth or sixth time) with claret, and -emptied it sullenly at a draught. Lady Janet's bright eyes watched him -with sardonic attention; Lady Janet's ready tongue spoke out as freely -as usual what was passing in her mind at the time. - -"The air of Kensington doesn't seem to suit you, my young friend," she -said. "The longer you have been my guest, the oftener you fill your -glass and empty your cigar-case. Those are bad signs in a young man. -When you first came here you arrived invalided by a wound. In your -place, I should not have exposed myself to be shot, with no other -object in view than describing a battle in a newspaper. I suppose tastes -differ. Are you ill? Does your wound still plague you?" - -"Not in the least." - -"Are you out of spirits?" - -Horace Holmcroft dropped his fork, rested his elbows on the table, and -answered: - -"Awfully." - -Even Lady Janet's large toleration had its limits. It embraced every -human offense except a breach of good manners. She snatched up the -nearest weapon of correction at hand--a tablespoon--and rapped her young -friend smartly with it on the arm that was nearest to her. - -"My table is not the club table," said the old lady. "Hold up your head. -Don't look at your fork--look at me. I allow nobody to be out of spirits -in My house. I consider it to be a reflection on Me. If our quiet life -here doesn't suit you, say so plainly, and find something else to do. -There is employment to be had, I suppose--if you choose to apply for it? -You needn't smile. I don't want to see your teeth--I want an answer." - -Horace admitted, with all needful gravity, that there was employment to -be had. The war between France and Germany, he remarked, was still going -on: the newspaper had offered to employ him again in the capacity of -correspondent. - -"Don't speak of the newspapers and the war!" cried Lady Janet, with a -sudden explosion of anger, which was genuine anger this time. "I detest -the newspapers! I won't allow the newspapers to enter this house. I lay -the whole blame of the blood shed between France and Germany at their -door." - -Horace's eyes opened wide in amazement. The old lady was evidently in -earnest. "What can you possibly mean?" he asked. "Are the newspapers -responsible for the war?" - -"Entirely responsible," answered Lady Janet. "Why, you don't understand -the age you live in! Does anybody do anything nowadays (fighting -included) without wishing to see it in the newspapers? _I_ subscribe -to a charity; _thou_ art presented with a testimonial; _he_ preaches a -sermon; _we_ suffer a grievance; _you_ make a discovery; _they_ go to -church and get married. And I, thou, he; we, you, they, all want one and -the same thing--we want to see it in the papers. Are kings, soldiers, -and diplomatists exceptions to the general rule of humanity? Not they! I -tell you seriously, if the newspapers of Europe had one and all decided -not to take the smallest notice in print of the war between France and -Germany, it is my firm conviction the war would have come to an end for -want of encouragement long since. Let the pen cease to advertise the -sword, and I, for one, can see the result. No report--no fighting." - -"Your views have the merit of perfect novelty, ma'am," said Horace. -"Would you object to see them in the newspapers?" - -Lady Janet worsted her young friend with his own weapons. - -"Don't I live in the latter part of the nineteenth century?" she asked. -"In the newspapers, did you say? In large type, Horace, if you love me!" - -Horace changed the subject. - -"You blame me for being out of spirits," he said; "and you seem to think -it is because I am tired of my pleasant life at Mablethorpe House. I am -not in the least tired, Lady Janet." He looked toward the conservatory: -the frown showed itself on his face once more. "The truth is," he -resumed, "I am not satisfied with Grace Roseberry." - -"What has Grace done?" - -"She persists in prolonging our engagement. Nothing will persuade her to -fix the day for our marriage." - -It was true! Mercy had been mad enough to listen to him, and to -love him. But Mercy was not vile enough to marry him under her false -character, and in her false name. Between three and four months had -elapsed since Horace had been sent home from the war, wounded, and -had found the beautiful Englishwoman whom he had befriended in France -established at Mablethorpe House. Invited to become Lady Janet's -guest (he had passed his holidays as a school-boy under Lady Janet's -roof)--free to spend the idle time of his convalescence from morning to -night in Mercy's society--the impression originally produced on him in -a French cottage soon strengthened into love. Before the month was out -Horace had declared himself, and had discovered that he spoke to willing -ears. From that moment it was only a question of persisting long -enough in the resolution to gain his point. The marriage engagement was -ratified--most reluctantly on the lady's side--and there the further -progress of Horace Holmcroft's suit came to an end. Try as he might, he -failed to persuade his betrothed wife to fix the day for the marriage. -There were no obstacles in her way. She had no near relations of her own -to consult. As a connection of Lady Janet's by marriage, Horace's mother -and sisters were ready to receive her with all the honors due to a new -member of the family. No pecuniary considerations made it necessary, in -this case, to wait for a favorable time. Horace was an only son; and he -had succeeded to his father's estate with an ample income to support -it. On both sides alike there was absolutely nothing to prevent the -two young people from being married as soon as the settlements could -be drawn. And yet, to all appearance, here was a long engagement -in prospect, with no better reason than the lady's incomprehensible -perversity to explain the delay. "Can you account for Grace's conduct?" -asked Lady Janet. Her manner changed as she put the question. She looked -and spoke like a person who was perplexed and annoyed. - -"I hardly like to own it," Horace answered, "but I am afraid she has -some motive for deferring our marriage which she cannot confide either -to you or to me." - -Lady Janet started. - -"What makes you think that?" she asked. - -"I have once or twice caught her in tears. Every now and then--sometimes -when she is talking quite gayly--she suddenly changes color and becomes -silent and depressed. Just now, when she left the table (didn't you -notice it?), she looked at me in the strangest way--almost as if she was -sorry for me. What do these things mean?" - -Horace's reply, instead of increasing Lady Janet's anxiety, seemed to -relieve it. He had observed nothing which she had not noticed herself. -"You foolish boy!" she said, "the meaning is plain enough. Grace has -been out of health for some time past. The doctor recommends change of -air. I shall take her away with me." - -"It would be more to the purpose," Horace rejoined, "if I took her away -with me. She might consent, if you would only use your influence. Is -it asking too much to ask you to persuade her? My mother and my sisters -have written to her, and have produced no effect. Do me the greatest of -all kindnesses--speak to her to-day!" He paused, and possessing himself -of Lady Janet's hand, pressed it entreatingly. "You have always been so -good to me," he said, softly, and pressed it again. - -The old lady looked at him. It was impossible to dispute that there were -attractions in Horace Holmcroft's face which made it well worth looking -at. Many a woman might have envied him his clear complexion, his -bright blue eyes, and the warm amber tint in his light Saxon hair. -Men--especially men skilled in observing physiognomy--might have noticed -in the shape of his forehead and in the line of his upper lip the signs -indicative of a moral nature deficient in largeness and breadth--of -a mind easily accessible to strong prejudices, and obstinate in -maintaining those prejudices in the face of conviction itself. - -To the observation of women these remote defects were too far below -the surface to be visible. He charmed the sex in general by his rare -personal advantages, and by the graceful deference of his manner. To -Lady Janet he was endeared, not by his own merits only, but by old -associations that were connected with him. His father had been one of -her many admirers in her young days. Circumstances had parted them. Her -marriage to another man had been a childless marriage. In past times, -when the boy Horace had come to her from school, she had cherished a -secret fancy (too absurd to be communicated to any living creature) that -he ought to have been _her_ son, and might have been her son, if she had -married his father! She smiled charmingly, old as she was--she yielded -as his mother might have yielded--when the young man took her hand and -entreated her to interest herself in his marriage. "Must I really speak -to Grace?" she asked, with a gentleness of tone and manner far from -characteristic, on ordinary occasions, of the lady of Mablethorpe House. -Horace saw that he had gained his point. He sprang to his feet; his eyes -turned eagerly in the direction of the conservatory; his handsome face -was radiant with hope. Lady Janet (with her mind full of his father) -stole a last look at him, sighed as she thought of the vanished days, -and recovered herself. - -"Go to the smoking-room," she said, giving him a push toward the door. -"Away with you, and cultivate the favorite vice of the nineteenth -century." Horace attempted to express his gratitude. "Go and smoke!" was -all she said, pushing him out. "Go and smoke!" - -Left by herself, Lady Janet took a turn in the room, and considered a -little. - -Horace's discontent was not unreasonable. There was really no excuse for -the delay of which he complained. Whether the young lady had a special -motive for hanging back, or whether she was merely fretting because she -did not know her own mind, it was, in either case, necessary to come to -a distinct understanding, sooner or later, on the serious question of -the marriage. The difficulty was, how to approach the subject without -giving offense. "I don't understand the young women of the present -generation," thought Lady Janet. "In my time, when we were fond of a -man, we were ready to marry him at a moment's notice. And this is an age -of progress! They ought to be readier still." - -Arriving, by her own process of induction, at this inevitable -conclusion, she decided to try what her influence could accomplish, and -to trust to the inspiration of the moment for exerting it in the right -way. "Grace!" she called out, approaching the conservatory door. -The tall, lithe figure in its gray dress glided into view, and stood -relieved against the green background of the winter-garden. - -"Did your ladyship call me?" - -"Yes; I want to speak to you. Come and sit down by me." - -With those words Lady Janet led the way to a sofa, and placed her -companion by her side. - - - -CHAPTER VII. THE MAN IS COMING. - -"You look very pale this morning, my child." - -Mercy sighed wearily. "I am not well," she answered. "The slightest -noises startle me. I feel tired if I only walk across the room." - -Lady Janet patted her kindly on the shoulder. "We must try what a change -will do for you. Which shall it be? the Continent or the sea-side?" - -"Your ladyship is too kind to me." - -"It is impossible to be too kind to you." - -Mercy started. The color flowed charmingly over her pale face. "Oh!" she -exclaimed, impulsively. "Say that again!" - -"Say it again?" repeated Lady Janet, with a look of surprise. - -"Yes! Don't think me presuming; only think me vain. I can't hear you say -too often that you have learned to like me. Is it really a pleasure to -you to have me in the house? Have I always behaved well since I have -been with you?" - -(The one excuse for the act of personation--if excuse there could -be--lay in the affirmative answer to those questions. It would be -something, surely, to say of the false Grace that the true Grace could -not have been worthier of her welcome, if the true Grace had been -received at Mablethorpe House!) - -Lady Janet was partly touched, partly amused, by the extraordinary -earnestness of the appeal that had been made to her. - -"Have you behaved well?" she repeated. "My dear, you talk as if you were -a child!" She laid her hand caressingly on Mercy's arm, and continued, -in a graver tone: "It is hardly too much to say, Grace, that I bless the -day when you first came to me. I do believe I could be hardly fonder of -you if you were my own daughter." - -Mercy suddenly turned her head aside, so as to hide her face. Lady -Janet, still touching her arm, felt it tremble. "What is the matter with -you?" she asked, in her abrupt, downright manner. - -"I am only very grateful to your ladyship--that is all." The words were -spoken faintly, in broken tones. The face was still averted from Lady -Janet's view. "What have I said to provoke this?" wondered the old lady. -"Is she in the melting mood to-day? If she is, now is the time to say -a word for Horace!" Keeping that excellent object in view, Lady Janet -approached the delicate topic with all needful caution at starting. - -"We have got on so well together," she resumed, "that it will not be -easy for either of us to feel reconciled to a change in our lives. At -my age, it will fall hardest on me. What shall I do, Grace, when the day -comes for parting with my adopted daughter?" - -Mercy started, and showed her face again. The traces of tears were in -her eyes. "Why should I leave you?" she asked, in a tone of alarm. - -"Surely you know!" exclaimed Lady Janet. - -"Indeed I don't. Tell me why." - -"Ask Horace to tell you." - -The last allusion was too plain to be misunderstood. Mercy's head -drooped. She began to tremble again. Lady Janet looked at her in blank -amazement. - -"Is there anything wrong between Horace and you?" she asked. - -"No." - -"You know your own heart, my dear child? You have surely not encouraged -Horace without loving him?" - -"Oh no!" - -"And yet--" - -For the first time in their experience of each other Mercy ventured to -interrupt her benefactress. "Dear Lady Janet," she interposed, gently, -"I am in no hurry to be married. There will be plenty of time in the -future to talk of that. You had something you wished to say to me. What -is it?" - -It was no easy matter to disconcert Lady Janet Roy. But that last -question fairly reduced her to silence. After all that had passed, -there sat her young companion, innocent of the faintest suspicion of the -subject that was to be discussed between them! "What are the young women -of the present time made of?" thought the old lady, utterly at a loss to -know what to say next. Mercy waited, on her side, with an impenetrable -patience which only aggravated the difficulties of the position. The -silence was fast threatening to bring the interview to a sudden and -untimely end, when the door from the library opened, and a man-servant, -bearing a little silver salver, entered the room. - -Lady Janet's rising sense of annoyance instantly seized on the servant -as a victim. "What do you want?" she asked, sharply. "I never rang for -you." - -"A letter, my lady. The messenger waits for an answer." - -The man presented his salver with the letter on it, and withdrew. - -Lady Janet recognized the handwriting on the address with a look -of surprise. "Excuse me, my dear," she said, pausing, with her -old-fashioned courtesy, before she opened the envelope. Mercy made the -necessary acknowledgment, and moved away to the other end of the room, -little thinking that the arrival of the letter marked a crisis in her -life. Lady Janet put on her spectacles. "Odd that he should have come -back already!" she said to herself, as she threw the empty envelope on -the table. - -The letter contained these lines, the writer of them being no other than -the man who had preached in the chapel of the Refuge: - -"DEAR AUNT--I am back again in London before my time. My friend the -rector has shortened his holiday, and has resumed his duties in the -country. I am afraid you will blame me when you hear of the reasons -which have hastened his return. The sooner I make my confession, the -easier I shall feel. Besides, I have a special object in wishing to see -you as soon as possible. May I follow my letter to Mablethorpe House? -And may I present a lady to you--a perfect stranger--in whom I am -interested? Pray say Yes, by the bearer, and oblige your affectionate -nephew, - -"JULIAN GRAY." - - -Lady Janet referred again suspiciously to the sentence in the letter -which alluded to the "lady." - -Julian Gray was her only surviving nephew, the son of a favorite sister -whom she had lost. He would have held no very exalted position in the -estimation of his aunt--who regarded his views in politics and religion -with the strongest aversion--but for his marked resemblance to his -mother. This pleaded for him with the old lady, aided as it was by the -pride that she secretly felt in the early celebrity which the young -clergyman had achieved as a writer and a preacher. Thanks to these -mitigating circumstances, and to Julian's inexhaustible good-humor, the -aunt and the nephew generally met on friendly terms. Apart from what -she called "his detestable opinions," Lady Janet was sufficiently -interested in Julian to feel some curiosity about the mysterious "lady" -mentioned in the letter. Had he determined to settle in life? Was his -choice already made? And if so, would it prove to be a choice acceptable -to the family? Lady Janet's bright face showed signs of doubt as she -asked herself that last question. Julian's liberal views were capable of -leading him to dangerous extremes. His aunt shook her head ominously as -she rose from the sofa and advanced to the library door. - -"Grace," she said, pausing and turning round, "I have a note to write to -my nephew. I shall be back directly." - -Mercy approached her, from the opposite extremity of the room, with an -exclamation of surprise. - -"Your nephew?" she repeated. "Your ladyship never told me you had a -nephew." - -Lady Janet laughed. "I must have had it on the tip of my tongue to tell -you, over and over again," she said. "But we have had so many things to -talk about--and, to own the truth, my nephew is not one of my favorite -subjects of conversation. I don't mean that I dislike him; I detest -his principles, my dear, that's all. However, you shall form your own -opinion of him; he is coming to see me to-day. Wait here till I return; -I have something more to say about Horace." - -Mercy opened the library door for her, closed it again, and walked -slowly to and fro alone in the room, thinking. - -Was her mind running on Lady Janet's nephew? No. Lady Janet's brief -allusion to her relative had not led her into alluding to him by his -name. Mercy was still as ignorant as ever that the preacher at the -Refuge and the nephew of her benefactress were one and the same man. Her -memory was busy now with the tribute which Lady Janet had paid to her at -the outset of the interview between them: "It is hardly too much to say, -Grace, that I bless the day when you first came to me." For the moment -there was balm for her wounded spirit in the remembrance of those words. -Grace Roseberry herself could surely have earned no sweeter praise than -the praise that she had won. The next instant she was seized with a -sudden horror of her own successful fraud. The sense of her degradation -had never been so bitterly present to her as at that moment. If she -could only confess the truth--if she could innocently enjoy her harmless -life at Mablethorpe House--what a grateful, happy woman she might be! -Was it possible (if she made the confession) to trust to her own good -conduct to plead her excuse? No! Her calmer sense warned her that it -was hopeless. The place she had won--honestly won--in Lady Janet's -estimation had been obtained by a trick. Nothing could alter, nothing -could excuse, _that_. She took out her handkerchief and dashed away -the useless tears that had gathered in her eyes, and tried to turn her -thoughts some other way. What was it Lady Janet had said on going into -the library? She had said she was coming back to speak about Horace. -Mercy guessed what the object was; she knew but too well what Horace -wanted of her. How was she to meet the emergency? In the name of Heaven, -what was to be done? Could she let the man who loved her--the man whom -she loved--drift blindfold into marriage with such a woman as she had -been? No! it was her duty to warn him. How? Could she break his heart, -could she lay his life waste by speaking the cruel words which might -part them forever? "I can't tell him! I won't tell him!" she burst -out, passionately. "The disgrace of it would kill me!" Her varying mood -changed as the words escaped her. A reckless defiance of her own better -nature--that saddest of all the forms in which a woman's misery can -express itself--filled her heart with its poisoning bitterness. She sat -down again on the sofa with eyes that glittered and cheeks suffused with -an angry red. "I am no worse than another woman!" she thought. "Another -woman might have married him for his money." The next moment the -miserable insufficiency of her own excuse for deceiving him showed its -hollowness, self-exposed. She covered her face with her hands, and -found refuge--where she had often found refuge before--in the helpless -resignation of despair. "Oh, that I had died before I entered this -house! Oh, that I could die and have done with it at this moment!" So -the struggle had ended with her hundreds of times already. So it ended -now. - - - -The door leading into the billiard-room opened softly. Horace Holmcroft -had waited to hear the result of Lady Janet's interference in his favor -until he could wait no longer. - -He looked in cautiously, ready to withdraw again unnoticed if the two -were still talking together. The absence of Lady Janet suggested that -the interview had come to an end. Was his betrothed wife waiting alone -to speak to him on his return to the room? He advanced a few steps. -She never moved; she sat heedless, absorbed in her thoughts. Were they -thoughts of _him?_ He advanced a little nearer, and called to her. - -"Grace!" - -She sprang to her feet, with a faint cry. "I wish you wouldn't startle -me," she said, irritably, sinking back on the sofa. "Any sudden alarm -sets my heart beating as if it would choke me." - -Horace pleaded for pardon with a lover's humility. In her present state -of nervous irritation she was not to be appeased. She looked away from -him in silence. Entirely ignorant of the paroxysm of mental suffering -through which she had just passed, he seated himself by her side, and -asked her gently if she had seen Lady Janet. She made an affirmative -answer with an unreasonable impatience of tone and manner which would -have warned an older and more experienced man to give her time before -he spoke again. Horace was young, and weary of the suspense that he -had endured in the other room. He unwisely pressed her with another -question. - -"Has Lady Janet said anything to you--" - -She turned on him angrily before he could finish the sentence. "You have -tried to make her hurry me into marrying you," she burst out. "I see it -in your face!" - -Plain as the warning was this time, Horace still failed to interpret it -in the right way. "Don't be angry!" he said, good-humoredly. "Is it so -very inexcusable to ask Lady Janet to intercede for me? I have tried to -persuade you in vain. My mother and my sisters have pleaded for me, and -you turn a deaf ear--" - -She could endure it no longer. She stamped her foot on the door with -hysterical vehemence. "I am weary of hearing of your mother and your -sisters!" she broke in violently. "You talk of nothing else." - -It was just possible to make one more mistake in dealing with her--and -Horace made it. He took offense, on his side, and rose from the sofa. -His mother and sisters were high authorities in his estimation; they -variously represented his ideal of perfection in women. He withdrew -to the opposite extremity of the room, and administered the severest -reproof that he could think of on the spur of the moment. - -"It would be well, Grace, if you followed the example set you by -my mother and my sisters," he said. "_They_ are not in the habit of -speaking cruelly to those who love them." - -To all appearance the rebuke failed to produce the slightest effect. -She seemed to be as indifferent to it as if it had not reached her ears. -There was a spirit in her--a miserable spirit, born of her own bitter -experience--which rose in revolt against Horace's habitual glorification -of the ladies of his family. "It sickens me," she thought to herself, -"to hear of the virtues of women who have never been tempted! Where -is the merit of living reputably, when your life is one course of -prosperity and enjoyment? Has his mother known starvation? Have his -sisters been left forsaken in the street?" It hardened her heart--it -almost reconciled her to deceiving him--when he set his relatives up as -patterns for her. Would he never understand that women detested having -other women exhibited as examples to them? She looked round at him with -a sense of impatient wonder. He was sitting at the luncheon-table, with -his back turned on her, and his head resting on his hand. If he had -attempted to rejoin her, she would have repelled him; if he had spoken, -she would have met him with a sharp reply. He sat apart from her, -without uttering a word. In a man's hands silence is the most terrible -of all protests to the woman who loves him. Violence she can endure. -Words she is always ready to meet by words on her side. Silence conquers -her. After a moment's hesitation, Mercy left the sofa and advanced -submissively toward the table. She had offended him--and she alone -was in fault. How should he know it, poor fellow, when he innocently -mortified her? Step by step she drew closer and closer. He never looked -round; he never moved. She laid her hand timidly on his shoulder. -"Forgive me, Horace," she whispered in his ear. "I am suffering this -morning; I am not myself. I didn't mean what I said. Pray forgive me." -There was no resisting the caressing tenderness of voice and manner -which accompanied those words. He looked up; he took her hand. She bent -over him, and touched his forehead with her lips. "Am I forgiven?" she -asked. - -"Oh, my darling," he said, "if you only knew how I loved you!" - -"I do know it," she answered, gently, twining his hair round her finger, -and arranging it over his forehead where his hand had ruffled it. - -They were completely absorbed in each other, or they must, at that -moment, have heard the library door open at the other end of the room. - -Lady Janet had written the necessary reply to her nephew, and had -returned, faithful to her engagement, to plead the cause of Horace. The -first object that met her view was her client pleading, with conspicuous -success, for himself! "I am not wanted, evidently," thought the old -lady. She noiselessly closed the door again and left the lovers by -themselves. - -Horace returned, with unwise persistency, to the question of the -deferred marriage. At the first words that he spoke she drew back -directly--sadly, not angrily. - -"Don't press me to-day," she said; "I am not well to-day." - -He rose and looked at her anxiously. "May I speak about it to-morrow?" - -"Yes, to-morrow." She returned to the sofa, and changed the subject. -"What a time Lady Janet is away!" she said. "What can be keeping her so -long?" - -Horace did his best to appear interested in the question of Lady Janet's -prolonged absence. "What made her leave you?" he asked, standing at the -back of the sofa and leaning over her. - -"She went into the library to write a note to her nephew. By-the-by, who -is her nephew?" - -"Is it possible you don't know?" - -"Indeed, I don't." - -"You have heard of him, no doubt," said Horace. "Lady Janet's nephew -is a celebrated man." He paused, and stooping nearer to her, lifted a -love-lock that lay over her shoulder and pressed it to his lips. "Lady -Janet's nephew," he resumed, "is Julian Gray." - -She started off her seat, and looked round at him in blank, bewildered -terror, as if she doubted the evidence of her own senses. - -Horace was completely taken by surprise. "My dear Grace!" he exclaimed; -"what have I said or done to startle you this time?" - -She held up her hand for silence. "Lady Janet's nephew is Julian Gray," -she repeated; "and I only know it now!" - -Horace's perplexity increased. "My darling, now you do know it, what is -there to alarm you?" he asked. - -(There was enough to alarm the boldest woman living--in such a position, -and with such a temperament as hers. To her mind the personation of -Grace Roseberry had suddenly assumed a new aspect: the aspect of a -fatality. It had led her blindfold to the house in which she and the -preacher at the Refuge were to meet. He was coming--the man who had -reached her inmost heart, who had influenced her whole life! Was the day -of reckoning coming with him?) - -"Don't notice me," she said, faintly. "I have been ill all the morning. -You saw it yourself when you came in here; even the sound of your voice -alarmed me. I shall be better directly. I am afraid I startled you?" - -"My dear Grace, it almost looked as if you were terrified at the sound -of Julian's name! He is a public celebrity, I know; and I have seen -ladies start and stare at him when he entered a room. But _you_ looked -perfectly panic-stricken." - -She rallied her courage by a desperate effort; she laughed--a harsh, -uneasy laugh--and stopped him by putting her hand over his mouth. -"Absurd!" she said, lightly. "As if Mr. Julian Gray had anything to do -with my looks! I am better already. See for yourself!" She looked round -at him again with a ghastly gayety; and returned, with a desperate -assumption of indifference, to the subject of Lady Janet's nephew. "Of -course I have heard of him," she said. "Do you know that he is expected -here to-day? Don't stand there behind me--it's so hard to talk to you. -Come and sit down." - -He obeyed--but she had not quite satisfied him yet. His face had not -lost its expression of anxiety and surprise. She persisted in playing -her part, determined to set at rest in him any possible suspicion that -she had reasons of her own for being afraid of Julian Gray. "Tell me -about this famous man of yours," she said, putting her arm familiarly -through his arm. "What is he like?" - -The caressing action and the easy tone had their effect on Horace. His -face began to clear; he answered her lightly on his side. - -"Prepare yourself to meet the most unclerical of clergymen," he said. -"Julian is a lost sheep among the parsons, and a thorn in the side of -his bishop. Preaches, if they ask him, in Dissenters' chapels. Declines -to set up any pretensions to priestly authority and priestly power. Goes -about doing good on a plan of his own. Is quite resigned never to rise -to the high places in his profession. Says it's rising high enough for -_him_ to be the Archdeacon of the afflicted, the Dean of the hungry, and -the Bishop of the poor. With all his oddities, as good a fellow as ever -lived. Immensely popular with the women. They all go to him for advice. -I wish you would go, too." - -Mercy changed color. "What do you mean?" she asked, sharply. - -"Julian is famous for his powers of persuasion," said Horace, smiling. -"If _he_ spoke to you, Grace, he would prevail on you to fix the day. -Suppose I ask Julian to plead for me?" - -He made the proposal in jest. Mercy's unquiet mind accepted it as -addressed to her in earnest. "He will do it," she thought, with a sense -of indescribable terror, "if I don't stop him!" There is but one chance -for her. The only certain way to prevent Horace from appealing to his -friend was to grant what Horace wished for before his friend entered the -house. She laid her hand on his shoulder; she hid the terrible anxieties -that were devouring her under an assumption of coquetry painful and -pitiable to see. - -"Don't talk nonsense!" she said, gayly. "What were we saying just -now--before we began to speak of Mr. Julian Gray?" - -"We were wondering what had become of Lady Janet," Horace replied. - -She tapped him impatiently on the shoulder. "No! no! It was something -you said before that." - -Her eyes completed what her words had left unsaid. Horace's arm stole -round her waist. - -"I was saying that I loved you," he answered, in a whisper. - -"Only that?" - -"Are you tired of hearing it?" - -She smiled charmingly. "Are you so very much in earnest about--about--" -She stopped, and looked away from him. - -"About our marriage?" - -"Yes." - -"It is the one dearest wish of my life." - -"Really?" - -"Really." - -There was a pause. Mercy's fingers toyed nervously with the trinkets at -her watch-chain. "When would you like it to be?" she said, very softly, -with her whole attention fixed on the watch-chain. - -She had never spoken, she had never looked, as she spoke and looked now. -Horace was afraid to believe in his own good fortune. "Oh, Grace!" he -exclaimed, "you are not trifling with me?" - -"What makes you think I am trifling with you?" - -Horace was innocent enough to answer her seriously. "You would not even -let me speak of our marriage just now," he said. - -"Never mind what I did just now," she retorted, petulantly. "They say -women are changeable. It is one of the defects of the sex." - -"Heaven be praised for the defects of the sex!" cried Horace, with -devout sincerity. "Do you really leave me to decide?" - -"If you insist on it." - -Horace considered for a moment--the subject being the law of marriage. -"We may be married by license in a fortnight," he said. "I fix this day -fortnight." - -She held up her hands in protest. - -"Why not? My lawyer is ready. There are no preparations to make. You -said when you accepted me that it was to be a private marriage." - -Mercy was obliged to own that she had certainly said that. - -"We might be married at once--if the law would only let us. This day -fortnight! Say--Yes!" He drew her closer to him. There was a pause. The -mask of coquetry--badly worn from the first--dropped from her. Her -sad gray eyes rested compassionately on his eager face. "Don't look so -serious!" he said. "Only one little word, Grace! Only Yes." - -She sighed, and said it. He kissed her passionately. It was only by a -resolute effort that she released herself. - -"Leave me!" she said, faintly. "Pray leave me by myself!" - -She was in earnest--strangely in earnest. She was trembling from head -to foot. Horace rose to leave her. "I will find Lady Janet," he said; "I -long to show the dear old lady that I have recovered my spirits, and to -tell her why." He turned round at the library door. "You won't go away? -You will let me see you again when you are more composed?" - -"I will wait here," said Mercy. - -Satisfied with that reply, he left the room. - -Her hands dropped on her lap; her head sank back wearily on the cushions -at the head of the sofa. There was a dazed sensation in her: her mind -felt stunned. She wondered vacantly whether she was awake or dreaming. -Had she really said the word which pledged her to marry Horace Holmcroft -in a fortnight? A fortnight! Something might happen in that time to -prevent it: she might find her way in a fortnight out of the terrible -position in which she stood. Anyway, come what might of it, she had -chosen the preferable alternative to a private interview with Julian -Gray. She raised herself from her recumbent position with a start, as -the idea of the interview--dismissed for the last few minutes--possessed -itself again of her mind. Her excited imagination figured Julian Gray -as present in the room at that moment, speaking to her as Horace had -proposed. She saw him seated close at her side--this man who had shaken -her to the soul when he was in the pulpit, and when she was listening to -him (unseen) at the other end of the chapel--she saw him close by her, -looking her searchingly in the face; seeing her shameful secret in -her eyes; hearing it in her voice; feeling it in her trembling hands; -forcing it out of her word by word, till she fell prostrate at his -feet with the confession of the fraud. Her head dropped again on the -cushions; she hid her face in horror of the scene which her excited -fancy had conjured up. Even now, when she had made that dreaded -interview needless, could she feel sure (meeting him only on the most -distant terms) of not betraying herself? She could _not_ feel sure. -Something in her shuddered and shrank at the bare idea of finding -herself in the same room with him. She felt it, she knew it: her guilty -conscience owned and feared its master in Julian Gray! - -The minutes passed. The violence of her agitation began to tell -physically on her weakened frame. - -She found herself crying silently without knowing why. A weight was -on her head, a weariness was in all her limbs. She sank lower on the -cushions--her eyes closed--the monotonous ticking of the clock on the -mantelpiece grew drowsily fainter and fainter on her ear. Little by -little she dropped into slumber--slumber so light that she started when -a morsel of coal fell into the grate, or when the birds chirped and -twittered in their aviary in the winter-garden. - -Lady Janet and Horace came in. She was faintly conscious of persons in -the room. After an interval she opened her eyes, and half rose to speak -to them. The room was empty again. They had stolen out softly and left -her to repose. Her eyes closed once more. She dropped back into slumber, -and from slumber, in the favoring warmth and quiet of the place, into -deep and dreamless sleep. - - - -CHAPTER VIII. THE MAN APPEARS. - -After an interval of rest Mercy was aroused by the shutting of a glass -door at the far end of the conservatory. This door, leading into the -garden, was used only by the inmates of the house, or by old friends -privileged to enter the reception-rooms by that way. Assuming that -either Horace or Lady Janet was returning to the dining-room, Mercy -raised herself a little on the' sofa and listened. - -The voice of one of the men-servants caught her ear. It was answered by -another voice, which instantly set her trembling in every limb. - -She started up, and listened again in speechless terror. Yes! there -was no mistaking it. The voice that was answering the servant was the -unforgotten voice which she had heard at the Refuge. The visitor who had -come in by the glass door was--Julian Gray! - -His rapid footsteps advanced nearer and nearer to the dining-room. She -recovered herself sufficiently to hurry to the library door. Her hand -shook so that she failed at first to open it. She had just succeeded -when she heard him again--speaking to her. - -"Pray don't run away! I am nothing very formidable. Only Lady Janet's -nephew--Julian Gray." - -She turned slowly, spell-bound by his voice, and confronted him in -silence. - -He was standing, hat in hand, at the entrance to the conservatory, -dressed in black, and wearing a white cravat, but with a studious -avoidance of anything specially clerical in the make and form of his -clothes. Young as he was, there were marks of care already on his face, -and the hair was prematurely thin and scanty over his forehead. His -slight, active figure was of no more than the middle height. His -complexion was pale. The lower part of his face, without beard or -whiskers, was in no way remarkable. An average observer would have -passed him by without notice but for his eyes. These alone made a marked -man of him. The unusual size of the orbits in which they were set was -enough of itself to attract attention; it gave a grandeur to his head, -which the head, broad and firm as it was, did not possess. As to the -eyes themselves, the soft, lustrous brightness of them defied analysis -No two people could agree about their color; divided opinion declaring -alternately that they were dark gray or black. Painters had tried to -reproduce them, and had given up the effort, in despair of seizing any -one expression in the bewildering variety of expressions which they -presented to view. They were eyes that could charm at one moment and -terrify at another; eyes that could set people laughing or crying almost -at will. In action and in repose they were irresistible alike. When they -first descried Mercy running to the door, they brightened gayly with -the merriment of a child. When she turned and faced him, they changed -instantly, softening and glowing as they mutely owned the interest and -the admiration which the first sight of her had roused in him. His tone -and manner altered at the same time. He addressed her with the deepest -respect when he spoke his next words. - -"Let me entreat you to favor me by resuming your seat," he said. "And -let me ask your pardon if I have thoughtlessly intruded on you." - -He paused, waiting for her reply before he advanced into the room. Still -spell-bound by his voice, she recovered self-control enough to bow to -him and to resume her place on the sofa. It was impossible to leave -him now. After looking at her for a moment, he entered the room without -speaking to her again. She was beginning to perplex as well as to -interest him. "No common sorrow," he thought, "has set its mark on that -woman's face; no common heart beats in that woman's breast. Who can she -be?" - -Mercy rallied her courage, and forced herself to speak to him. - -"Lady Janet is in the library, I believe," she said, timidly. "Shall I -tell her you are here?" - -"Don't disturb Lady Janet, and don't disturb yourself." With that answer -he approached the luncheon-table, delicately giving her time to feel -more at her ease. He took up what Horace had left of the bottle of -claret, and poured it into a glass. "My aunt's claret shall represent -my aunt for the present," he said, smiling, as he turned toward her once -more. "I have had a long walk, and I may venture to help myself in this -house without invitation. Is it useless to offer you anything?" - -Mercy made the necessary reply. She was beginning already, after her -remarkable experience of him, to wonder at his easy manners and his -light way of talking. - -He emptied his glass with the air of a man who thoroughly understood -and enjoyed good wine. "My aunt's claret is worthy of my aunt," he said, -with comic gravity, as he set down the glass. "Both are the genuine -products of Nature." He seated himself at the table and looked -critically at the different dishes left on it. One dish especially -attracted his attention. "What is this?" he went on. "A French pie! It -seems grossly unfair to taste French wine and to pass over French pie -without notice." He took up a knife and fork, and enjoyed the pie as -critically as he had enjoyed the wine. "Worthy of the Great Nation!" he -exclaimed, with enthusiasm. "_Vive la France!_" - -Mercy listened and looked, in inexpressible astonishment. He was utterly -unlike the picture which her fancy had drawn of him in everyday life. -Take off his white cravat, and nobody would have discovered that this -famous preacher was a clergyman! - -He helped himself to another plateful of the pie, and spoke more -directly to Mercy, alternately eating and talking as composedly and -pleasantly as if they had known each other for years. - -"I came here by way of Kensington Gardens," he said. "For some time past -I have been living in a flat, ugly, barren, agricultural district. You -can't think how pleasant I found the picture presented by the Gardens, -as a contrast. The ladies in their rich winter dresses, the smart -nursery maids, the lovely children, the ever moving crowd skating on the -ice of the Round Pond; it was all so exhilarating after what I have been -used to, that I actually caught myself whistling as I walked through the -brilliant scene! (In my time boys used always to whistle when they were -in good spirits, and I have not got over the habit yet.) Who do you -think I met when I was in full song?" - -As well as her amazement would let her, Mercy excused herself from -guessing. She had never in all her life before spoken to any living -being so confusedly and so unintelligently as she now spoke to Julian -Gray! - -He went on more gayly than ever, without appearing to notice the effect -that he had produced on her. - -"Whom did I meet," he repeated, "when I was in full song? My bishop! If -I had been whistling a sacred melody, his lordship might perhaps have -excused my vulgarity out of consideration for my music. Unfortunately, -the composition I was executing at the moment (I am one of the loudest -of living whistlers) was by Verdi--"La Donna e Mobile"--familiar, no -doubt, to his lordship on the street organs. He recognized the tune, -poor man, and when I took off my hat to him he looked the other way. -Strange, in a world that is bursting with sin and sorrow, to treat such -a trifle seriously as a cheerful clergyman whistling a tune!" He -pushed away his plate as he said the last words, and went on simply and -earnestly in an altered tone. "I have never been able," he said, "to -see why we should assert ourselves among other men as belonging to a -particular caste, and as being forbidden, in any harmless thing, to do -as other people do. The disciples of old set us no such example; they -were wiser and better than we are. I venture to say that one of the -worst obstacles in the way of our doing good among our fellow-creatures -is raised by the mere assumption of the clerical manner and the clerical -voice. For my part, I set up no claim to be more sacred and more -reverend than any other Christian man who does what good he can." He -glanced brightly at Mercy, looking at him in helpless perplexity. The -spirit of fun took possession of him again. "Are you a Radical?" he -asked, with a humorous twinkle in his large lustrous eyes. "I am!" - -Mercy tried hard to understand him, and tried in vain. Could this be the -preacher whose words had charmed, purified, ennobled her? Was this the -man whose sermon had drawn tears from women about her whom she knew to -be shameless and hardened in crime? Yes! The eyes that now rested on her -humorously were the beautiful eyes which had once looked into her soul. -The voice that had just addressed a jesting question to her was the deep -and mellow voice which had once thrilled her to the heart. In the pulpit -he was an angel of mercy; out of the pulpit he was a boy let loose from -school. - -"Don't let me startle you," he said, good-naturedly, noticing her -confusion. "Public opinion has called me by harder names than the name -of 'Radical.' I have been spending my time lately--as I told you just -now--in an agricultural district. My business there was to perform the -duty for the rector of the place, who wanted a holiday. How do you think -the experiment has ended? The Squire of the parish calls me a Communist; -the farmers denounce me as an Incendiary; my friend the rector has been -recalled in a hurry, and I have now the honor of speaking to you in the -character of a banished man who has made a respectable neighborhood too -hot to hold him." - -With that frank avowal he left the luncheon table, and took a chair near -Mercy. - -"You will naturally be anxious," he went on, "to know what my offense -was. Do you understand Political Economy and the Laws of Supply and -Demand?" - -Mercy owned that she did _not_ understand them. - -"No more do I--in a Christian country," he said. "That was my offense. -You shall hear my confession (just as my aunt will hear it) in two -words." He paused for a little while; his variable manner changed -again. Mercy, shyly looking at him, saw a new expression in his eyes--an -expression which recalled her first remembrance of him as nothing had -recalled it yet. "I had no idea," he resumed, "of what the life of a -farm-laborer really was, in some parts of England, until I undertook the -rector's duties. Never before had I seen such dire wretchedness as I saw -in the cottages. Never before had I met with such noble patience under -suffering as I found among the people. The martyrs of old could endure, -and die. I asked myself if they could endure, and _live_, like the -martyrs whom I saw round me?--live, week after week, month after month, -year after year, on the brink of starvation; live, and see their pining -children growing up round them, to work and want in their turn; live, -with the poor man's parish prison to look to as the end, when hunger and -labor have done their worst! Was God's beautiful earth made to hold such -misery as this? I can hardly think of it, I can hardly speak of it, even -now, with dry eyes!" - -His head sank on his breast. He waited--mastering his emotion before he -spoke again. Now, at last, she knew him once more. Now he was the man, -indeed, whom she had expected to see. Unconsciously she sat listening, -with her eyes fixed on his face, with his heart hanging on his words, -in the very attitude of the by-gone day when she had heard him for the -first time! - -"I did all I could to plead for the helpless ones," he resumed. "I went -round among the holders of the land to say a word for the tillers of the -land. 'These patient people don't want much' (I said); 'in the name of -Christ, give them enough to live on!' Political Economy shrieked at the -horrid proposal; the Laws of Supply and Demand veiled their majestic -faces in dismay. Starvation wages were the right wages, I was told. And -why? Because the laborer was obliged to accept them! I determined, so -far as one man could do it, that the laborer should _not_ be obliged to -accept them. I collected my own resources--I wrote to my friends--and -I removed some of the poor fellows to parts of England where their work -was better paid. Such was the conduct which made the neighborhood too -hot to hold me. So let it be! I mean to go on. I am known in London; I -can raise subscriptions. The vile Laws of Supply and Demand shall find -labor scarce in that agricultural district; and pitiless Political -Economy shall spend a few extra shillings on the poor, as certainly as I -am that Radical, Communist, and Incendiary--Julian Gray!" - -He rose--making a little gesture of apology for the warmth with which -he had spoken--and took a turn in the room. Fired by _his_ enthusiasm, -Mercy followed him. Her purse was in her hand, when he turned and faced -her. - -"Pray let me offer my little tribute--such as it is!" she said, eagerly. - -A momentary flush spread over his pale cheeks as he looked at the -beautiful compassionate face pleading with him. - -"No! no!" he said, smiling; "though I am a parson, I don't carry the -begging-box everywhere." Mercy attempted to press the purse on him. The -quaint humor began to twinkle again in his eyes as he abruptly drew back -from it. "Don't tempt me!" he said. "The frailest of all human creatures -is a clergyman tempted by a subscription." Mercy persisted, and -conquered; she made him prove the truth of his own profound observation -of clerical human nature by taking a piece of money from the purse. "If -I must take it--I must!" he remarked. "Thank you for setting the good -example! thank you for giving the timely help! What name shall I put -down on my list?" - -Mercy's eyes looked confusedly away from him. "No name," she said, in a -low voice. "My subscription is anonymous." - -As she replied, the library door opened. To her infinite relief--to -Julian's secret disappointment--Lady Janet Roy and Horace Holmcroft -entered the room together. - -"Julian!" exclaimed Lady Janet, holding up her hands in astonishment. - -He kissed his aunt on the cheek. "Your ladyship is looking charmingly." -He gave his hand to Horace. Horace took it, and passed on to Mercy. They -walked away together slowly to the other end of the room. Julian seized -on the chance which left him free to speak privately to his aunt. - -"I came in through the conservatory," he said. "And I found that young -lady in the room. Who is she?" - -"Are you very much interested in her?" asked Lady Janet, in her gravely -ironical way. - -Julian answered in one expressive word. "Indescribably!" - -Lady Janet called to Mercy to join her. - -"My dear," she said, "let me formally present my nephew to you. Julian, -this is Miss Grace Roseberry--" She suddenly checked herself. The -instant she pronounced the name, Julian started as if it was a surprise -to him. "What is it?" she asked, sharply. - -"Nothing," he answered, bowing to Mercy, with a marked absence of his -former ease of manner. She returned the courtesy a little restrainedly -on her side. She, too, had seen him start when Lady Janet mentioned the -name by which she was known. The start meant something. What could it -be? Why did he turn aside, after bowing to her, and address himself to -Horace, with an absent look in his face, as if his thoughts were far -away from his words? A complete change had come over him; and it dated -from the moment when his aunt had pronounced the name that was not _her_ -name---the name that she had stolen! - -Lady Janet claimed Julian's attention, and left Horace free to return to -Mercy. "Your room is ready for you," she said. "You will stay here, of -course?" Julian accepted the invitation---still with the air of a man -whose mind was preoccupied. Instead of looking at his aunt when he made -his reply, he looked round at Mercy with a troubled curiosity in his -face, very strange to see. Lady Janet tapped him impatiently on the -shoulder. "I expect people to look at me when people speak to me," she -said. "What are you staring at my adopted daughter for?" - -"Your adopted daughter?" Julian repeated--looking at his aunt this time, -and looking very earnestly. - -"Certainly! As Colonel Roseberry's daughter, she is connected with me by -marriage already. Did you think I had picked up a foundling?" - -Julian's face cleared; he looked relieved. "I had forgotten the -Colonel," he answered. "Of course the young lady is related to us, as -you say." - -"Charmed, I am sure, to have satisfied you that Grace is not an -impostor," said Lady Janet, with satirical humility. She took Julian's -arm and drew him out of hearing of Horace and Mercy. "About that letter -of yours?" she proceeded. "There is one line in it that rouses my -curiosity. Who is the mysterious 'lady' whom you wish to present to me?" - -Julian started, and changed color. - -"I can't tell you now," he said, in a whisper. - -"Why not?" - -To Lady Janet's unutterable astonishment, instead of replying, Julian -looked round at her adopted daughter once more. - -"What has _she_ got to do with it?" asked the old lady, out of all -patience with him. - -"It is impossible for me to tell you," he answered, gravely, "while Miss -Roseberry is in the room." - - - -CHAPTER IX. NEWS FROM MANNHEIM. - -LADY JANET'S curiosity was by this time thoroughly aroused. Summoned to -explain who the nameless lady mentioned in his letter could possibly be, -Julian had looked at her adopted daughter. Asked next to explain what -her adopted daughter had got to do with it, he had declared that he -could not answer while Miss Roseberry was in the room. - -What did he mean? Lady Janet determined to find out. - -"I hate all mysteries," she said to Julian. "And as for secrets, I -consider them to be one of the forms of ill-breeding. People in our rank -of life ought to be above whispering in corners. If you _must_ have your -mystery, I can offer you a corner in the library. Come with me." - -Julian followed his aunt very reluctantly. Whatever the mystery might -be, he was plainly embarrassed by being called upon to reveal it at a -moment's notice. Lady Janet settled herself in her chair, prepared to -question and cross-question her nephew, when an obstacle appeared at the -other end of the library, in the shape of a man-servant with a message. -One of Lady Janet's neighbors had called by appointment to take her to -the meeting of a certain committee which assembled that day. The servant -announced that the neighbor--an elderly lady--was then waiting in her -carriage at the door. - -Lady Janet's ready invention set the obstacle aside without a -moment's delay. She directed the servant to show her visitor into the -drawing-room, and to say that she was unexpectedly engaged, but that -Miss Roseberry would see the lady immediately. She then turned to -Julian, and said, with her most satirical emphasis of tone and manner: -"Would it be an additional convenience if Miss Roseberry was not only -out of the room before you disclose your secret, but out of the house?" - -Julian gravely answered: "It may possibly be quite as well if Miss -Roseberry is out of the house." - -Lady Janet led the way back to the dining-room. - -"My dear Grace," she said, "you looked flushed and feverish when I saw -you asleep on the sofa a little while since. It will do you no harm to -have a drive in the fresh air. Our friend has called to take me to the -committee meeting. I have sent to tell her that I am engaged--and I -shall be much obliged if you will go in my place." - -Mercy looked a little alarmed. "Does your ladyship mean the committee -meeting of the Samaritan Convalescent Home? The members, as I understand -it, are to decide to-day which of the plans for the new building they -are to adopt. I cannot surely presume to vote in your place?" - -"You can vote, my dear child, just as well as I can," replied the old -lady. "Architecture is one of the lost arts. You know nothing about it; -I know nothing about it; the architects themselves know nothing about -it. One plan is, no doubt, just as bad as the other. Vote, as I should -vote, with the majority. Or as poor dear Dr. Johnson said, 'Shout with -the loudest mob.' Away with you--and don't keep the committee waiting." - -Horace hastened to open the door for Mercy. - -"How long shall you be away?" he whispered, confidentially. "I had a -thousand things to say to you, and they have interrupted us." - -"I shall be back in an hour." - -"We shall have the room to ourselves by that time. Come here when you -return. You will find me waiting for you." - -Mercy pressed his hand significantly and went out. Lady Janet turned -to Julian, who had thus far remained in the background, still, to all -appearance, as unwilling as ever to enlighten his aunt. - -"Well?" she said. "What is tying your tongue now? Grace is out of the -room; why won't you begin? Is Horace in the way?" - -"Not in the least. I am only a little uneasy--" - -"Uneasy about what?" - -"I am afraid you have put that charming creature to some inconvenience -in sending her away just at this time." - -Horace looked up suddenly, with a flush on his face. - -"When you say 'that charming creature,'" he asked, sharply, "I suppose -you mean Miss Roseberry?" - -"Certainly," answered Julian. "Why not?" - -Lady Janet interposed. "Gently, Julian," she said. "Grace has only been -introduced to you hitherto in the character of my adopted daughter--" - -"And it seems to be high time," Horace added, haughtily, "that I should -present her next in the character of my engaged wife." - -Julian looked at Horace as if he could hardly credit the evidence of his -own ears. "Your wife!" he exclaimed, with an irrepressible outburst of -disappointment and surprise. - -"Yes. My wife," returned Horace. "We are to be married in a fortnight. -May I ask," he added, with angry humility, "if you disapprove of the -marriage?" - -Lady Janet interposed once more. "Nonsense, Horace," she said. "Julian -congratulates you, of course." - -Julian coldly and absently echoed the words. "Oh, yes! I congratulate -you, of course." - -Lady Janet returned to the main object of the interview. - -"Now we thoroughly understand one another," she said, "let us speak of a -lady who has dropped out of the conversation for the last minute or two. -I mean, Julian, the mysterious lady of your letter. We are alone, as you -desired. Lift the veil, my reverend nephew, which hides her from mortal -eyes! Blush, if you like--and can. Is she the future Mrs. Julian Gray?" - -"She is a perfect stranger to me," Julian answered, quietly. - -"A perfect stranger! You wrote me word you were interested in her." - -"I _am_ interested in her. And, what is more, you are interested in her, -too." - -Lady Janet's fingers drummed impatiently on the table. "Have I not -warned you, Julian, that I hate mysteries? Will you, or will you not, -explain yourself?" - -Before it was possible to answer, Horace rose from his chair. "Perhaps I -am in the way?" he said. - -Julian signed to him to sit down again. - -"I have already told Lady Janet that you are not in the way," he -answered. "I now tell you--as Miss Roseberry's future husband--that you, -too, have an interest in hearing what I have to say." - -Horace resumed his seat with an air of suspicious surprise. Julian -addressed himself to Lady Janet. - -"You have often heard me speak," he began, "of my old friend and -school-fellow, John Cressingham?" - -"Yes. The English consul at Mannheim?" - -"The same. When I returned from the country I found among my other -letters a long letter from the consul. I have brought it with me, and -I propose to read certain passages from it, which tell a very strange -story more plainly and more credibly than I can tell it in my own -words." - -"Will it be very long?" inquired Lady Janet, looking with some alarm at -the closely written sheets of paper which her nephew spread open before -him. - -Horace followed with a question on his side. - -"You are sure I am interested in it?" he asked. "The consul at Mannheim -is a total stranger to me." - -"I answer for it," replied Julian, gravely, "neither my aunt's patience -nor yours, Horace, will be thrown away if you will favor me by listening -attentively to what I am about to read." - -With those words he began his first extract from the consul's letter. - -* * * "'My memory is a bad one for dates. But full three months must -have passed since information was sent to me of an English patient, -received at the hospital here, whose case I, as English consul, might -feel an interest in investigating. - -"'I went the same day to the hospital, and was taken to the bedside. - -"'The patient was a woman--young, and (when in health), I should think, -very pretty. When I first saw her she looked, to my uninstructed eye, -like a dead woman. I noticed that her head had a bandage over it, and -I asked what was the nature of the injury that she had received. The -answer informed me that the poor creature had been present, nobody knew -why or wherefore, at a skirmish or night attack between the Germans -and the French, and that the injury to her head had been inflicted by a -fragment of a German shell.'" - -Horace--thus far leaning back carelessly in his chair--suddenly raised -himself and exclaimed, "Good heavens! can this be the woman I saw laid -out for dead in the French cottage?" - -"It is impossible for me to say," replied Julian. "Listen to the rest of -it. The consul's letter may answer your question." - -He went on with his reading: - -"'The wounded woman had been reported dead, and had been left by -the French in their retreat, at the time when the German forces took -possession of the enemy's position. She was found on a bed in a cottage -by the director of the German ambulance--" - -"Ignatius Wetzel?" cried Horace. - -"Ignatius Wetzel," repeated Julian, looking at the letter. - -"It _is_ the same!" said Horace. "Lady Janet, we are really interested -in this. You remember my telling you how I first met with Grace? And you -have heard more about it since, no doubt, from Grace herself?" - -"She has a horror of referring to that part of her journey home," -replied Lady Janet. "She mentioned her having been stopped on the -frontier, and her finding herself accidentally in the company of another -Englishwoman, a perfect stranger to her. I naturally asked questions on -my side, and was shocked to hear that she had seen the woman killed by -a German shell almost close at her side. Neither she nor I have had any -relish for returning to the subject since. You were quite right, Julian, -to avoid speaking of it while she was in the room. I understand it all -now. Grace, I suppose, mentioned my name to her fellow-traveler. The -woman is, no doubt, in want of assistance, and she applies to me through -you. I will help her; but she must not come here until I have prepared -Grace for seeing her again, a living woman. For the present there is no -reason why they should meet." - -"I am not sure about that," said Julian, in low tones, without looking -up at his aunt. - -"What do you mean? Is the mystery not at an end yet?" - -"The mystery has not even begun yet. Let my friend the consul proceed." - -Julian returned for the second time to his extract from the letter: - -"'After a careful examination of the supposed corpse, the German surgeon -arrived at the conclusion that a case of suspended animation had (in the -hurry of the French retreat) been mistaken for a case of death. Feeling -a professional interest in the subject, he decided on putting his -opinion to the test. He operated on the patient with complete success. -After performing the operation he kept her for some days under his own -care, and then transferred her to the nearest hospital--the hospital at -Mannheim. He was obliged to return to his duties as army surgeon, and he -left his patient in the condition in which I saw her, insensible on -the bed. Neither he nor the hospital authorities knew anything whatever -about the woman. No papers were found on her. All the doctors could do, -when I asked them for information with a view to communicating with -her friends, was to show me her linen marked with her, name. I left the -hospital after taking down the name in my pocket-book. It was "Mercy -Merrick."'" - -Lady Janet produced _her_ pocket-book. "Let me take the name down too," -she said. "I never heard it before, and I might otherwise forget it. Go -on, Julian." - -Julian advanced to his second extract from the consul's letter: - -"'Under these circumstances, I could only wait to hear from the hospital -when the patient was sufficiently recovered to be able to speak to -me. Some weeks passed without my receiving any communication from the -doctors. On calling to make inquiries I was informed that fever had -set in, and that the poor creature's condition now alternated between -exhaustion and delirium. In her delirious moments the name of your aunt, -Lady Janet Roy, frequently escaped her. Otherwise her wanderings were -for the most part quite unintelligible to the people at her bedside. I -thought once or twice of writing to you, and of begging you to speak to -Lady Janet. But as the doctors informed me that the chances of life or -death were at this time almost equally balanced, I decided to wait until -time should determine whether it was necessary to trouble you or not.'" - -"You know best, Julian," said Lady Janet. "But I own I don't quite see -in what way I am interested in this part of the story." - -"Just what I was going to say," added Horace. "It is very sad, no doubt. -But what have _we_ to do with it?" - -"Let me read my third extract," Julian answered, "and you will see." - -He turned to the third extract, and read as follows: - -"'At last I received a message from the hospital informing me that Mercy -Merrick was out of danger, and that she was capable (though still very -weak) of answering any questions which I might think it desirable to -put to her. On reaching the hospital, I was requested, rather to my -surprise, to pay my first visit to the head physician in his private -room. "I think it right," said this gentleman, "to warn you, before you -see the patient, to be very careful how you speak to her, and not to -irritate her by showing any surprise or expressing any doubts if she -talks to you in an extravagant manner. We differ in opinion about her -here. Some of us (myself among the number) doubt whether the recovery -of her mind has accompanied the recovery of her bodily powers. Without -pronouncing her to be mad--she is perfectly gentle and harmless--we are -nevertheless of opinion that she is suffering under a species of insane -delusion. Bear in mind the caution which I have given you--and now -go and judge for yourself." I obeyed, in some little perplexity and -surprise. The sufferer, when I approached her bed, looked sadly weak and -worn; but, so far as I could judge, seemed to be in full possession of -herself. Her tone and manner were unquestionably the tone and manner of -a lady. After briefly introducing myself, I assured her that I should be -glad, both officially and personally, if I could be of any assistance -to her. In saying these trifling words I happened to address her by -the name I had seen marked on her clothes. The instant the words "Miss -Merrick" passed my lips a wild, vindictive expression appeared in her -eyes. She exclaimed angrily, "Don't call me by that hateful name! -It's not my name. All the people here persecute me by calling me Mercy -Merrick. And when I am angry with them they show me the clothes. Say -what I may, they persist in believing they are my clothes. Don't you -do the same, if you want to be friends with me." Remembering what the -physician had said to me, I made the necessary excuses and succeeded in -soothing her. Without reverting to the irritating topic of the name, -I merely inquired what her plans were, and assured her that she might -command my services if she required them. "Why do you want to know what -my plans are?" she asked, suspiciously. I reminded her in reply that -I held the position of English consul, and that my object was, if -possible, to be of some assistance to her. "You can be of the greatest -assistance to me," she said, eagerly. "Find Mercy Merrick!" I saw the -vindictive look come back into her eyes, and an angry flush rising on -her white cheeks. Abstaining from showing any surprise, I asked her who -Mercy Merrick was. "A vile woman, by her own confession," was the quick -reply. "How am I to find her?" I inquired next. "Look for a woman in a -black dress, with the Red Geneva Cross on her shoulder; she is a nurse -in the French ambulance." "What has she done?" "I have lost my papers; -I have lost my own clothes; Mercy Merrick has taken them." "How do you -know that Mercy Merrick has taken them?" "Nobody else could have taken -them--that's how I know it. Do you believe me or not?" She as beginning -to excite herself again; I assured her that I would at once send to make -inquiries after Mercy Merrick. She turned round contented on the pillow. -"There's a good man!" she said. "Come back and tell me when you have -caught her." Such was my first interview with the English patient at the -hospital at Mannheim. It is needless to say that I doubted the existence -of the absent person described as a nurse. However, it was possible -to make inquiries by applying to the surgeon, Ignatius Wetzel, whose -whereabouts was known to his friends in Mannheim. I wrote to him, and -received his answer in due time. After the night attack of the Germans -had made them masters of the French position, he had entered the cottage -occupied by the French ambulance. He had found the wounded Frenchmen -left behind, but had seen no such person in attendance on them as the -nurse in the black dress with the red cross on her shoulder. The only -living woman in the place was a young English lady, in a gray traveling -cloak, who had been stopped on the frontier, and who was forwarded on -her way home by the war correspondent of an English journal.'" - -"That was Grace," said Lady Janet. - -"And I was the war correspondent," added Horace. - -"A few words more," said Julian, "and you will understand my object in -claiming your attention." - -He returned to the letter for the last time, and concluded his extracts -from it as follows: - -"'Instead of attending at the hospital myself, I communicated by letter -the failure of my attempt to discover the missing nurse. For some little -time afterward I heard no more of the sick woman, whom I shall still -call Mercy Merrick. It was only yesterday that I received another -summons to visit the patient. She had by this time sufficiently -recovered to claim her discharge, and she had announced her intention of -returning forthwith to England. The head physician, feeling a sense of -responsibility, had sent for me. It was impossible to detain her on -the ground that she was not fit to be trusted by herself at large, in -consequence of the difference of opinion among the doctors on the case. -All that could be done was to give me due notice, and to leave the -matter in my hands. On seeing her for the second time, I found her -sullen and reserved. She openly attributed my inability to find the -nurse to want of zeal for her interests on my part. I had, on my side, -no authority whatever to detain her. I could only inquire whether she -had money enough to pay her traveling expenses. Her reply informed me -that the chaplain of the hospital had mentioned her forlorn situation in -the town, and that the English residents had subscribed a small sum -of money to enable her to return to her own country. Satisfied on this -head, I asked next if she had friends to go to in England. "I have one -friend," she answered, "who is a host in herself--Lady Janet Roy." You -may imagine my surprise when I heard this. I found it quite useless to -make any further inquiries as to how she came to know your aunt, whether -your aunt expected her, and so on. My questions evidently offended her; -they were received in sulky silence. Under these circumstances, -well knowing that I can trust implicitly to your humane sympathy for -misfortune, I have decided (after careful reflection) to insure the poor -creature's safety when she arrives in London by giving her a letter -to you. You will hear what she says, and you will be better able to -discover than I am whether she really has any claim on Lady Janet Roy. -One last word of information, which it may be necessary to add, and I -shall close this inordinately long letter. At my first interview with -her I abstained, as I have already told you, from irritating her by any -inquiries on the subject of her name. On this second occasion, however, -I decided on putting the question.'" - -As he read those last words, Julian became aware of a sudden movement on -the part of his aunt. Lady Janet had risen softly from her chair and had -passed behind him with the purpose of reading the consul's letter for -herself over her nephew's shoulder. Julian detected the action just in -time to frustrate Lady Janet's intention by placing his hand over the -last two lines of the letter. - -"What do you do that for?" inquired his aunt, sharply. - -"You are welcome, Lady Janet, to read the close of the letter for -yourself," Julian replied. "But before you do so I am anxious to prepare -you for a very great surprise. Compose yourself and let me read on -slowly, with your eye on me, until I uncover the last two words which -close my friend's letter." - -He read the end of the letter, as he had proposed, in these terms: - -"'I looked the woman straight in the face, and I said to her, "You have -denied that the name marked on the clothes which you wore when you came -here was your name. If you are not Mercy Merrick, who are you?" She -answered, instantly, "My name is ------"'" - -Julian removed his hand from the page. Lady Janet looked at the next two -words, and started back with a loud cry of astonishment, which brought -Horace instantly to his feet. - -"Tell me, one of you!" he cried. "What name did she give?" - -Julian told him. - -"GRACE ROSEBERRY." - - - -CHAPTER X. A COUNCIL OF THREE. - -FOR a moment Horace stood thunderstruck, looking in blank astonishment -at Lady Janet. His first words, as soon as he had recovered himself, -were addressed to Julian. "Is this a joke?" he asked, sternly. "If it -is, I for one don't see the humor of it." - -Julian pointed to the closely written pages of the consul's letter. "A -man writes in earnest," he said, "when he writes at such length as this. -The woman seriously gave the name of Grace Roseberry, and when she left -Mannheim she traveled to England for the express purpose of presenting -herself to Lady Janet Roy." He turned to his aunt. "You saw me start," -he went on, "when you first mentioned Miss Roseberry's name in my -hearing. Now you know why." He addressed himself once more to Horace. -"You heard me say that you, as Miss Roseberry's future husband, had an -interest in being present at my interview with Lady Janet. Now _you_ -know why." - -"The woman is plainly mad," said Lady Janet. "But it is certainly a -startling form of madness when one first hears of it. Of course we must -keep the matter, for the present at least, a secret from Grace." - -"There can be no doubt," Horace agreed, "that Grace must be kept in the -dark, in her present state of health. The servants had better be warned -beforehand, in case of this adventuress or madwoman, whichever she may -be, attempting to make her way into the house." - -"It shall be done immediately," said Lady Janet. "What surprises _me_ -Julian (ring the bell, if you please), is that you should describe -yourself in your letter as feeling an interest in this person." - -Julian answered--without ringing the bell. - -"I am more interested than ever," he said, "now I find that Miss -Roseberry herself is your guest at Mablethorpe House." - -"You were always perverse, Julian, as a child, in your likings and -dislikings," Lady Janet rejoined. "Why don't you ring the bell?" - -"For one good reason, my dear aunt. I don't wish to hear you tell your -servants to close the door on this friendless creature." - -Lady Janet cast a look at her nephew which plainly expressed that she -thought he had taken a liberty with her. - -"You don't expect me to see the woman?" she asked, in a tone of cold -surprise. - -"I hope you will not refuse to see her," Julian answered, quietly. "I -was out when she called. I must hear what she has to say--and I should -infinitely prefer hearing it in your presence. When I got your reply -to my letter, permitting me to present her to you, I wrote to her -immediately, appointing a meeting here." - -Lady Janet lifted her bright black eyes in mute expostulation to the -carved Cupids and wreaths on the dining-room ceiling. - -"When am I to have the honor of the lady's visit?" she inquired, with -ironical resignation. - -"To-day," answered her nephew, with impenetrable patience. - -"At what hour?" - -Julian composedly consulted his watch. "She is ten minutes after her -time," he said, and put his watch back in his pocket again. - -At the same moment the servant appeared, and advanced to Julian, -carrying a visiting card on his little silver tray. - -"A lady to see you, sir." - -Julian took the card, and, bowing, handed it to his aunt. - -"Here she is," he said, just as quietly as ever. - -Lady Janet looked at the card, and tossed it indignantly back to her -nephew. "Miss Roseberry!" she exclaimed. "Printed--actually printed on -her card! Julian, even MY patience has its limits. I refuse to see her!" - -The servant was still waiting--not like a human being who took an -interest in the proceedings, but (as became a perfectly bred footman) -like an article of furniture artfully constructed to come and go at -the word of command. Julian gave the word of command, addressing the -admirably constructed automaton by the name of "James." - -"Where is the lady now?" he asked. - -"In the breakfast-room, sir." - -"Leave her there, if you please, and wait outside within hearing of the -bell." - -The legs of the furniture-footman acted, and took him noiselessly out of -the room. Julian turned to his aunt. - -"Forgive me," he said, "for venturing to give the man his orders in your -presence. I am very anxious that you should not decide hastily. Surely -we ought to hear what this lady has to say?" - -Horace dissented widely from his friend's opinion. "It's an insult to -Grace," he broke out, warmly, "to hear what she has to say!" - -Lady Janet nodded her head in high approval. "I think so, too," said her -ladyship, crossing her handsome old hands resolutely on her lap. - -Julian applied himself to answering Horace first. - -"Pardon me," he said. "I have no intention of presuming to reflect on -Miss Roseberry, or of bringing her into the matter at all.--The consul's -letter," he went on, speaking to his aunt, "mentions, if you remember, -that the medical authorities of Mannheim were divided in opinion on -their patient's case. Some of them--the physician-in-chief being among -the number--believe that the recovery of her mind has not accompanied -the recovery of her body." - -"In other words," Lady Janet remarked, "a madwoman is in my house, and I -am expected to receive her!" - -"Don't let us exaggerate," said Julian, gently. "It can serve no good -interest, in this serious matter, to exaggerate anything. The consul -assures us, on the authority of the doctor, that she is perfectly gentle -and harmless. If she is really the victim of a mental delusion, the poor -creature is surely an object of compassion, and she ought to be placed -under proper care. Ask your own kind heart, my dear aunt, if it would -not be downright cruelty to turn this forlorn woman adrift in the world -without making some inquiry first." - -Lady Janet's inbred sense of justice admitted not over willingly--the -reasonableness as well as the humanity of the view expressed in those -words. "There is some truth in that, Julian," she said, shifting her -position uneasily in her chair, and looking at Horace. "Don't you think -so, too?" she added. - -"I can't say I do," answered Horace, in the positive tone of a man whose -obstinacy is proof against every form of appeal that can be addressed to -him. - -The patience of Julian was firm enough to be a match for the obstinacy -of Horace. "At any rate," he resumed, with undiminished good temper, "we -are all three equally interested in setting this matter at rest. I put -it to you, Lady Janet, if we are not favored, at this lucky moment, with -the very opportunity that we want? Miss Roseberry is not only out of the -room, but out of the house. If we let this chance slip, who can say what -awkward accident may not happen in the course of the next few days?" - -"Let the woman come in," cried Lady Janet, deciding headlong, with her -customary impatience of all delay. "At once, Julian--before Grace can -come back. Will you ring the bell this time?" - -This time Julian rang it. "May I give the man his orders?" he -respectfully inquired of his aunt. - -"Give him anything you like, and have done with it!" retorted the -irritable old lady, getting briskly on her feet, and taking a turn in -the room to compose herself. - -The servant withdrew, with orders to show the visitor in. - -Horace crossed the room at the same time--apparently with the intention -of leaving it by the door at the opposite end. - -"You are not going away?" exclaimed Lady Janet. - -"I see no use in my remaining here," replied Horace, not very -graciously. - -"In that case," retorted Lady Janet, "remain here because I wish it." - -"Certainly--if you wish it. Only remember," he added, more obstinately -than ever, "that I differ entirely from Julian's view. In my opinion the -woman has no claim on us." - -A passing movement of irritation escaped Julian for the first time. -"Don't be hard, Horace," he said, sharply. "All women have a claim on -us." - -They had unconsciously gathered together, in the heat of the little -debate, turning their backs on the library door. At the last words -of the reproof administered by Julian to Horace, their attention was -recalled to passing events by the slight noise produced by the opening -and closing of the door. With one accord the three turned and looked in -the direction from which the sounds had come. - - - -CHAPTER XI. THE DEAD ALIVE. - -JUST inside the door there appeared the figure of a small woman dressed -in plain and poor black garments. She silently lifted her black net veil -and disclosed a dull, pale, worn, weary face. The forehead was low -and broad; the eyes were unusually far apart; the lower features were -remarkably small and delicate. In health (as the consul at Mannheim had -remarked) this woman must have possessed, if not absolute beauty, -at least rare attractions peculiarly her own. As it was now, -suffering--sullen, silent, self-contained suffering--had marred its -beauty. Attention and even curiosity it might still rouse. Admiration or -interest it could excite no longer. - -The small, thin, black figure stood immovably inside the door. The dull, -worn, white face looked silently at the three persons in the room. - -The three persons in the room, on their side, stood for a moment without -moving, and looked silently at the stranger on the threshold. There was -something either in the woman herself, or in the sudden and stealthy -manner of her appearance in the room, which froze, as if with the touch -of an invisible cold hand, the sympathies of all three. Accustomed to -the world, habitually at their ease in every social emergency, they -were now silenced for the first time in their lives by the first serious -sense of embarrassment which they had felt since they were children in -the presence of a stranger. - -Had the appearance of the true Grace Roseberry aroused in their minds a -suspicion of the woman who had stolen her name, and taken her place in -the house? - -Not so much as the shadow of a suspicion of Mercy was at the bottom of -the strange sense of uneasiness which had now deprived them alike of -their habitual courtesy and their habitual presence of mind. It was as -practically impossible for any one of the three to doubt the identity of -the adopted daughter of the house as it would be for you who read these -lines to doubt the identity of the nearest and dearest relative you have -in the world. Circumstances had fortified Mercy behind the strongest of -all natural rights--the right of first possession. Circumstances had -armed her with the most irresistible of all natural forces--the force -of previous association and previous habit. Not by so much as a -hair-breadth was the position of the false Grace Roseberry shaken by -the first appearance of the true Grace Roseberry within the doors of -Mablethorpe House. Lady Janet felt suddenly repelled, without knowing -why. Julian and Horace felt suddenly repelled, without knowing why. -Asked to describe their own sensations at the moment, they would have -shaken their heads in despair, and would have answered in those words. -The vague presentiment of some misfortune to come had entered the room -with the entrance of the woman in black. But it moved invisibly; and it -spoke as all presentiments speak, in the Unknown Tongue. - -A moment passed. The crackling of the fire and the ticking of the clock -were the only sounds audible in the room. - -The voice of the visitor--hard, clear, and quiet--was the first voice -that broke the silence. - -"Mr. Julian Gray?" she said, looking interrogatively from one of the two -gentlemen to the other. - -Julian advanced a few steps, instantly recovering his self-possession. -"I am sorry I was not at home," he said, "when you called with your -letter from the consul. Pray take a chair." - -By way of setting the example, Lady Janet seated herself at some little -distance, with Horace in attendance standing near. She bowed to the -stranger with studious politeness, but without uttering a word, before -she settled herself in her chair. "I am obliged to listen to this -person," thought the old lady. "But I am _not_ obliged to speak to her. -That is Julian's business--not mine. Don't stand, Horace! You fidget me. -Sit down." Armed beforehand in her policy of silence, Lady Janet folded -her handsome hands as usual, and waited for the proceedings to begin, -like a judge on the bench. - -"Will you take a chair?" Julian repeated, observing that the visitor -appeared neither to heed nor to hear his first words of welcome to her. - -At this second appeal she spoke to him. "Is that Lady Janet Roy?" she -asked, with her eyes fixed on the mistress of the house. - -Julian answered, and drew back to watch the result. - -The woman in the poor black garments changed her position for the first -time. She moved slowly across the room to the place at which Lady Janet -was sitting, and addressed her respectfully with perfect self-possession -of manner. Her whole demeanor, from the moment when she had appeared at -the door, had expressed--at once plainly and becomingly--confidence in -the reception that awaited her. - -"Almost the last words my father said to me on his death-bed," she -began, "were words, madam, which told me to expect protection and -kindness from you." - -It was not Lady Janet's business to speak. She listened with the -blandest attention. She waited with the most exasperating silence to -hear more. - -Grace Roseberry drew back a step--not intimidated--only mortified and -surprised. "Was my father wrong?" she asked, with a simple dignity -of tone and manner which forced Lady Janet to abandon her policy of -silence, in spite of herself. - -"Who was your father?" she asked, coldly. - -Grace Roseberry answered the question in a tone of stern surprise. - -"Has the servant not given you my card?" she said. "Don't you know my -name?" - -"Which of your names?" rejoined Lady Janet. - -"I don't understand your ladyship." - -"I will make myself understood. You asked me if I knew your name. I -ask you, in return, which name it is? The name on your card is 'Miss -Roseberry.' The name marked on your clothes, when you were in the -hospital, was 'Mercy Merrick.'" - -The self-possession which Grace had maintained from the moment when she -had entered the dining-room, seemed now, for the first time, to be on -the point of failing her. She turned, and looked appealingly at Julian, -who had thus far kept his place apart, listening attentively. - -"Surely," she said, "your friend, the consul, has told you in his letter -about the mark on the clothes?" - -Something of the girlish hesitation and timidity which had marked her -demeanor at her interview with Mercy in the French cottage re-appeared -in her tone and manner as she spoke those words. The changes--mostly -changes for the worse--wrought in her by the suffering through which she -had passed since that time were now (for the moment) effaced. All that -was left of the better and simpler side of her character asserted itself -in her brief appeal to Julian. She had hitherto repelled him. He began -to feel a certain compassionate interest in her now. - -"The consul has informed me of what you said to him," he answered, -kindly. "But, if you will take my advice, I recommend you to tell your -story to Lady Janet in your own words." - -Grace again addressed herself with submissive reluctance to Lady Janet. - -"The clothes your ladyship speaks of," she said, "were the clothes of -another woman. The rain was pouring when the soldiers detained me on the -frontier. I had been exposed for hours to the weather--I was wet to the -skin. The clothes marked 'Mercy Merrick' were the clothes lent to me by -Mercy Merrick herself while my own things were drying. I was struck -by the shell in those clothes. I was carried away insensible in those -clothes after the operation had been performed on me." - -Lady Janet listened to perfection--and did no more. She turned -confidentially to Horace, and said to him, in her gracefully ironical -way: "She is ready with her explanation." - -Horace answered in the same tone: "A great deal too ready." - -Grace looked from one of them to the other. A faint flush of color -showed itself in her face for the first time. - -"Am I to understand," she asked, with proud composure, "that you don't -believe me?" - -Lady Janet maintained her policy of silence. She waved one hand -courteously toward Julian, as if to say, "Address your inquiries to -the gentleman who introduces you." Julian, noticing the gesture, and -observing the rising color in Grace's cheeks, interfered directly in the -interests of peace - -"Lady Janet asked you a question just now," he said; "Lady Janet -inquired who your father was." - -"My father was the late Colonel Roseberry." - -Lady Janet made another confidential remark to Horace. "Her assurance -amazes me!" she exclaimed. - -Julian interposed before his aunt could add a word more. "Pray let us -hear her," he said, in a tone of entreaty which had something of the -imperative in it this time. He turned to Grace. "Have you any proof to -produce," he added, in his gentler voice, "which will satisfy us that -you are Colonel Roseberry's daughter?" - -Grace looked at him indignantly. "Proof!" she repeated. "Is my word not -enough?" - -Julian kept his temper perfectly. "Pardon me," he rejoined, "you forget -that you and Lady Janet meet now for the first time. Try to put yourself -in my aunt's place. How is she to know that you are the late Colonel -Roseberry's daughter?" - -Grace's head sunk on her breast; she dropped into the nearest chair. The -expression of her face changed instantly from anger to discouragement. -"Ah," she exclaimed, bitterly, "if I only had the letters that have been -stolen from me!" - -"Letters," asked Julian, "introducing you to Lady Janet?" - -"Yes." She turned suddenly to Lady Janet. "Let me tell you how I lost -them," she said, in the first tones of entreaty which had escaped her -yet. - -Lady Janet hesitated. It was not in her generous nature to resist the -appeal that had just been made to her. The sympathies of Horace were far -less easily reached. He lightly launched a new shaft of satire--intended -for the private amusement of Lady Janet. "Another explanation!" he -exclaimed, with a look of comic resignation. - -Julian overheard the words. His large lustrous eyes fixed themselves on -Horace with a look of unmeasured contempt. - -"The least you can do," he said, sternly, "is not to irritate her. It -is so easy to irritate her!" He addressed himself again to Grace, -endeavoring to help her through her difficulty in a new way. "Never mind -explaining yourself for the moment," he said. "In the absence of your -letters, have you any one in London who can speak to your identity?" - -Grace shook her head sadly. "I have no friends in London," she answered. - -It was impossible for Lady Janet--who had never in her life heard of -anybody without friends in London--to pass this over without notice. "No -friends in London!" she repeated, turning to Horace. - -Horace shot another shaft of light satire. "Of course not!" he rejoined. - -Grace saw them comparing notes. "My friends are in Canada," she broke -out, impetuously. "Plenty of friends who could speak for me, if I could -only bring them here." - -As a place of reference--mentioned in the capital city of -England--Canada, there is no denying it, is open to objection on the -ground of distance. Horace was ready with another shot. "Far enough off, -certainly," he said. - -"Far enough off, as you say," Lady Janet agreed. - -Once more Julian's inexhaustible kindness strove to obtain a hearing for -the stranger who had been confided to his care. "A little patience, Lady -Janet," he pleaded. "A little consideration, Horace, for a friendless -woman." - -"Thank you, sir," said Grace. "It is very kind of you to try and help -me, but it is useless. They won't even listen to me." She attempted to -rise from her chair as she pronounced the last words. Julian gently laid -his hand on her shoulder and obliged her to resume her seat. - -"_I_ will listen to you," he said. "You referred me just now to the -consul's letter. The consul tells me you suspected some one of taking -your papers and your clothes." - -"I don't suspect," was the quick reply; "I am certain! I tell you -positively Mercy Merrick was the thief. She was alone with me when I was -struck down by the shell. She was the only person who knew that I had -letters of introduction about me. She confessed to my face that she -had been a bad woman--she had been in a prison--she had come out of a -refuge--" - -Julian stopped her there with one plain question, which threw a doubt on -the whole story. - -"The consul tells me you asked him to search for Mercy Merrick," he -said. "Is it not true that he caused inquiries to be made, and that no -trace of any such person was to be heard of?" - -"The consul took no pains to find her," Grace answered, angrily. "He -was, like everybody else, in a conspiracy to neglect and misjudge me." - -Lady Janet and Horace exchanged looks. This time it was impossible for -Julian to blame them. The further the stranger's narrative advanced, the -less worthy of serious attention he felt it to be. The longer she spoke, -the more disadvantageously she challenged comparison with the absent -woman, whose name she so obstinately and so audaciously persisted in -assuming as her own. - -"Granting all that you have said," Julian resumed, with a last effort -of patience, "what use could Mercy Merrick make of your letters and your -clothes?" - -"What use?" repeated Grace, amazed at his not seeing the position as -she saw it. "My clothes were marked with my name. One of my papers was -a letter from my father, introducing me to Lady Janet. A woman out of a -refuge would be quite capable of presenting herself here in my place." - -Spoken entirely at random, spoken without so much as a fragment of -evidence to support them, those last words still had their effect. -They cast a reflection on Lady Janet's adopted daughter which was too -outrageous to be borne. Lady Janet rose instantly. "Give me your arm, -Horace," she said, turning to leave the room. "I have heard enough." - -Horace respectfully offered his arm. "Your ladyship is quite right," he -answered. "A more monstrous story never was invented." - -He spoke, in the warmth of his indignation, loud enough for Grace to -hear him. "What is there monstrous in it?" she asked, advancing a step -toward him, defiantly. - -Julian checked her. He too--though he had only once seen Mercy--felt -an angry sense of the insult offered to the beautiful creature who had -interested him at his first sight of her. "Silence!" he said, speaking -sternly to Grace for the first time. "You are offending--justly -offending--Lady Janet. You are talking worse than absurdly--you are -talking offensively--when you speak of another woman presenting herself -here in your place." - -Grace's blood was up. Stung by Julian's reproof, she turned on him a -look which was almost a look of fury. - -"Are you a clergyman? Are you an educated man?" she asked. "Have you -never read of cases of false personation, in newspapers and books? I -blindly confided in Mercy Merrick before I found out what her character -really was. She left the cottage--I know it, from the surgeon who -brought me to life again--firmly persuaded that the shell had killed me. -My papers and my clothes disappeared at the same time. Is there nothing -suspicious in these circumstances? There were people at the Hospital who -thought them highly suspicious--people who warned me that I might find -an impostor in my place." She suddenly paused. The rustling sound of -a silk dress had caught her ear. Lady Janet was leaving the room, with -Horace, by way of the conservatory. With a last desperate effort of -resolution, Grace sprung forward and placed herself in front of them. - -"One word, Lady Janet, before you turn your back on me," she said, -firmly. "One word, and I will be content. Has Colonel Roseberry's letter -found its way to this house or not? If it has, did a woman bring it to -you?" - -Lady Janet looked--as only a great lady can look, when a person of -inferior rank has presumed to fail in respect toward her. - -"You are surely not aware," she said, with icy composure, "that these -questions are an insult to Me?" - -"And worse than an insult," Horace added, warmly, "to Grace!" - -The little resolute black figure (still barring the way to the -conservatory) was suddenly shaken from head to foot. The woman's eyes -traveled backward and forward between Lady Janet and Horace with the -light of a new suspicion in them. - -"Grace!" she exclaimed. "What Grace? That's my name. Lady Janet, you -_have_ got the letter! The woman is here!" - -Lady Janet dropped Horace's arm, and retraced her steps to the place at -which her nephew was standing. - -"Julian," she said. "You force me, for the first time in my life, to -remind you of the respect that is due to me in my own house. Send that -woman away." - -Without waiting to be answered, she turned back again, and once more -took Horace's arm. - -"Stand back, if you please," she said, quietly, to Grace. - -Grace held her ground. - -"The woman is here!" she repeated. "Confront me with her--and then send -me away, if you like." - -Julian advanced, and firmly took her by the arm. "You forget what is due -to Lady Janet," he said, drawing her aside. "You forget what is due to -yourself." - -With a desperate effort, Grace broke away from him, and stopped Lady -Janet on the threshold of the conservatory door. - -"Justice!" she cried, shaking her clinched hand with hysterical frenzy -in the air. "I claim my right to meet that woman face to face! Where is -she? Confront me with her! Confront me with her!" - -While those wild words were pouring from her lips, the rumbling of -carriage wheels became audible on the drive in front of the house. -In the all-absorbing agitation of the moment, the sound of the wheels -(followed by the opening of the house door) passed unnoticed by the -persons in the dining-room. Horace's voice was still raised in angry -protest against the insult offered to Lady Janet; Lady Janet herself -(leaving him for the second time) was vehemently ringing the bell to -summon the servants; Julian had once more taken the infuriated woman by -the arms and was trying vainly to compose her--when the library door -was opened quietly by a young lady wearing a mantle and a bonnet. Mercy -Merrick (true to the appointment which she had made with Horace) entered -the room. - -The first eyes that discovered her presence on the scene were the eyes -of Grace Roseberry. Starting violently in Julian's grasp, she pointed -toward the library door. "Ah!" she cried, with a shriek of vindictive -delight. "There she is!" - -Mercy turned as the sound of the scream rang through the room, and -met--resting on her in savage triumph--the living gaze of the woman -whose identity she had stolen, whose body she had left laid out for -dead. On the instant of that terrible discovery--with her eyes fixed -helplessly on the fierce eyes that had found her--she dropped senseless -on the floor. - - - -CHAPTER XII. EXIT JULIAN. - -JULIAN happened to be standing nearest to Mercy. He was the first at her -side when she fell. - -In the cry of alarm which burst from him, as he raised her for a -moment in his arms, in the expression of his eyes when he looked at her -death-like face, there escaped the plain--too plain--confession of the -interest which he felt in her, of the admiration which she had aroused -in him. Horace detected it. There was the quick suspicion of jealousy in -the movement by which he joined Julian; there was the ready resentment -of jealousy in the tone in which he pronounced the words, "Leave her to -me." Julian resigned her in silence. A faint flush appeared on his pale -face as he drew back while Horace carried her to the sofa. His eyes sunk -to the ground; he seemed to be meditating self-reproachfully on the tone -in which his friend had spoken to him. After having been the first to -take an active part in meeting the calamity that had happened, he was -now, to all appearance, insensible to everything that was passing in the -room. - -A touch on his shoulder roused him. - -He turned and looked round. The woman who had done the mischief--the -stranger in the poor black garments--was standing behind him. She -pointed to the prostrate figure on the sofa, with a merciless smile. - -"You wanted a proof just now," she said. "There it is!" - -Horace heard her. He suddenly left the sofa and joined Julian. His face, -naturally ruddy, was pale with suppressed fury. - -"Take that wretch away!" he said. "Instantly! or I won't answer for what -I may do." - -Those words recalled Julian to himself. He looked round the room. Lady -Janet and the housekeeper were together, in attendance on the swooning -woman. The startled servants were congregated in the library doorway. -One of them offered to run to the nearest doctor; another asked if he -should fetch the police. Julian silenced them by a gesture, and turned -to Horace. "Compose yourself," he said. "Leave me to remove her quietly -from the house." He took Grace by the hand as he spoke. She hesitated, -and tried to release herself. Julian pointed to the group at the sofa, -and to the servants looking on. "You have made an enemy of every one in -this room," he said, "and you have not a friend in London. Do you wish -to make an enemy of _me?_ Her head drooped; she made no reply; she -waited, dumbly obedient to the firmer will than her own. Julian ordered -the servants crowding together in the doorway to withdraw. He followed -them into the library, leading Grace after him by the hand. Before -closing the door he paused, and looked back into the dining-room. - -"Is she recovering?" he asked, after a moment's hesitation. - -Lady Janet's voice answered him. "Not yet." - -"Shall I send for the nearest doctor?" - -Horace interposed. He declined to let Julian associate himself, even in -that indirect manner, with Mercy's recovery. - -"If the doctor is wanted," he said, "I will go for him myself." - -Julian closed the library door. He absently released Grace; he -mechanically pointed to a chair. She sat down in silent surprise, -following him with her eyes as he walked slowly to and fro in the room. - -For the moment his mind was far away from her, and from all that had -happened since her appearance in the house. It was impossible that a -man of his fineness of perception could mistake the meaning of Horace's -conduct toward him. He was questioning his own heart, on the subject of -Mercy, sternly and unreservedly as it was his habit to do. "After only -once seeing her," he thought, "has she produced such an impression on me -that Horace can discover it, before I have even suspected it myself? -Can the time have come already when I owe it to my friend to see her no -more?" He stopped irritably in his walk. As a man devoted to a serious -calling in life, there was something that wounded his self-respect in -the bare suspicion that he could be guilty of the purely sentimental -extravagance called "love at first sight." - -He had paused exactly opposite to the chair in which Grace was seated. -Weary of the silence, she seized the opportunity of speaking to him. - -"I have come here with you as you wished," she said. "Are you going to -help me? Am I to count on you as my friend?" - -He looked at her vacantly. It cost him an effort before he could give -her the attention that she had claimed. - -"You have been hard on me," Grace went on. "But you showed me some -kindness at first; you tried to make them give me a fair hearing. I ask -you, as a just man, do you doubt now that the woman on the sofa in -the next room is an impostor who has taken my place? Can there be any -plainer confession that she is Mercy Merrick than the confession she has -made? _You_ saw it; _they_ saw it. She fainted at the sight of me." - -Julian crossed the room--still without answering her--and rang the bell. -When the servant appeared, he told the man to fetch a cab. - -Grace rose from her chair. "What is the cab for?" she asked, sharply. - -"For you and for me," Julian replied. "I am going to take you back to -your lodgings." - -"I refuse to go. My place is in this house. Neither Lady Janet nor you -can get over the plain facts. All I asked was to be confronted with -her. And what did she do when she came into the room? She fainted at the -sight of me." - -Reiterating her one triumphant assertion, she fixed her eyes on Julian -with a look which said plainly: Answer that if you can. In mercy to her, -Julian answered it on the spot. - -"As far as I understand," he said, "you appear to take it for granted -that no innocent woman would have fainted on first seeing you. I have -something to tell you which will alter your opinion. On her arrival -in England this lady informed my aunt that she had met with you -accidentally on the French frontier, and that she had seen you (so far -as she knew) struck dead at her side by a shell. Remember that, and -recall what happened just now. Without a word to warn her of your -restoration to life, she finds herself suddenly face to face with you, -a living woman--and this at a time when it is easy for any one who looks -at her to see that she is in delicate health. What is there wonderful, -what is there unaccountable, in her fainting under such circumstances as -these?" - -The question was plainly put. Where was the answer to it? - -There was no answer to it. Mercy's wisely candid statement of the manner -in which she had first met with Grace, and of the accident which -had followed had served Mercy's purpose but too well. It was simply -impossible for persons acquainted with that statement to attach a guilty -meaning to the swoon. The false Grace Roseberry was still as far beyond -the reach of suspicion as ever, and the true Grace was quick enough to -see it. She sank into the chair from which she had risen; her hands fell -in hopeless despair on her lap. - -"Everything is against me," she said. "The truth itself turns liar, and -takes _her_ side." She paused, and rallied her sinking courage. "No!" -she cried, resolutely, "I won't submit to have my name and my place -taken from me by a vile adventuress! Say what you like, I insist on -exposing her; I won't leave the house!" - -The servant entered the room, and announced that the cab was at the -door. - -Grace turned to Julian with a defiant wave of her hand. "Don't let me -detain you," she said. "I see I have neither advice nor help to expect -from Mr. Julian Gray." - -Julian beckoned to the servant to follow him into a corner of the room. - -"Do you know if the doctor has been sent for?" he asked. - -"I believe not, sir. It is said in the servants' hall that the doctor is -not wanted." - -Julian was too anxious to be satisfied with a report from the servants' -hall. He hastily wrote on a slip of paper: "Has she recovered?" and gave -the note to the man, with directions to take it to Lady Janet. - -"Did you hear what I said?" Grace inquired, while the messenger was -absent in the dining room. - -"I will answer you directly," said Julian. - -The servant appeared again as he spoke, with some lines in pencil -written by Lady Janet on the back of Julian's note. "Thank God, we have -revived her. In a few minutes we hope to be able to take her to her -room." - -The nearest way to Mercy's room was through the library. Grace's -immediate removal had now become a necessity which was not to be trifled -with. Julian addressed himself to meeting the difficulty the instant he -was left alone with Grace. - -"Listen to me," he said. "The cab is waiting, and I have my last words -to say to you. You are now (thanks to the consul's recommendation) in my -care. Decide at once whether you will remain under my charge, or whether -you will transfer yourself to the charge of the police." - -Grace started. "What do you mean?" she asked, angrily. - -"If you wish to remain under my charge," Julian proceeded, "you will -accompany me at once to the cab. In that case I will undertake to give -you an opportunity of telling your story to my own lawyer. He will be a -fitter person to advise you than I am. Nothing will induce we to believe -that the lady whom you have accused has committed, or is capable of -committing, such a fraud as you charge her with. You will hear what -the lawyer thinks, if you come with me. If you refuse, I shall have no -choice but to send into the next room, and tell them that you are still -here. The result will be that you will find yourself in charge of the -police. Take which course you like: I will give you a minute to decide -in. And remember this--if I appear to express myself harshly, it is your -conduct which forces me to speak out. I mean kindly toward you; I am -advising you honestly for your good." - -He took out his watch to count the minute. - -Grace stole one furtive glance at his steady, resolute face. She was -perfectly unmoved by the manly consideration for her which Julian's last -words had expressed. All she understood was that he was not a man to be -trifled with. Future opportunities would offer themselves of returning -secretly to the house. She determined to yield--and deceive him. - -"I am ready to go," she said, rising with dogged submission. "Your turn -now," she muttered to herself, as she turned to the looking-glass to -arrange her shawl. "My turn will come." - -Julian advanced toward her, as if to offer her his arm, and checked -himself. Firmly persuaded as he was that her mind was deranged--readily -as he admitted that she claimed, in virtue of her affliction, every -indulgence that he could extend to her--there was something repellent -to him at that moment in the bare idea of touching her. The image of the -beautiful creature who was the object of her monstrous accusation--the -image of Mercy as she lay helpless for a moment in his arms--was vivid -in his mind while he opened the door that led into the hall, and drew -back to let Grace pass out before him. He left the servant to help her -into the cab. The man respectfully addressed him as he took his seat -opposite to Grace. - -"I am ordered to say that your room is ready, sir, and that her ladyship -expects you to dinner." - -Absorbed in the events which had followed his aunt's invitation, Julian -had forgotten his engagement to stay at Mablethorpe House. Could he -return, knowing his own heart as he now knew it? Could he honorably -remain, perhaps for weeks together, in Mercy's society, conscious as -he now was of the impression which she had produced on him? No. The -one honorable course that he could take was to find an excuse for -withdrawing from his engagement. "Beg her ladyship not to wait dinner -for me," he said. "I will write and make my apologies." The cab drove -off. The wondering servant waited on the doorstep, looking after it. "I -wouldn't stand in Mr. Julian's shoes for something," he thought, with -his mind running on the difficulties of the young clergyman's position. -"There she is along with him in the cab. What is he going to do with her -after that?" - -Julian himself, if it had been put to him at the moment, could not have -answered the question. - - ***** - -Lady Janet's anxiety was far from being relieved when Mercy had been -restored to her senses and conducted to her own room. - -Mercy's mind remained in a condition of unreasoning alarm, which it was -impossible to remove. Over and over again she was told that the woman -who had terrified her had left the house, and would never be permitted -to enter it more; over and over again she was assured that the -stranger's frantic assertions were regarded by everybody about her as -unworthy of a moment's serious attention. She persisted in doubting -whether they were telling her the truth. A shocking distrust of her -friends seemed to possess her. She shrunk when Lady Janet approached the -bedside. She shuddered when Lady Janet kissed her. She flatly refused to -let Horace see her. She asked the strangest questions about Julian Gray, -and shook her head suspiciously when they told her that he was absent -from the house. At intervals she hid her face in the bedclothes and -murmured to herself piteously, "Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?" -At other times her one petition was to be left alone. "I want nobody in -my room"--that was her sullen cry--"nobody in my room." - -The evening advanced, and brought with it no change for the better. Lady -Janet, by the advice of Horace, sent for her own medical adviser. - -The doctor shook his head. The symptoms, he said, indicated a serious -shock to the nervous system. He wrote a sedative prescription; and he -gave (with a happy choice of language) some sound and safe advice. It -amounted briefly to this: "Take her away, and try the sea-side." -Lady Janet's customary energy acted on the advice, without a moment's -needless delay. She gave the necessary directions for packing the trunks -overnight, and decided on leaving Mablethorpe House with Mercy the next -morning. - -Shortly after the doctor had taken his departure a letter from Julian, -addressed to Lady Janet, was delivered by private messenger. - -Beginning with the necessary apologies for the writer's absence, the -letter proceeded in these terms: - - -"Before I permitted my companion to see the lawyer, I felt the necessity -of consulting him as to my present position toward her first. - -"I told him--what I think it only right to repeat to you--that I do not -feel justified in acting on my own opinion that her mind is deranged. -In the case of this friendless woman I want medical authority, and, more -even than that, I want some positive proof, to satisfy my conscience as -well as to confirm my view. - -"Finding me obstinate on this point, the lawyer undertook to consult a -physician accustomed to the treatment of the insane, on my behalf. - -"After sending a message and receiving the answer, he said, 'Bring -the lady here--in half an hour; she shall tell her story to the doctor -instead of telling it to me.' The proposal rather staggered me; I asked -how it was possible to induce her to do that. He laughed, and answered, -'I shall present the doctor as my senior partner; my senior partner will -be the very man to advise her.' You know that I hate all deception, even -where the end in view appears to justify it. On this occasion, however, -there was no other alternative than to let the lawyer take his own -course, or to run the risk of a delay which might be followed by serious -results. - -"I waited in a room by myself (feeling very uneasy, I own) until the -doctor joined me, after the interview was over. - -"His opinion is, briefly, this: - -"After careful examination of the unfortunate creature, he thinks that -there are unmistakably symptoms of mental aberration. But how far the -mischief has gone, and whether her case is, or is not, sufficiently -grave to render actual restraint necessary, he cannot positively say, in -our present state of ignorance as to facts. - -"'Thus far,' he observed, 'we know nothing of that part of her delusion -which relates to Mercy Merrick. The solution of the difficulty, in this -case, is to be found there. I entirely agree with the lady that the -inquiries of the consul at Mannheim are far from being conclusive. -Furnish me with satisfactory evidence either that there is, or is not, -such a person really in existence as Mercy Merrick, and I will give you -a positive opinion on the case whenever you choose to ask for it.' - -"Those words have decided me on starting for the Continent and renewing -the search for Mercy Merrick. - -"My friend the lawyer wonders jocosely whether _I_ am in my right -senses. His advice is that I should apply to the nearest magistrate, and -relieve you and myself of all further trouble in that way. - -"Perhaps you agree with him? My dear aunt (as you have often said), I -do nothing like other people. I am interested in this case. I cannot -abandon a forlorn woman who has been confided to me to the tender -mercies of strangers, so long as there is any hope of my making -discoveries which may be instrumental in restoring her to -herself--perhaps, also, in restoring her to her friends. - -"I start by the mail-train of to-night. My plan is to go first to -Mannheim and consult with the consul and the hospital doctors; then to -find my way to the German surgeon and to question _him_; and, that done, -to make the last and hardest effort of all--the effort to trace the -French ambulance and to penetrate the mystery of Mercy Merrick. - -"Immediately on my return I will wait on you, and tell you what I have -accomplished, or how I have failed. - -"In the meanwhile, pray be under no alarm about the reappearance of this -unhappy woman at your house. She is fully occupied in writing (at my -suggestion) to her friends in Canada; and she is under the care of the -landlady at her lodgings--an experienced and trustworthy person, who -has satisfied the doctor as well as myself of her fitness for the charge -that she has undertaken. - -"Pray mention this to Miss Roseberry (whenever you think it desirable), -with the respectful expression of my sympathy, and of my best wishes for -her speedy restoration to health. And once more forgive me for failing, -under stress of necessity, to enjoy the hospitality of Mablethorpe -House." - - - -Lady Janet closed Julian's letter, feeling far from satisfied with it. -She sat for a while, pondering over what her nephew had written to her. - -"One of two things," thought the quick-witted old lady. "Either the -lawyer is right, and Julian is a fit companion for the madwoman whom he -has taken under his charge, or he has some second motive for this absurd -journey of his which he has carefully abstained from mentioning in his -letter. What can the motive be?" - -At intervals during the night that question recurred to her ladyship -again and again. The utmost exercise of her ingenuity failing to answer -it, her one resource left was to wait patiently for Julian's return, -and, in her own favorite phrase, to "have it out of him" then. - -The next morning Lady Janet and her adopted daughter left Mablethorpe -House for Brighton; Horace (who had begged to be allowed to accompany -them) being sentenced to remain in London by Mercy's express desire. -Why--nobody could guess; and Mercy refused to say. - - - -CHAPTER XIII. ENTER JULIAN. - -A WEEK has passed. The scene opens again in the dining-room at -Mablethorpe House. - -The hospitable table bears once more its burden of good things for -lunch. But on this occasion Lady Janet sits alone. Her attention is -divided between reading her newspaper and feeding her cat. The cat is -a sleek and splendid creature. He carries an erect tail. He rolls -luxuriously on the soft carpet. He approaches his mistress in a series -of coquettish curves. He smells with dainty hesitation at the choicest -morsels that can be offered to him. The musical monotony of his purring -falls soothingly on her ladyship's ear. She stops in the middle of a -leading article and looks with a careworn face at the happy cat. "Upon -my honor," cries Lady Janet, thinking, in her inveterately ironical -manner, of the cares that trouble her, "all things considered, Tom, I -wish I was You!" - -The cat starts--not at his mistress's complimentary apostrophe, but at -a knock at the door, which follows close upon it. Lady Janet says, -carelessly enough, "Come in;" looks round listlessly to see who it is; -and starts, like the cat, when the door opens and discloses--Julian -Gray! - -"You--or your ghost?" she exclaims. - -She has noticed already that Julian is paler than usual, and that -there is something in his manner at once uneasy and subdued--highly -uncharacteristic of him at other times. He takes a seat by her side, -and kisses her hand. But--for the first time in his aunt's experience -of him--he refuses the good things on the luncheon table, and he has -nothing to say to the cat! That neglected animal takes refuge on Lady -Janet's lap. Lady Janet, with her eyes fixed expectantly on her nephew -(determining to "have it out of him" at the first opportunity), waits -to hear what he has to say for himself. Julian has no alternative but to -break the silence, and tell his story as he best may. - - - -"I got back from the Continent last night," he began. "And I come here, -as I promised, to report myself on my return. How does your ladyship do? -How is Miss Roseberry?" - -Lady Janet laid an indicative finger on the lace pelerine which -ornamented the upper part of her dress. "Here is the old lady, well," -she answered--and pointed next to the room above them. "And there," -she added, "is the young lady, ill. Is anything the matter with _you_, -Julian?" - -"Perhaps I am a little tired after my journey. Never mind me. Is Miss -Roseberry still suffering from the shock?" - -"What else should she be suffering from? I will never forgive you, -Julian, for bringing that crazy impostor into my house." - -"My dear aunt, when I was the innocent means of bringing her here I had -no idea that such a person as Miss Roseberry was in existence. Nobody -laments what has happened more sincerely than I do. Have you had medical -advice?" - -"I took her to the sea-side a week since by medical advice." - -"Has the change of air don e her no good?" - -"None whatever. If anything, the change of air has made her worse. -Sometimes she sits for hours together, as pale as death, without looking -at anything, and without uttering a word. Sometimes she brightens up, -and seems as if she was eager to say something; and then Heaven only -knows why, checks herself suddenly as if she was afraid to speak. I -could support that. But what cuts me to the heart, Julian, is, that she -does not appear to trust me and to love me as she did. She seems to be -doubtful of me; she seems to be frightened of me. If I did not know that -it was simply impossible that such a thing could be, I should really -think she suspected me of believing what that wretch said of her. In one -word (and between ourselves), I begin to fear she will never get over -the fright which caused that fainting-fit. There is serious mischief -somewhere; and, try as I may to discover it, it is mischief beyond my -finding." - -"Can the doctor do nothing?" - -Lady Janet's bright black eyes answered before she replied in words, -with a look of supreme contempt. - -"The doctor!" she repeated, disdainfully. "I brought Grace back last -night in sheer despair, and I sent for the doctor this morning. He is at -the head of his profession; he is said to be making ten thousand a year; -and he knows no more about it than I do. I am quite serious. The great -physician has just gone away with two guineas in his pocket. One guinea, -for advising me to keep her quiet; another guinea for telling me to -trust to time. Do you wonder how he gets on at this rate? My dear boy, -they all get on in the same way. The medical profession thrives on two -incurable diseases in these modern days--a He-disease and a She-disease. -She-disease--nervous depression; He-disease--suppressed gout. Remedies, -one guinea, if _you_ go to the doctor; two guineas if the doctor goes -to _you_. I might have bought a new bonnet," cried her ladyship, -indignantly, "with the money I have given to that man! Let us change the -subject. I lose my temper when I think of it. Besides, I want to know -something. Why did you go abroad?" - -At that plain question Julian looked unaffectedly surprised. "I wrote to -explain," he said. "Have you not received my letter?" - -"Oh, I got your letter. It was long enough, in all conscience; and, long -as it was, it didn't tell me the one thing I wanted to know." - -"What is the 'one thing'?" - -Lady Janet's reply pointed--not too palpably at first--at that second -motive for Julian's journey which she had suspected Julian of concealing -from her. - -"I want to know," she said, "why you troubled yourself to make your -inquiries on the Continent _in person?_ You know where my old courier is -to be found. You have yourself pronounced him to be the most intelligent -and trustworthy of men. Answer me honestly--could you not have sent him -in your place?" - -"I _might_ have sent him," Julian admitted, a little reluctantly. - -"You might have sent the courier--and you were under an engagement to -stay here as my guest. Answer me honestly once more. Why did you go -away?" - -Julian hesitated. Lady Janet paused for his reply, with the air of -a women who was prepared to wait (if necessary) for the rest of the -afternoon. - -"I had a reason of my own for going," Julian said at last. - -"Yes?" rejoined Lady Janet, prepared to wait (if necessary) till the -next morning. - -"A reason," Julian resumed, "which I would rather not mention." - -"Oh!" said Lady Janet. "Another mystery--eh? And another woman at the -bottom of it, no doubt. Thank you--that will do--I am sufficiently -answered. No wonder, as a clergyman, that you look a little confused. -There is, perhaps, a certain grace, under the circumstances, in looking -confused. We will change the subject again. You stay here, of course, -now you have come back?" - -Once more the famous pulpit orator seemed to find himself in the -inconceivable predicament of not knowing what to say. Once more Lady -Janet looked resigned to wait (if necessary) until the middle of next -week. - -Julian took refuge in an answer worthy of the most commonplace man on -the face of the civilized earth. - -"I beg your ladyship to accept my thanks and my excuses," he said. - -Lady Janet's many-ringed fingers, mechanically stroking the cat in her -lap, began to stroke him the wrong way. - -Lady Janet's inexhaustible patience showed signs of failing her at last. - -"Mighty civil, I am sure," she said. "Make it complete. Say, Mr. Julian -Gray presents his compliments to Lady Janet Roy, and regrets that a -previous engagement--Julian!" exclaimed the old lady, suddenly pushing -the cat off her lap, and flinging her last pretense of good temper -to the winds--"Julian, I am not to be trifled with! There is but one -explanation of your conduct--you are evidently avoiding my house. Is -there somebody you dislike in it? Is it me?" - -Julian intimated by a gesture that his aunt's last question was absurd. -(The much-injured cat elevated his back, waved his tail slowly, walked -to the fireplace, and honored the rug by taking a seat on it.) - -Lady Janet persisted. "Is it Grace Roseberry?" she asked next. - -Even Julian's patience began to show signs of yielding. His manner -assumed a sudden decision, his voice rose a tone louder. - -"You insist on knowing?" he said. "It _is_ Miss Roseberry." - -"You don't like her?" cried Lady Janet, with a sudden burst of angry -surprise. - -Julian broke out, on his side: "If I see any more of her," he answered, -the rare color mounting passionately in his cheeks, "I shall be the -unhappiest man living. If I see any more of her, I shall be false to my -old friend, who is to marry her. Keep us apart. If you have any regard -for my peace of mind, keep us apart." - -Unutterable amazement expressed itself in his aunt's lifted hands. -Ungovernable curiosity uttered itself in his aunt's next words. - -"You don't mean to tell me you are in love with Grace?" - -Julian sprung restlessly to his feet, and disturbed the cat at the -fireplace. (The cat left the room.) - -"I don't know what to tell you," he said; "I can't realize it to myself. -No other woman has ever roused the feeling in me which this woman seems -to have called to life in an instant. In the hope of forgetting her I -broke my engagement here; I purposely seized the opportunity of making -those inquiries abroad. Quite useless. I think of her, morning, noon, -and night. I see her and hear her, at this moment, as plainly as I -see and hear you. She has made _her_self a part of _my_self. I don't -understand my life without her. My power of will seems to be gone. I -said to myself this morning, 'I will write to my aunt; I won't go back -to Mablethorpe House.' Here I am in Mablethorpe House, with a mean -subterfuge to justify me to my own conscience. 'I owe it to my aunt to -call on my aunt.' That is what I said to myself on the way here; and I -was secretly hoping every step of the way that she would come into the -room when I got here. I am hoping it now. And she is engaged to Horace -Holmcroft--to my oldest friend, to my best friend! Am I an infernal -rascal? or am I a weak fool? God knows--I don't. Keep my secret, aunt. -I am heartily ashamed of myself; I used to think I was made of better -stuff than this. Don't say a word to Horace. I must, and will, conquer -it. Let me go." - -He snatched up his hat. Lady Janet, rising with the activity of a young -woman, pursued him across the room, and stopped him at the door. - -"No," answered the resolute old lady, "I won't let you go. Come back -with me." - -As she said those words she noticed with a certain fond pride the -brilliant color mounting in his cheeks--the flashing brightness which -lent an added luster to his eyes. He had never, to her mind, looked so -handsome before. She took his arm, and led him to the chairs which they -had just left. It was shocking, it was wrong (she mentally admitted) to -look on Mercy, under the circumstances, with any other eye than the -eye of a brother or a friend. In a clergyman (perhaps) doubly shocking, -doubly wrong. But, with all her respect for the vested interests -of Horace, Lady Janet could not blame Julian. Worse still, she was -privately conscious that he had, somehow or other, risen, rather than -fallen, in her estimation within the last minute or two. Who could deny -that her adopted daughter was a charming creature? Who could wonder if a -man of refined tastes admired her? Upon the whole, her ladyship humanely -decided that her nephew was rather to be pitied than blamed. What -daughter of Eve (no matter whether she was seventeen or seventy) could -have honestly arrived at any other conclusion? Do what a man may--let -him commit anything he likes, from an error to a crime--so long as there -is a woman at the bottom of it, there is an inexhaustible fund of pardon -for him in every other woman's heart. "Sit down," said Lady Janet, -smiling in spite of herself; "and don't talk in that horrible way again. -A man, Julian--especially a famous man like you--ought to know how to -control himself." - -Julian burst out laughing bitterly. - -"Send upstairs for my self-control," he said. "It's in _her_ -possession--not in mine. Good morning, aunt." - -He rose from his chair. Lady Janet instantly pushed him back into it. - -"I insist on your staying here," she said, "if it is only for a few -minutes longer. I have something to say to you." - -"Does it refer to Miss Roseberry?" - -"It refers to the hateful woman who frightened Miss Roseberry. Now are -you satisfied?" - -Julian bowed, and settled himself in his chair. - -"I don't much like to acknowledge it," his aunt went on. "But I want you -to understand that I have something really serious to speak about, -for once in a way. Julian! that wretch not only frightens Grace--she -actually frightens me." - -"Frightens you? She is quite harmless, poor thing." - -"'Poor thing'!" repeated Lady Janet. "Did you say 'poor thing'?" - -"Yes." - -"Is it possible that you pity her?" - -"From the bottom of my heart." - -The old lady's temper gave way again at that reply. "I hate a man who -can't hate anybody!" she burst out. "If you had been an ancient Roman, -Julian, I believe you would have pitied Nero himself." - -Julian cordially agreed with her. "I believe I should," he said, -quietly. "All sinners, my dear aunt, are more or less miserable sinners. -Nero must have been one of the wretchedest of mankind." - -"Wretched!" exclaimed Lady Janet. "Nero wretched! A man who committed -robbery, arson and murder to his own violin accompaniment--_only_ -wretched! What next, I wonder? When modern philanthropy begins to -apologize for Nero, modern philanthropy has arrived at a pretty pass -indeed! We shall hear next that Bloody Queen Mary was as playful as -a kitten; and if poor dear Henry the Eighth carried anything to an -extreme, it was the practice of the domestic virtues. Ah, how I hate -cant! What were we talking about just now? You wander from the subject, -Julian; you are what I call bird-witted. I protest I forget what I -wanted to say to you. No, I won't be reminded of it. I may be an old -woman, but I am not in my dotage yet! Why do you sit there staring? Have -you nothing to say for yourself? Of all the people in the world, have -_you_ lost the use of your tongue?" - -Julian's excellent temper and accurate knowledge of his aunt's character -exactly fitted him to calm the rising storm. He contrived to lead Lady -Janet insensibly back to the lost subject by dexterous reference to -a narrative which he had thus far left untold--the narrative of his -adventures on the Continent. - -"I have a great deal to say, aunt," he replied. "I have not yet told you -of my discoveries abroad." - -Lady Janet instantly took the bait. - -"I knew there was something forgotten," she said. "You have been all -this time in the house, and you have told me nothing. Begin directly." - -Patient Julian began. - - - -CHAPTER XIV. COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. - -"I WENT first to Mannheim, Lady Janet, as I told you I should in my -letter, and I heard all that the consul and the hospital doctors could -tell me. No new fact of the slightest importance turned up. I got my -directions for finding the German surgeon, and I set forth to try what I -could make next of the man who performed the operation. On the question -of his patient's identity he had (as a perfect stranger to her) nothing -to tell me. On the question of her mental condition, however, he made a -very important statement. He owned to me that he had operated on another -person injured by a shell-wound on the head at the battle of Solferino, -and that the patient (recovering also in this case) recovered--mad. That -is a remarkable admission; don't you think so?" - -Lady Janet's temper had hardly been allowed time enough to subside to -its customary level. - -"Very remarkable, I dare say," she answered, "to people who feel any -doubt of this pitiable lady of yours being mad. I feel no doubt--and, -thus far, I find your account of yourself, Julian, tiresome in the -extreme. Go on to the end. Did you lay your hand on Mercy Merrick?" - -"No." - -"Did you hear anything of her?" - -"Nothing. Difficulties beset me on every side. The French ambulance -had shared in the disasters of France--it was broken up. The wounded -Frenchmen were prisoners somewhere in Germany, nobody knew where. -The French surgeon had been killed in action. His assistants were -scattered--most likely in hiding. I began to despair of making any -discovery, when accident threw in my way two Prussian soldiers who had -been in the French cottage. They confirmed what the German surgeon told -the consul, and what Horace himself told _me_--namely, that no nurse -in a black dress was to be seen in the place. If there had been such a -person, she would certainly (the Prussians inform me) have been found in -attendance on the injured Frenchmen. The cross of the Geneva Convention -would have been amply sufficient to protect her: no woman wearing that -badge of honor would have disgraced herself by abandoning the wounded -men before the Germans entered the place." - -"In short," interposed Lady Janet, "there is no such person as Mercy -Merrick." - -"I can draw no other conclusion," said Julian, "unless the English -doctor's idea is the right one. After hearing what I have just told you, -he thinks the woman herself is Mercy Merrick." - -Lady Janet held up her hand as a sign that she had an objection to make -here. - -"You and the doctor seem to have settled everything to your entire -satisfaction on both sides," she said. "But there is one difficulty that -you have neither of you accounted for yet." - -"What is it, aunt?" - -"You talk glibly enough, Julian, about this woman's mad assertion that -Grace is the missing nurse, and that she is Grace. But you have not -explained yet how the idea first got into her head; and, more than that, -how it is that she is acquainted with my name and address, and perfectly -familiar with Grace's papers and Grace's affairs. These things are a -puzzle to a person of my average intelligence. Can your clever friend, -the doctor, account for them?" - -"Shall I tell you what he said when I saw him this morning?" - -"Will it take long?" - -"It will take about a minute." - -"You agreeably surprise me. Go on." - -"You want to know how she gained her knowledge of your name and of Miss -Roseberry's affairs," Julian resumed. "The doctor says in one of two -ways. Either Miss Roseberry must have spoken of you and of her own -affairs while she and the stranger were together in the French cottage, -or the stranger must have obtained access privately to Miss Roseberry's -papers. Do you agree so far?" - -Lady Janet began to feel interested for the first time. - -"Perfectly," she said. "I have no doubt Grace rashly talked of matters -which an older and wiser person would have kept to herself." - -"Very good. Do you also agree that the last idea in the woman's mind -when she was struck by the shell might have been (quite probably) the -idea of Miss Roseberry's identity and Miss Roseberry's affairs? You -think it likely enough? Well, what happens after that? The wounded woman -is brought to life by an operation, and she becomes delirious in the -hospital at Mannheim. During her delirium the idea of Miss Roseberry's -identity ferments in her brain, and assumes its present perverted form. -In that form it still remains. As a necessary consequence, she persists -in reversing the two identities. She says she is Miss Roseberry, and -declares Miss Roseberry to be Mercy Merrick. There is the doctor 's -explanation. What do you think of it?" - -"Very ingenious, I dare say. The doctor doesn't quite satisfy me, -however, for all that. I think--" - -What Lady Janet thought was not destined to be expressed. She suddenly -checked herself, and held up her hand for the second time. - -"Another objection?" inquired Julian. - -"Hold your tongue!" cried the old lady. "If you say a word more I shall -lose it again." - -"Lose what, aunt?" - -"What I wanted to say to you ages ago. I have got it back again--it -begins with a question. (No more of the doctor--I have had enough of -him!) Where is she--_your_ pitiable lady, _my_ crazy wretch--where is -she now? Still in London?" - -"Yes." - -"And still at large?" - -"Still with the landlady, at her lodgings." - -"Very well. Now answer me this! What is to prevent her from making -another attempt to force her way (or steal her way) into my house? How -am I to protect Grace, how am I to protect myself, if she comes here -again?" - -"Is that really what you wished to speak to me about?" - -"That, and nothing else." - - - -They were both too deeply interested in the subject of their -conversation to look toward the conservatory, and to notice the -appearance at that moment of a distant gentleman among the plants and -flowers, who had made his way in from the garden outside. Advancing -noiselessly on the soft Indian matting, the gentleman ere long revealed -himself under the form and features of Horace Holmcroft. Before entering -the dining-room he paused, fixing his eyes inquisitively on the back -of Lady Janet's visitor--the back being all that he could see in the -position he then occupied. After a pause of an instant the visitor -spoke, and further uncertainty was at once at an end. Horace, -nevertheless, made no movement to enter the room. He had his own jealous -distrust of what Julian might be tempted to say at a private interview -with his aunt; and he waited a little longer on the chance that his -doubts might be verified. - -"Neither you nor Miss Roseberry need any protection from the poor -deluded creature," Julian went on. "I have gained great influence over -her--and I have satisfied her that it is useless to present herself here -again." - -"I beg your pardon," interposed Horace, speaking from the conservatory -door. "You have done nothing of the sort." - -(He had heard enough to satisfy him that the talk was not taking the -direction which his Suspicions had anticipated. And, as an additional -incentive to show himself, a happy chance had now offered him the -opportunity of putting Julian in the wrong.) - -"Good heavens, Horace!" exclaimed Lady Janet. "Where did you come from? -And what do you mean?" - -"I heard at the lodge that your ladyship and Grace had returned last -night. And I came in at once without troubling the servants, by the -shortest way." He turned to Julian next. "The woman you were speaking of -just now," he proceeded, "has been here again already--in Lady Janet's -absence." - -Lady Janet immediately looked at her nephew. Julian reassured her by a -gesture. - -"Impossible," he said. "There must be some mistake." - -"There is no mistake," Horace rejoined. "I am repeating what I have just -heard from the lodge-keeper himself. He hesitated to mention it to Lady -Janet for fear of alarming her. Only three days since this person had -the audacity to ask him for her ladyship's address at the sea-side. Of -course he refused to give it." - -"You hear that, Julian?" said Lady Janet. - -No signs of anger or mortification escaped Julian. The expression in his -face at that moment was an expression of sincere distress. - -"Pray don't alarm yourself," he said to his aunt, in his quietest tones. -"If she attempts to annoy you or Miss Roseberry again, I have it in my -power to stop her instantly." - -"How?" asked Lady Janet. - -"How, indeed!" echoed Horace. "If we give her in charge to the police, -we shall become the subject of a public scandal." - -"I have managed to avoid all danger of scandal," Julian answered; the -expression of distress in his face becoming more and more marked while -he spoke. "Before I called here to-day I had a private consultation with -the magistrate of the district, and I have made certain arrangements at -the police station close by. On receipt of my card, an experienced man, -in plain clothes, will present himself at any address that I indicate, -and will take her quietly away. The magistrate will hear the charge in -his private room, and will examine the evidence which I can produce, -showing that she is not accountable for her actions. The proper medical -officer will report officially on the case, and the law will place her -under the necessary restraint." - -Lady Janet and Horace looked at each other in amazement. Julian was, -in their opinion, the last man on earth to take the course--at once -sensible and severe--which Julian had actually adopted. Lady Janet -insisted on an explanation. - -"Why do I hear of this now for the first time?" she asked. "Why did you -not tell me you had taken these precautions before?" - -Julian answered frankly and sadly. - -"Because I hoped, aunt, that there would be no necessity for proceeding -to extremities. You now force me to acknowledge that the lawyer and the -doctor (both of whom I have seen this morning) think, as you do, that -she is not to be trusted. It was at their suggestion entirely that -I went to the magistrate. They put it to me whether the result of -my inquiries abroad--unsatisfactory as it may have been in other -respects--did not strengthen the conclusion that the poor woman's mind -is deranged. I felt compelled in common honesty to admit that it was so. -Having owned this, I was bound to take such precautions as the lawyer -and the doctor thought necessary. I have done my duty--sorely against my -own will. It is weak of me, I dare say; but I can _not_ bear the -thought of treating this afflicted creature harshly. Her delusion is so -hopeless! her situation is such a pitiable one!" - -His voice faltered. He turned away abruptly and took up his hat. -Lady Janet followed him, and spoke to him at the door. Horace smiled -satirically, and went to warm himself at the fire. - -"Are you going away, Julian?" - -"I am only going to the lodge-keeper. I want to give him a word of -warning in case of his seeing her again." - -"You will come back here?" (Lady Janet lowered her voice to a whisper.) -"There is really a reason, Julian, for your not leaving the house now." - -"I promise not to go away, aunt, until I have provided for your -security. If you, or your adopted daughter, are alarmed by another -intrusion, I give you my word of honor my card shall go to the police -station, however painfully I may feel it myself." (He, too, lowered his -voice at the next words ) "In the meantime, remember what I confessed -to you while we were alone. For my sake, let me see as little of Miss -Roseberry as possible. Shall I find you in this room when I come back?" - -"Yes." - -"Alone?" - -He laid a strong emphasis, of look as well as of tone, on that one word. -Lady Janet understood what the emphasis meant. - -"Are you really," she whispered, "as much in love with Grace as that?" - -Julian laid one hand on his aunt's arm, and pointed with the other to -Horace--standing with his back to them, warming his feet on the fender. - -"Well?" said Lady Janet. - -"Well," said Julian, with a smile on his lip and a tear in his eye, "I -never envied any man as I envy _him!_" - -With those words he left the room. - - - -CHAPTER XV. A WOMAN'S REMORSE. - -HAVING warmed his feet to his own entire satisfaction, Horace turned -round from the fireplace, and discovered that he and Lady Janet were -alone. - -"Can I see Grace?" he asked. - -The easy tone in which he put the question--a tone, as it were, of -proprietorship in "Grace"--jarred on Lady Janet at the moment. For -the first time in her life she found herself comparing Horace with -Julian--to Horace's disadvantage. He was rich; he was a gentleman of -ancient lineage; he bore an unblemished character. But who had the -strong brain? who had the great heart? Which was the Man of the two? - -"Nobody can see her," answered Lady Janet. "Not even you!" - -The tone of the reply was sharp, with a dash of irony in it. But where -is the modern young man, possessed of health and an independent income, -who is capable of understanding that irony can be presumptuous enough -to address itself to _him?_ Horace (with perfect politeness) declined to -consider himself answered. - -"Does your ladyship mean that Miss Roseberry is in bed?" he asked. - -"I mean that Miss Roseberry is in her room. I mean that I have twice -tried to persuade Miss Roseberry to dress and come downstairs, and tried -in vain. I mean that what Miss Roseberry refuses to do for Me, she is -not likely to do for You--" - -How many more meanings of her own Lady Janet might have gone on -enumerating, it is not easy to calculate. At her third sentence a sound -in the library caught her ear through the incompletely closed door and -suspended the next words on her lips. Horace heard it also. It was the -rustling sound (traveling nearer and nearer over the library carpet) of -a silken dress. - -(In the interval while a coming event remains in a state of uncertainty, -what is it the inevitable tendency of every Englishman under thirty to -do? His inevitable tendency is to ask somebody to bet on the event. -He can no more resist it than he can resist lifting his stick or his -umbrella, in the absence of a gun, and pretending to shoot if a bird -flies by him while he is out for a walk.) - -"What will your ladyship bet that this is not Grace?" cried Horace. - -Her ladyship took no notice of the proposal; her attention remained -fixed on the library door. The rustling sound stopped for a moment. The -door was softly pushed open. The false Grace Roseberry entered the room. - -Horace advanced to meet her, opened his lips to speak, and -stopped--struck dumb by the change in his affianced wife since he had -seen her last. Some terrible oppression seemed to have crushed her. It -was as if she had actually shrunk in height as well as in substance. She -walked more slowly than usual; she spoke more rarely than usual, and in -a lower tone. To those who had seen her before the fatal visit of the -stranger from Mannheim, it was the wreck of the woman that now appeared -instead of the woman herself. And yet there was the old charm still -surviving through it all; the grandeur of the head and eyes, the -delicate symmetry of the features, the unsought grace of every -movement--in a word, the unconquerable beauty which suffering cannot -destroy, and which time itself is powerless to wear out. Lady Janet -advanced, and took her with hearty kindness by both hands. - -"My dear child, welcome among us again! You have come down stairs to -please me?" - -She bent her head in silent acknowledgment that it was so. Lady Janet -pointed to Horace: "Here is somebody who has been longing to see you, -Grace." - -She never looked up; she stood submissive, her eyes fixed on a little -basket of colored wools which hung on her arm. "Thank you, Lady Janet," -she said, faintly. "Thank you, Horace." - -Horace placed her arm in his, and led her to the sofa. She shivered as -she took her seat, and looked round her. It was the first time she had -seen the dining-room since the day when she had found herself face to -face with the dead-alive. - -"Why do you come here, my love?" asked Lady Janet. "The drawing-room -would have been a warmer and a pleasanter place for you." - -"I saw a carriage at the front door. I was afraid of meeting with -visitors in the drawing-room." - -As she made that reply, the servant came in, and announced the visitors' -names. Lady Janet sighed wearily. "I must go and get rid of them," she -said, resigning herself to circumstances. "What will _you_ do, Grace?" - -"I will stay here, if you please." - -"I will keep her company," added Horace. - -Lady Janet hesitated. She had promised to see her nephew in the -dining-room on his return to the house--and to see him alone. Would -there be time enough to get rid of the visitors and to establish her -adopted daughter in the empty drawing-room before Julian appeared? It -was ten minutes' walk to the lodge, and he had to make the gate-keeper -understand his instructions. Lady Janet decided that she had time enough -at her disposal. She nodded kindly to Mercy, and left her alone with her -lover. - -Horace seated himself in the vacant place on the sofa. So far as it was -in his nature to devote himself to any one he was devoted to Mercy. "I -am grieved to see how you have suffered," he said, with honest distress -in his face as he looked at her. "Try to forget what has happened." - -"I am trying to forget. Do _you_ think of it much?" - -"My darling, it is too contemptible to be thought of." - -She placed her work-basket on her lap. Her wasted fingers began absently -sorting the wools inside. - -"Have you seen Mr. Julian Gray?" she asked, suddenly. - -"Yes." - -"What does _he_ say about it?" She looked at Horace for the first time, -steadily scrutinizing his face. Horace took refuge in prevarication. - -"I really haven't asked for Julian's opinion," he said. - -She looked down again, with a sigh, at the basket on her lap--considered -a little--and tried him once more. - -"Why has Mr. Julian Gray not been here for a whole week?" she went on. -"The servants say he has been abroad. Is that true?" - -It was useless to deny it. Horace admitted that the servants were right. - -Her fingers, suddenly stopped at their restless work among the wools; -her breath quickened perceptibly. What had Julian Gray been doing -abroad? Had he been making inquiries? Did he alone, of all the people -who saw that terrible meeting, suspect her? Yes! His was the finer -intelligence; his was a clergyman's (a London clergyman's) experience of -frauds and deceptions, and of the women who were guilty of them. Not a -doubt of it now! Julian suspected her. - -"When does he come back?" she asked, in tones so low that Horace could -barely hear her. - -"He has come back already. He returned last night." - -A faint shade of color stole slowly over the pallor of her face. She -suddenly put her basket away, and clasped her hands together to quiet -the trembling of them, before she asked her next question. - -"Where is--" She paused to steady her voice. "Where is the person," she -resumed, "who came here and frightened me?" - -Horace hastened to re-assure her. "The person will not come again," he -said. "Don't talk of her! Don't think of her!" - -She shook her head. "There is something I want to know," she persisted. -"How did Mr. Julian Gray become acquainted with her?" - -This was easily answered. Horace mentioned the consul at Mannheim, and -the letter of introduction. She listened eagerly, and said her next -words in a louder, firmer tone. - -"She was quite a stranger, then, to Mr. Julian Gray--before that?" - -"Quite a stranger," Horace replied. "No more questions--not another word -about her, Grace! I forbid the subject. Come, my own love!" he said, -taking her hand and bending over her tenderly, "rally your spirits! We -are young--we love each other--now is our time to be happy!" - -Her hand turned suddenly cold, and trembled in his. Her head sank with a -helpless weariness on her breast. Horace rose in alarm. - -"You are cold--you are faint," he said. "Let me get you a glass of -wine!--let me mend the fire!" - -The decanters were still on the luncheon-table. Horace insisted on -her drinking some port-wine. She barely took half the contents of the -wine-glass. Even that little told on her sensitive organization; -it roused her sinking energies of body and mind. After watching her -anxiously, without attracting her notice, Horace left her again to -attend to the fire at the other end of the room. Her eyes followed -him slowly with a hard and tearless despair. "Rally your spirits," she -repeated to herself in a whisper. "My spirits! O God!" She looked round -her at the luxury and beauty of the room, as those look who take their -leave of familiar scenes. The moment after, her eyes sank, and rested on -the rich dress that she wore a gift from Lady Janet. She thought of the -past; she thought of the future. Was the time near when she would be -back again in the Refuge, or back again in the streets?--she who had -been Lady Janet's adopted daughter, and Horace Holmcroft's betrothed -wife! A sudden frenzy of recklessness seized on her as she thought of -the coming end. Horace was right! Why not rally her spirits? Why not -make the most of her time? The last hours of her life in that house -were at hand. Why not enjoy her stolen position while she could? -"Adventuress!" whispered the mocking spirit within her, "be true to your -character. Away with your remorse! Remorse is the luxury of an honest -woman." She caught up her basket of wools, inspired by a new idea. "Ring -the bell!" she cried out to Horace at the fire-place. - -He looked round in wonder. The sound of her voice was so completely -altered that he almost fancied there must have been another woman in the -room. - -"Ring the bell!" she repeated. "I have left my work upstairs. If you -want me to be in good spirits, I must have my work." - -Still looking at her, Horace put his hand mechanically to the bell and -rang. One of the men-servants came in. - -"Go upstairs and ask my maid for my work," she said, sharply. Even the -man was taken by surprise: it was her habit to speak to the servants -with a gentleness and consideration which had long since won all their -hearts. "Do you hear me?" she asked, impatiently. The servant bowed, -and went out on his errand. She turned to Horace with flashing eyes and -fevered cheeks. - -"What a comfort it is," she said, "to belong to the upper classes! A -poor woman has no maid to dress her, and no footman to send upstairs. Is -life worth having, Horace, on less than five thousand a year?" - -The servant returned with a strip of embroidery. She took it with an -insolent grace, and told him to bring her a footstool. The man obeyed. -She tossed the embroidery away from her on the sofa. "On second -thoughts, I don't care about my work," she said. "Take it upstairs -again." The perfectly trained servant, marveling privately, obeyed once -more. Horace, in silent astonishment, advanced to the sofa to observe -her more nearly. "How grave you look!" she exclaimed, with an air of -flippant unconcern. "You don't approve of my sitting idle, perhaps? -Anything to please you! _I_ haven't got to go up and downstairs. Ring -the bell again." - -"My dear Grace," Horace remonstrated, gravely, "you are quite mistaken. -I never even thought of your work." - -"Never mind; it's inconsistent to send for my work, and then send it -away again. Ring the bell." - -Horace looked at her without moving. "Grace," he said, "what has come to -you?" - -"How should I know?" she retorted, carelessly. "Didn't you tell me to -rally my spirits? Will you ring the bell, or must I?" - -Horace submitted. He frowned as he walked back to the bell. He was one -of the many people who instinctively resent anything that is new to -them. This strange outbreak was quite new to him. For the first time -in his life he felt sympathy for a servant, when the much-enduring man -appeared once more. - -"Bring my work back; I have changed my mind." With that brief -explanation she reclined luxuriously on the soft sofa-cushions, swinging -one of her balls of wool to and fro above her head, and looking at it -lazily as she lay back. "I have a remark to make, Horace," she went on, -when the door had closed on her messenger. "It is only people in our -rank of life who get good servants. Did you notice? Nothing upsets that -man's temper. A servant in a poor family should have been impudent; a -maid-of-all-work would have wondered when I was going to know my own -mind." The man returned with the embroidery. This time she received -him graciously; she dismissed him with her thanks. "Have you seen your -mother lately, Horace?" she asked, suddenly sitting up and busying -herself with her work. - -"I saw her yesterday," Horace answered. - -"She understands, I hope, that I am not well enough to call on her? She -is not offended with me?" - -Horace recovered his serenity. The deference to his mother implied in -Mercy's questions gently flattered his self-esteem. He resumed his place -on the sofa. - -"Offended with you!" he answered, smiling. "My dear Grace, she sends you -her love. And, more than that, she has a wedding present for you." - -Mercy became absorbed in her work; she stooped close over the -embroidery--so close that Horace could not see her face. "Do you know -what the present is?" she asked, in lowered tones, speaking absently. - -"No. I only know it is waiting for you. Shall I go and get it to-day?" - -She neither accepted nor refused the proposal--she went on with her work -more industriously than ever. - -"There is plenty of time," Horace persisted. "I can go before dinner." - -Still she took no notice: still she never looked up. "Your mother is -very kind to me," she said, abruptly. "I was afraid, at one time, that -she would think me hardly good enough to be your wife." - -Horace laughed indulgently: his self-esteem was more gently flattered -than ever. - -"Absurd!" he exclaimed. "My darling, you are connected with Lady Janet -Roy. Your family is almost as good as ours." - -"Almost?" she repeated. "Only almost?" - -The momentary levity of expression vanished from Horace's face. The -family question was far too serious a question to be lightly treated A -becoming shadow of solemnity stole over his manner. He looked as if it -was Sunday, and he was just stepping into church. - -"In OUR family," he said, "we trace back--by my father, to the Saxons; -by my mother, to the Normans. Lady Janet's family is an old family--on -her side only." - -Mercy dropped her embroidery, and looked Horace full in the face. She, -too, attached no common importance to what she had next to say. - -"If I had not been connected with Lady Janet," she began, "would you -ever have thought of marrying me?" - -"My love! what is the use of asking? You _are_ connected with Lady -Janet." - -She refused to let him escape answering her in that way. - -"Suppose I had not been connected with Lady Janet?" she persisted. -"Suppose I had only been a good girl, with nothing but my own merits to -speak for me. What would your mother have said then?" - -Horace still parried the question--only to find the point of it pressed -home on him once more. - -"Why do you ask?" he said. - -"I ask to be answered," she rejoined. "Would your mother have liked you -to marry a poor girl, of no family--with nothing but her own virtues to -speak for her?" - -Horace was fairly pressed back to the wall. - -"If you must know," he replied, "my mother would have refused to -sanction such a marriage as that." - -"No matter how good the girl might have been?" - -There was something defiant--almost threatening--in her tone. Horace was -annoyed--and he showed it when he spoke. - -"My mother would have respected the girl, without ceasing to respect -herself," he said. "My mother would have remembered what was due to the -family name." - -"And she would have said, No?" - -"She would have said, No." - -"Ah!" - -There was an undertone of angry contempt in the exclamation which made -Horace start. "What is the matter?" he asked. - -"Nothing," she answered, and took up her embroidery again. There he sat -at her side, anxiously looking at her--his hope in the future centered -in his marriage! In a week more, if she chose, she might enter that -ancient family of which he had spoken so proudly, as his wife. "Oh!" she -thought, "if I didn't love him! if I had only his merciless mother to -think of!" - -Uneasily conscious of some estrangement between them, Horace spoke -again. "Surely I have not offended you?" he said. - -She turned toward him once more. The work dropped unheeded on her lap. -Her grand eyes softened into tenderness. A smile trembled sadly on her -delicate lips. She laid one hand caressingly on his shoulder. All the -beauty of her voice lent its charm to the next words that she said to -him. The woman's heart hungered in its misery for the comfort that could -only come from his lips. - -"_You_ would have loved me, Horace--without stopping to think of the -family name?" - -The family name again! How strangely she persisted in coming back to -that! Horace looked at her without answering, trying vainly to fathom -what was passing in her mind. - -She took his hand, and wrung it hard--as if she would wring the answer -out of him in that way. - -"_You_ would have loved me?" she repeated. - -The double spell of her voice and her touch was on him. He answered, -warmly, "Under any circumstances! under any name!" - -She put one arm round his neck, and fixed her eyes on his. "Is that -true?" she asked. - -"True as t he heaven above us!" - -She drank in those few commonplace words with a greedy delight. She -forced him to repeat them in a new form. - -"No matter who I might have been? For myself alone?" - -"For yourself alone." - -She threw both arms round him, and laid her head passionately on his -breast. "I love you! I love you!! I love you!!!" Her voice rose with -hysterical vehemence at each repetition of the words--then suddenly sank -to a low hoarse cry of rage and despair. The sense of her true position -toward him revealed itself in all its horror as the confession of her -love escaped her lips. Her arms dropped from him; she flung herself back -on the sofa-cushions, hiding her face in her hands. "Oh, leave me!" she -moaned, faintly. "Go! go!" - -Horace tried to wind his arm round her, and raise her. She started to -her feet, and waved him back from her with a wild action of her hands, -as if she was frightened of him. "The wedding present!" she cried, -seizing the first pretext that occurred to her. "You offered to bring me -your mother's present. I am dying to see what it is. Go and get it!" - -Horace tried to compose her. He might as well have tried to compose the -winds and the sea. - -"Go!" she repeated, pressing one clinched hand on her bosom. "I am not -well. Talking excites me--I am hysterical; I shall be better alone. Get -me the present. Go!" - -"Shall I send Lady Janet? Shall I ring for your maid?" - -"Send for nobody! ring for nobody! If you love me--leave me here by -myself! leave me instantly!" - -"I shall see you when I come back?" - -"Yes! yes!" - -There was no alternative but to obey her. Unwillingly and forebodingly, -Horace left the room. - -She drew a deep breath of relief, and dropped into the nearest chair. -If Horace had stayed a moment longer--she felt it, she knew it--her -head would have given way; she would have burst out before him with -the terrible truth. "Oh!" she thought, pressing her cold hands on her -burning eyes, "if I could only cry, now there is nobody to see me!" - -The room was empty: she had every reason for concluding that she was -alone. And yet at that very moment there were ears that listened--there -were eyes waiting to see her. - -Little by little the door behind her which faced the library and led -into the billiard-room was opened noiselessly from without, by an inch -at a time. As the opening was enlarged a hand in a black glove, an -arm in a black sleeve, appeared, guiding the movement of the door. An -interval of a moment passed, and the worn white face of Grace Roseberry -showed itself stealthily, looking into the dining-room. - -Her eyes brightened with vindictive pleasure as they discovered Mercy -sitting alone at the further end of the room. Inch by inch she opened -the door more widely, took one step forward, and checked herself. A -sound, just audible at the far end of the conservatory, had caught her -ear. - -She listened--satisfied herself that she was not mistaken--and drawing -back with a frown of displeasure, softly closed the door again, so as to -hide herself from view. The sound that had disturbed her was the distant -murmur of men's voices (apparently two in number) talking together in -lowered tones, at the garden entrance to the conservatory. - -Who were the men? and what would they do next? They might do one of two -things: they might enter the drawing-room, or they might withdraw again -by way of the garden. Kneeling behind the door, with her ear at the -key-hole, Grace Roseberry waited the event. - - - -CHAPTER XVI. THEY MEET AGAIN. - -ABSORBED in herself, Mercy failed to notice the opening door or to hear -the murmur of voices in the conservatory. - -The one terrible necessity which had been present to her mind at -intervals for a week past was confronting her at that moment. She owed -to Grace Roseberry the tardy justice of owning the truth. The longer her -confession was delayed, the more cruelly she was injuring the woman whom -she had robbed of her identity--the friendless woman who had neither -witnesses nor papers to produce, who was powerless to right her own -wrong. Keenly as she felt this, Mercy failed, nevertheless, to conquer -the horror that shook her when she thought of the impending avowal. -Day followed day, and still she shrank from the unendurable ordeal of -confession--as she was shrinking from it now! - -Was it fear for herself that closed her lips? - -She trembled--as any human being in her place must have trembled--at the -bare idea of finding herself thrown back again on the world, which had -no place in it and no hope in it for _her_. But she could have overcome -that terror--she could have resigned herself to that doom. - -No! it was not the fear of the confession itself, or the fear of the -consequences which must follow it, that still held her silent. The -horror that daunted her was the horror of owning to Horace and to Lady -Janet that she had cheated them out of their love. - -Every day Lady Janet was kinder and kinder. Every day Horace was fonder -and fonder of her. How could she confess to Lady Janet? how could she -own to Horace that she had imposed upon him? "I can't do it. They are so -good to me--I can't do it!" In that hopeless way it had ended during the -seven days that had gone by. In that hopeless way it ended again now. - - - -The murmur of the two voices at the further end of the conservatory -ceased. The billiard-room door opened again slowly, by an inch at a -time. - -Mercy still kept her place, unconscious of the events that were passing -round her. Sinking under the hard stress laid on it, her mind had -drifted little by little into a new train of thought. For the first time -she found the courage to question the future in a new way. Supposing -her confession to have been made, or supposing the woman whom she had -personated to have discovered the means of exposing the fraud, what -advantage, she now asked herself, would Miss Roseberry derive from Mercy -Merrick's disgrace? - -Could Lady Janet transfer to the woman who was really her relative -by marriage the affection which she had given to the woman who had -pretended to be her relative? No! All the right in the world would not -put the true Grace into the false Grace's vacant place. The qualities -by which Mercy had won Lady Janet's love were the qualities which were -Mercy's won. Lady Janet could do rigid justice--but hers was not the -heart to give itself to a stranger (and to give itself unreservedly) a -second time. Grace Roseberry would be formally acknowledged--and there -it would end. - -Was there hope in this new view? - -Yes! There was the false hope of making the inevitable atonement by some -other means than by the confession of the fraud. - -What had Grace Roseberry actually lost by the wrong done to her? She -had lost the salary of Lady Janet's "companion and reader." Say that she -wanted money, Mercy had her savings from the generous allowance made -to her by Lady Janet; Mercy could offer money. Or say that she wanted -employment, Mercy's interest with Lady Janet could offer employment, -could offer anything Grace might ask for, if she would only come to -terms. - -Invigorated by the new hope, Mercy rose excitedly, weary of inaction in -the empty room. She, who but a few minutes since had shuddered at the -thought of their meeting again, was now eager to devise a means of -finding her way privately to an interview with Grace. It should be done -without loss of time--on that very day, if possible; by the next day at -latest. She looked round her mechanically, pondering how to reach the -end in view. Her eyes rested by chance on the door of the billiard-room. - -Was it fancy? or did she really see the door first open a little, then -suddenly and softly close again? - -Was it fancy? or did she really hear, at the same moment, a sound behind -her as of persons speaking in the conservatory? - -She paused; and, looking back in that direction, listened intently. The -sound--if she had really heard it--was no longer audible. She advanced -toward the billiard-room to set her first doubt at rest. She stretched -out her hand to open the door, when the voices (recognizable now as the -voices of two men) caught her ear once more. - -This time she was able to distinguish the words that were spoken. - -"Any further orders, sir?" inquired one of the men. - -"Nothing more," replied the other. - -Mercy started, and faintly flushed, as the second voice answered the -first. She stood irresolute close to the billiard-room, hesitating what -to do next. - -After an interval the second voice made itself heard again, advancing -nearer to the dining-room: "Are you there, aunt?" it asked cautiously. -There was a moment's pause. Then the voice spoke for the third time, -sounding louder and nearer. "Are you there?" it reiterated; "I have -something to tell you." Mercy summoned her resolution and answered: -"Lady Janet is not here." She turned as she spoke toward the -conservatory door, and confronted on the threshold Julian Gray. - -They looked at one another without exchanging a word on either side. -The situation--for widely different reasons--was equally embarrassing to -both of them. - -There--as Julian saw _her_--was the woman forbidden to him, the woman -whom he loved. - -There--as Mercy saw _him_--was the man whom she dreaded, the man whose -actions (as she interpreted them) proved that he suspected her. - -On the surface of it, the incidents which had marked their first meeting -were now exactly repeated, with the one difference that the impulse -to withdraw this time appeared to be on the man's side and not on the -woman's. It was Mercy who spoke first. - -"Did you expect to find Lady Janet here?" she asked, constrainedly. He -answered, on his part, more constrainedly still. - -"It doesn't matter," he said. "Another time will do." - -He drew back as he made the reply. She advanced desperately, with the -deliberate intention of detaining him by speaking again. - -The attempt which he had made to withdraw, the constraint in his -manner when he had answered, had instantly confirmed her in the false -conviction that he, and he alone, had guessed the truth! If she was -right--if he had secretly made discoveries abroad which placed her -entirely at his mercy--the attempt to induce Grace to consent to a -compromise with her would be manifestly useless. Her first and foremost -interest now was to find out how she really stood in the estimation of -Julian Gray. In a terror of suspense, that turned her cold from head to -foot, she stopped him on his way out, and spoke to him with the piteous -counterfeit of a smile. - -"Lady Janet is receiving some visitors," she said. "If you will wait -here, she will be back directly." - -The effort of hiding her agitation from him had brought a passing color -into her cheeks. Worn and wasted as she was, the spell of her beauty was -strong enough to hold him against his own will. All he had to tell Lady -Janet was that he had met one of the gardeners in the conservatory, and -had cautioned him as well as the lodge-keeper. It would have been easy -to write this, and to send the note to his aunt on quitting the house. -For the sake of his own peace of mind, for the sake of his duty to -Horace, he was doubly bound to make the first polite excuse that -occurred to him, and to leave her as he had found her, alone in the -room. He made the attempt, and hesitated. Despising himself for doing -it, he allowed himself to look at her. Their eyes met. Julian stepped -into the dining-room. - -"If I am not in the way," he said, confusedly, "I will wait, as you -kindly propose." - -She noticed his embarrassment; she saw that he was strongly restraining -himself from looking at her again. Her own eyes dropped to the ground as -she made the discovery. Her speech failed her; her heart throbbed faster -and faster. - -"If I look at him again" (was the thought in _her_ mind) "I shall fall -at his feet and tell him all that I have done!" - -"If I look at her again" (was the thought in _his_ mind) "I shall fall -at her feet and own that I am in love with her!" - -With downcast eyes he placed a chair for her. With downcast eyes she -bowed to him and took it. A dead silence followed. Never was any human -misunderstanding more intricately complete than the misunderstanding -which had now established itself between those two. - -Mercy's work-basket was near her. She took it, and gained time for -composing herself by pretending to arrange the colored wools. He stood -behind her chair, looking at the graceful turn of her head, looking at -the rich masses of her hair. He reviled himself as the weakest of men, -as the falsest of friends, for still remaining near her--and yet he -remained. - -The silence continued. The billiard-room door opened again noiselessly. -The face of the listening woman appeared stealthily behind it. - -At the same moment Mercy roused herself and spoke: "Won't you sit down?" -she said, softly, still not looking round at him, still busy with her -basket of wools. - -He turned to get a chair--turned so quickly that he saw the -billiard-room door move, as Grace Roseberry closed it again. - -"Is there any one in that room?" he asked, addressing Mercy. - -"I don't know," she answered. "I thought I saw the door open and shut -again a little while ago." - -He advanced at once to look into the room. As he did so Mercy dropped -one of her balls of wool. He stopped to pick it up for her--then threw -open the door and looked into the billiard-room. It was empty. - -Had some person been listening, and had that person retreated in time -to escape discovery? The open door of the smoking-room showed that room -also to be empty. A third door was open--the door of the side hall, -leading into the grounds. Julian closed and locked it, and returned to -the dining-room. - -"I can only suppose," he said to Mercy, "that the billiard-room door was -not properly shut, and that the draught of air from the hall must have -moved it." - -She accepted the explanation in silence. He was, to all appearance, not -quite satisfied with it himself. For a moment or two he looked about him -uneasily. Then the old fascination fastened its hold on him again. Once -more he looked at the graceful turn of her head, at the rich masses of -her hair. The courage to put the critical question to him, now that -she had lured him into remaining in the room, was still a courage that -failed her. She remained as busy as ever with her work--too busy to look -at him; too busy to speak to him. The silence became unendurable. He -broke it by making a commonplace inquiry after her health. "I am well -enough to be ashamed of the anxiety I have caused and the trouble I have -given," she answered. "To-day I have got downstairs for the first -time. I am trying to do a little work." She looked into the basket. The -various specimens of wool in it were partly in balls and partly in loose -skeins. The skeins were mixed and tangled. "Here is sad confusion!" -she exclaimed, timidly, with a faint smile. "How am I to set it right -again?" - -"Let me help you," said Julian. - -"You!" - -"Why not?" he asked, with a momentary return of the quaint humor which -she remembered so well. "You forget that I am a curate. Curates are -privileged to make themselves useful to young ladies. Let me try." - -He took a stool at her feet, and set himself to unravel one of the -tangled skeins. In a minute the wool was stretched on his hands, and -the loose end was ready for Mercy to wind. There was something in the -trivial action, and in the homely attention that it implied, which in -some degree quieted her fear of him. She began to roll the wool off his -hands into a ball. Thus occupied, she said the daring words which were -to lead him little by little into betraying his suspicions, if he did -indeed suspect the truth. - - - -CHAPTER XVII. THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. - -"You were here when I fainted, were you not?" Mercy began. "You must -think me a sad coward, even for a woman." - -He shook his head. "I am far from thinking that," he replied. "No -courage could have sustained the shock which fell on you. I don't wonder -that you fainted. I don't wonder that you have been ill." - -She paused in rolling up the ball of wool. What did those words of -unexpected sympathy mean? Was he laying a trap for her? Urged by that -serious doubt, she questioned him more boldly. - -"Horace tells me you have been abroad," she said. "Did you enjoy your -holiday?" - -"It was no holiday. I went abroad because I thought it right to make -certain inquiries--" He stopped there, unwilling to return to a subject -that was painful to her. - -Her voice sank, her fingers trembled round the ball of wool; but she -managed to go on. - -"Did you arrive at any results?" she asked. - -"At no results worth mentioning." - -The caution of that reply renewed her worst suspicions of him. In sheer -despair, she spoke out plainly. - -"I want to know your opinion--" she began. - -"Gently!" said Julian. "You are entangling the wool again." - -"I want to know your opinion of the person who so terribly frightened -me. Do you think her--" - -"Do I think her--what?" - -"Do you think her an adventuress?" - -(As she said those words the branches of a shrub in the conservatory -were noiselessly parted by a hand in a black glove. The face of Grace -Roseberry appeared dimly behind the leaves. Undiscovered, she had -escaped from the billiard-room, and had stolen her way into the -conservatory as the safer hiding-place of the two. Behind the shrub she -could see as well as listen. Behind the shrub she waited as patiently as -ever.) - -"I take a more merciful view," Julian answered. "I believe she is acting -under a delusion. I don't blame her: I pity her." - -"You pity her?" As Mercy repeated the words, she tore off Julian's hands -the last few lengths of wool left, and threw the imperfectly wound skein -back into the basket. "Does that mean," she resumed, abruptly, "that you -believe her?" - -Julian rose from his seat, and looked at Mercy in astonishment. - -"Good heavens, Miss Roseberry! what put such an idea as that into your -head?" - -"I am little better than a stranger to you," she rejoined, with an -effort to assume a jesting tone. "You met that person before you met -with me. It is not so very far from pitying her to believing her. How -could I feel sure that you might not suspect me?" - -"Suspect _you!_" he exclaimed. "You don't know how you distress, how you -shock me. Suspect _you!_ The bare idea of it never entered my mind. The -man doesn't live who trusts you more implicitly, who believes in you -more devotedly, than I do." - -His eyes, his voice, his manner, all told her that those words came from -the heart. She contrasted his generous confidence in her (the confidence -of which she was unworthy) with her ungracious distrust of him. Not only -had she wronged Grace Roseberry--she had wronged Julian Gray. Could she -deceive him as she had deceived the others? Could she meanly accept -that implicit trust, that devoted belief? Never had she felt the base -submissions which her own imposture condemned her to undergo with a -loathing of them so overwhelming as the loathing that she felt now. In -horror of herself, she turned her head aside in silence and shrank from -meeting his eye. He noticed the movement, placing his own interpretation -on it. Advancing closer, he asked anxiously if he had offended her. - -"You don't know how your confidence touches me," she said, without -looking up. "You little think how keenly I feel your kindness." - -She checked herself abruptly. Her fine tact warned her that she was -speaking too warmly--that the expression of her gratitude might strike -him as being strangely exaggerated. She handed him her work-basket -before he could speak again. - -"Will you put it away for me?" she asked, in her quieter tones. "I don't -feel able to work just now." - -His back was turned on her for a moment, while he placed the basket on a -side-table. In that moment her mind advanced at a bound from present to -future. Accident might one day put the true Grace in possession of the -proofs that she needed, and might reveal the false Grace to him in the -identity that was her own. What would he think of her then? Could she -make him tell her without betraying herself? She determined to try. - -"Children are notoriously insatiable if you once answer their questions, -and women are nearly as bad," she said, when Julian returned to her. -"Will your patience hold out if I go back for the third time to the -person whom we have been speaking of?" - -"Try me," he answered, with a smile. - -"Suppose you had _not_ taken your merciful view of her?" - -"Yes?" - -"Suppose you believed that she was wickedly bent on deceiving others for -a purpose of her own--would you not shrink from such a woman in horror -and disgust?" - -"God forbid that I should shrink from any human creature!" he answered, -earnestly. "Who among us has a right to do that?" - -She hardly dared trust herself to believe him. "You would still pity -her?" she persisted, "and still feel for her?" - -"With all my heart." - -"Oh, how good you are!" - -He held up his hand in warning. The tones of his voice deepened, the -luster of his eyes brightened. She had stirred in the depths of that -great heart the faith in which the man lived--the steady principle which -guided his modest and noble life. - -"No!" he cried. "Don't say that! Say that I try to love my neighbor as -myself. Who but a Pharisee can believe that he is better than another? -The best among us to-day may, but for the mercy of God, be the worst -among us tomorrow. The true Christian virtue is the virtue which never -despairs of a fellow-creature. The true Christian faith believes in Man -as well as in God. Frail and fallen as we are, we can rise on the wings -of repentance from earth to heaven. Humanity is sacred. Humanity has its -immortal destiny. Who shall dare say to man or woman, 'There is no hope -in you?' Who shall dare say the work is all vile, when that work bears -on it the stamp of the Creator's hand?" - -He turned away for a moment, struggling with the emotion which she had -roused in him. - -Her eyes, as they followed him, lighted with a momentary -enthusiasm--then sank wearily in the vain regret which comes too late. -Ah! if he could have been her friend and her adviser on the fatal day -when she first turned her steps toward Mablethorpe House! She sighed -bitterly as the hopeless aspiration wrung her heart. He heard the sigh; -and, turning again, looked at her with a new interest in his face. - -"Miss Roseberry," he said. - -She was still absorbed in the bitter memories of the past: she failed to -hear him. - -"Miss Roseberry," he repeated, approaching her. - -She looked up at him with a start. - -"May I venture to ask you something?" he said, gently. - -She shrank at the question. - -"Don't suppose I am speaking out of mere curiosity," he went on. -"And pray don't answer me unless you can answer without betraying any -confidence which may have been placed in you." - -"Confidence!" she repeated. "What confidence do you mean?" - -"It has just struck me that you might have felt more than a common -interest in the questions which you put to me a moment since," he -answered. "Were you by any chance speaking of some unhappy woman--not -the person who frightened you, of course--but of some other woman whom -you know?" - -Her head sank slowly on her bosom. He had plainly no suspicion that she -had been speaking of herself: his tone and manner both answered for it -that his belief in her was as strong as ever. Still those last words -made her tremble; she could not trust herself to reply to them. - -He accepted the bending of her head as a reply. - -"Are you interested in her?" he asked next. - -She faintly answered this time. "Yes." - -"Have you encouraged her?" - -"I have not dared to encourage her." - -His face lighted up suddenly with enthusiasm. "Go to her," he said, "and -let me go with you and help you!" - -The answer came faintly and mournfully. "She has sunk too low for that!" - -He interrupted her with a gesture of impatience. - -"What has she done?" he asked. - -"She has deceived--basely deceived--innocent people who trusted her. She -has wronged--cruelly wronged--another woman." - -For the first time Julian seated himself at her side. The interest that -was now roused in him was an interest above reproach. He could speak to -Mercy without restraint; he could look at Mercy with a pure heart. - -"You judge her very harshly," he said. "Do _you_ know how she may have -been tried and tempted?" - -There was no answer. - -"Tell me," he went on, "is the person whom she has injured still -living?" - -"Yes." - -"If the person is still living, she may atone for the wrong. The time -may come when this sinner, too, may win our pardon and deserve our -respect." - -"Could _you_ respect her?" Mercy asked, sadly. "Can such a mind as yours -understand what she has gone through?" - -A smile, kind and momentary, brightened his attentive face. - -"You forget my melancholy experience," he answered. "Young as I am, I -have seen more than most men of women who have sinned and suffered. Even -after the little that you have told me, I think I can put myself in -her place. I can well understand, for instance, that she may have been -tempted beyond human resistance. Am I right?" - -"You are right." - -"She may have had nobody near at the time to advise her, to warn her, to -save her. Is that true?" - -"It is true." - -"Tempted and friendless, self-abandoned to the evil impulse of the -moment, this woman may have committed herself headlong to the act which -she now vainly repents. She may long to make atonement, and may not -know how to begin. All her energies may be crushed under the despair and -horror of herself, out of which the truest repentance grows. Is such -a woman as this all wicked, all vile? I deny it! She may have a noble -nature; and she may show it nobly yet. Give her the opportunity she -needs, and our poor fallen fellow-creature may take her place again -among the best of us--honored, blameless, happy, once more!" - -Mercy's eyes, resting eagerly on him while he was speaking, dropped -again despondingly when he had done. - -"There is no such future as that," she answered, "for the woman whom I -am thinking of. She has lost her opportunity. She has done with hope." - -Julian gravely considered with himself for a moment. - -"Let us understand each other," he said. "She has committed an act of -deception to the injury of another woman. Was that what you told me?" - -"Yes." - -"And she has gained something to her own advantage by the act." - -"Yes." - -"Is she threatened with discovery?" - -"She is safe from discovery--for the present, at least." - -"Safe as long as she closes her lips?" - -"As long as she closes her lips." - -"There is her opportunity!" cried Julian. "Her future is before her. She -has not done with hope!" - -With clasped hands, in breathless suspense, Mercy looked at that -inspiriting face, and listened to those golden words. - -"Explain yourself," she said. "Tell her, through me, what she must do." - -"Let her own the truth," answered Julian, "without the base fear of -discovery to drive her to it. Let her do justice to the woman whom she -has wronged, while that woman is still powerless to expose her. Let her -sacrifice everything that she has gained by the fraud to the sacred duty -of atonement. If she can do that--for conscience' sake, and for pity's -sake--to her own prejudice, to her own shame, to her own loss--then her -repentance has nobly revealed the noble nature that is in her; then she -is a woman to be trusted, respected, beloved! If I saw the Pharisees and -fanatics of this lower earth passing her by in contempt, I would hold -out my hand to her before them all. I would say to her in her solitude -and her affliction, 'Rise, poor wounded heart! Beautiful, purified soul, -God's angels rejoice over you! Take your place among the noblest of -God's creatures!'" - -In those last sentences he unconsciously repeated the language in which -he had spoken, years since, to his congregation in the chapel of the -Refuge. With tenfold power and tenfold persuasion they now found their -way again to Mercy's heart. Softly, suddenly, mysteriously, a change -passed over her. Her troubled face grew beautifully still. The shifting -light of terror and suspense vanished from her grand gray eyes, and left -in them the steady inner glow of a high and pure resolve. - -There was a moment of silence between them. They both had need of -silence. Julian was the first to speak again. - -"Have I satisfied you that her opportunity is still before her?" he -asked. "Do you feel, as I feel, that she has _not_ done with hope?" - -"You have satisfied me that the world holds no truer friend to her than -you," Mercy answered, gently and gratefully. "She shall prove herself -worthy of your generous confidence in her. She shall show you yet that -you have not spoken in vain." - -Still inevitably failing to understand her, he led the way to the door. - -"Don't waste the precious time," he said. "Don't leave her cruelly to -herself. If you can't go to her, let me go as your messenger, in your -place." - -She stopped him by a gesture. He took a step back into the room, and -paused, observing with surprise that she made no attempt to move from -the chair that she occupied. - -"Stay here," she said to him, in suddenly altered tones. - -"Pardon me," he rejoined, "I don't understand you." - -"You will understand me directly. Give me a little time." - -He still lingered near the door, with his eyes fixed inquiringly on -her. A man of a lower nature than his, or a man believing in Mercy less -devotedly than he believed, would now have felt his first suspicion of -her. Julian was as far as ever from suspecting her, even yet. "Do you -wish to be alone?" he asked, considerately. "Shall I leave you for a -while and return again?" - -She looked up with a start of terror. "Leave me?" she repeated, and -suddenly checked herself on the point of saying more. Nearly half the -length of the room divided them from each other. The words which she -was longing to say were words that would never pass her lips unless she -could see some encouragement in his face. "No!" she cried out to him, on -a sudden, in her sore need, "don't leave me! Come back to me!" - -He obeyed her in silence. In silence, on her side, she pointed to the -chair near her. He took it. She looked at him, and checked herself -again; resolute to make her terrible confession, yet still hesitating -how to begin. Her woman's instinct whispered to her, "Find courage in -his touch!" She said to him, simply and artlessly said to him, "Give -me encouragement. Give me strength. Let me take your hand." He neither -answered nor moved. His mind seemed to have become suddenly preoccupied; -his eyes rested on her vacantly. He was on the brink of discovering her -secret; in another instant he would have found his way to the truth. In -that instant, innocently as his sister might have taken it, she took -his hand. The soft clasp of her fingers, clinging round his, roused -his senses, fired his passion for her, swept out of his mind the pure -aspirations which had filled it but the moment before, paralyzed his -perception when it was just penetrating the mystery of her disturbed -manner and her strange words. All the man in him trembled under the -rapture of her touch. But the thought of Horace was still present to -him: his hand lay passive in hers; his eyes looked uneasily away from -her. - -She innocently strengthened her clasp of his hand. She innocently said -to him, "Don't look away from me. Your eyes give me courage." - -His hand returned the pressure of hers. He tasted to the full the -delicious joy of looking at her. She had broken down his last reserves -of self-control. The thought of Horace, the sense of honor, became -obscured in him. In a moment more he might have said the words which he -would have deplored for the rest of his life, if she had not stopped him -by speaking first. "I have more to say to you," she resumed abruptly, -feeling the animating resolution to lay her heart bare before him at -last; "more, far more, than I have said yet. Generous, merciful friend, -let me say it _here!_" - -She attempted to throw herself on her knees at his feet. He sprung from -his seat and checked her, holding her with both his hands, raising her -as he rose himself. In the words which had just escaped her, in the -startling action which had accompanied them, the truth burst on him. The -guilty woman she had spoken of was herself! - -While she was almost in his arms, while her bosom was just touching his, -before a word more had passed his lips or hers, the library door opened. - -Lady Janet Roy entered the room. - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. THE SEARCH IN THE GROUNDS. - -GRACE ROSEBERRY, still listening in the conservatory, saw the door open, -and recognized the mistress of the house. She softly drew back, and -placed herself in safer hiding, beyond the range of view from the -dining-room. - -Lady Janet advanced no further than the threshold. She stood there and -looked at her nephew and her adopted daughter in stern silence. - -Mercy dropped into the chair at her side. Julian kept his place by her. -His mind was still stunned by the discovery that had burst on it; his -eyes still rested on her in mute terror of inquiry. He was as completely -absorbed in the one act of looking at her as if they had been still -alone together in the room. - -Lady Janet was the first of the three who spoke. She addressed herself -to her nephew. - -"You were right, Mr. Julian Gray," she said, with her bitterest emphasis -of tone and manner. "You ought to have found nobody in this room on -your return but _me_. I detain you no longer. You are free to leave my -house." - -Julian looked round at his aunt. She was pointing to the door. In the -excited state of his sensibilities at that moment the action stung him -to the quick. He answered without his customary consideration for his -aunt's age and his aunt's position toward him. - -"You apparently forget, Lady Janet, that you are not speaking to one of -your footmen," he said. "There are serious reasons (of which you know -nothing) for my remaining in your house a little longer. You may rely -upon my trespassing on your hospitality as short a time as possible." - -He turned again to Mercy as he said those words, and surprised her -timidly looking up at him. In the instant when their eyes met, the -tumult of emotions struggling in him became suddenly stilled. Sorrow for -her--compassionating sorrow--rose in the new calm and filled his heart. -Now, and now only, he could read in the wasted and noble face how she -had suffered. The pity which he had felt for the unnamed woman grew to -a tenfold pity for _her_. The faith which he professed--honestly -professed--in the better nature of the unnamed woman strengthened into -a tenfold faith in _her_. He addressed himself again to his aunt, in a -gentler tone. "This lady," he resumed, "has something to say to me in -private which she has not said yet. That is my reason and my apology for -not immediately leaving the house." - -Still under the impression of what she had seen on entering the room, -Lady Janet looked at him in angry amazement. Was Julian actually -ignoring Horace Holmcroft's claims, in the presence of Horace -Holmcroft's betrothed wife? She appealed to her adopted daughter. -"Grace!" she exclaimed, "have you heard him? Have you nothing to say? -Must I remind you--" - -She stopped. For the first time in Lady Janet's experience of her young -companion, she found herself speaking to ears that were deaf to her. -Mercy was incapable of listening. Julian's eyes had told her that Julian -understood her at last! - -Lady Janet turned to her nephew once more, and addressed him in the -hardest words that she had ever spoken to her sister's son. - -"If you have any sense of decency," she said--"I say nothing of a sense -of honor--you will leave this house, and your acquaintance with that -lady will end here. Spare me your protests and excuses; I can place but -one interpretation on what I saw when I opened that door." - -"You entirely misunderstand what you saw when you opened that door," -Julian answered, quietly. - -"Perhaps I misunderstand the confession which you made to me not an hour -ago?" retorted Lady Janet. - -Julian cast a look of alarm at Mercy. "Don't speak of it!" he said, in a -whisper. "She might hear you." - -"Do you mean to say she doesn't know you are in love with her?" - -"Thank God, she has not the faintest suspicion of it!" - -There was no mistaking the earnestness with which he made that reply. -It proved his innocence as nothing else could have proved it. Lady Janet -drew back a step--utterly bewildered; completely at a loss what to say -or what to do next. - -The silence that followed was broken by a knock at the library door. The -man-servant--with news, and bad news, legibly written in his disturbed -face and manner--entered the room. In the nervous irritability of the -moment, Lady Janet resented the servant's appearance as a positive -offense on the part of the harmless man. "Who sent for you?" she asked, -sharply. "What do you mean by interrupting us?" - -The servant made his excuses in an oddly bewildered manner. - -"I beg your ladyship's pardon. I wished to take the liberty--I wanted to -speak to Mr. Julian Gray." - -"What is it?" asked Julian. - -The man looked uneasily at Lady Janet, hesitated, and glanced at the -door, as if he wished himself well out of the room again. - -"I hardly know if I can tell you, sir, before her ladyship," he -answered. - -Lady Janet instantly penetrated the secret of her servant's hesitation. - -"I know what has happened," she said; "that abominable woman has found -her way here again. Am I right?" - -The man's eyes helplessly consulted Julian. - -"Yes, or no?" cried Lady Janet, imperatively. - -"Yes, my lady." - -Julian at once assumed the duty of asking the necessary questions. - -"Where is she?" he began. - -"Somewhere in the grounds, as we suppose, sir." - -"Did _you_ see her?" - -"No, sir." - -"Who saw her?" - -"The lodge-keeper's wife." - -This looked serious. The lodge-keeper's wife had been present while -Julian had given his instructions to her husband. She was not likely to -have mistaken the identity of the person whom she had discovered. - -"How long since?" Julian asked next. - -"Not very long, sir." - -"Be more particular. _How_ long?" - -"I didn't hear, sir." - -"Did the lodge-keeper's wife speak to the person when she saw her?" - -"No, sir: she didn't get the chance, as I understand it. She is a stout -woman, if you remember. The other was too quick for her--discovered her, -sir, and (as the saying is) gave her the slip." - -"In what part of the grounds did this happen?" - -The servant pointed in the direction of the side hall. "In that part, -sir. Either in the Dutch garden or the shrubbery. I am not sure which." - -It was plain, by this time, that the man's information was too imperfect -to be practically of any use. Julian asked if the lodge-keeper's wife -was in the house. - -"No, sir. Her husband has gone out to search the grounds in her place, -and she is minding the gate. They sent their boy with the message. From -what I can make out from the lad, they would be thankful if they could -get a word more of advice from you, sir." - -Julian reflected for a moment. - -So far as he could estimate them, the probabilities were that the -stranger from Mannheim had already made her way into the house; that she -had been listening in the billiard-room; that she had found time enough -to escape him on his approaching to open the door; and that she was now -(in the servant's phrase) "somewhere in the grounds," after eluding the -pursuit of the lodgekeeper's wife. - -The matter was serious. Any mistake in dealing with it might lead to -very painful results. - -If Julian had correctly anticipated the nature of the confession which -Mercy had been on the point of addressing to him, the person whom he had -been the means of introducing into the house was--what she had vainly -asserted herself to be--no other than the true Grace Roseberry. - -Taking this for granted, it was of the utmost importance that he should -speak to Grace privately, before she committed herself to any rashly -renewed assertion of her claims, and before she could gain access to -Lady Janet's adopted daughter. The landlady at her lodgings had already -warned him that the object which she held steadily in view was to find -her way to "Miss Roseberry" when Lady Janet was not present to take her -part, and when no gentleman were at hand to protect her. "Only let me -meet her face to face" (she had said), "and I will make her confess -herself the impostor that she is!" As matters now stood, it was -impossible to estimate too seriously the mischief which might ensue from -such a meeting as this. Everything now depended on Julian's skillful -management of an exasperated woman; and nobody, at that moment, knew -where the woman was. - -In this position of affairs, as Julian understood it, there seemed to be -no other alternative than to make his inquiries instantly at the lodge -and then to direct the search in person. - -He looked toward Mercy's chair as he arrived at this resolution. It was -at a cruel sacrifice of his own anxieties and his own wishes that he -deferred continuing the conversation with her from the critical point at -which Lady Janet's appearance had interrupted it. - -Mercy had risen while he had been questioning the servant. The attention -which she had failed to accord to what had passed between his aunt and -himself she had given to the imperfect statement which he had extracted -from the man. Her face plainly showed that she had listened as eagerly -as Lady Janet had listened; with this remarkable difference between -there, that Lady Janet looked frightened, and that Lady Janet's -companion showed no signs of alarm. She appeared to be interested; -perhaps anxious--nothing more. - -Julian spoke a parting word to his aunt. - -"Pray compose yourself," he said "I have little doubt, when I can learn -the particulars, that we shall easily find this person in the grounds. -There is no reason to be uneasy. I am going to superintend the search -myself. I will return to you as soon as possible." - -Lady Janet listened absently. There was a certain expression in her eyes -which suggested to Julian that her mind was busy with some project -of its own. He stopped as he passed Mercy, on his way out by the -billiard-room door. It cost him a hard effort to control the contending -emotions which the mere act of looking at her now awakened in him. His -heart beat fast, his voice sank low, as he spoke to her. - -"You shall see me again," he said. "I never was more in earnest in -promising you my truest help and sympathy than I am now." - -She understood him. Her bosom heaved painfully; her eyes fell to the -ground--she made no reply. The tears rose in Julian's eyes as he looked -at her. He hurriedly left the room. - -When he turned to close the billiard-room door, he heard Lady Janet say, -"I will be with you again in a moment, Grace; don't go away." - -Interpreting these words as meaning that his aunt had some business -of her own to attend to in the library, he shut the door. He had just -advanced into the smoking-room beyond, when he thought he heard the door -open again. He turned round. Lady Janet had followed him. - -"Do you wish to speak to me?" he asked. - -"I want something of you," Lady Janet answered, "before you go." - -"What is it?" - -"Your card." - -"My card?" - -"You have just told me not to be uneasy," said the old lady. "I _am_ -uneasy, for all that. I don't feel as sure as you do that this woman -really is in the grounds. She may be lurking somewhere in the house, and -she may appear when your back in turned. Remember what you told me." - -Julian understood the allusion. He made no reply. - -"The people at the police station close by," pursued Lady Janet, "have -instructions to send an experienced man, in plain clothes, to any -address indicated on your card the moment they receive it. That is what -you told me. For Grace's protection, I want your card before you leave -us." - -It was impossible for Julian to mention the reasons which now forbade -him to make use of his own precautions--in the very face of the -emergency which they had been especially intended to meet. How could he -declare the true Grace Roseberry to be mad? How could he give the true -Grace Roseberry into custody? On the other hand, he had personally -pledged himself (when the circumstances appeared to require it) to place -the means of legal protection from insult and annoyance at his aunt's -disposal. And now, there stood Lady Janet, unaccustomed to have her -wishes disregarded by anybody, with her band extended, waiting for the -card! - -What was to be done? The one way out of the difficulty appeared to be to -submit for the moment. If he succeeded in discovering the missing woman, -he could easily take care that she should be subjected to no needless -indignity. If she contrived to slip into the house in his absence, -he could provide against that contingency by sending a second card -privately to the police station, forbidding the officer to stir in the -affair until he had received further orders. Julian made one stipulation -only before he handed his card to his aunt. - -"You will not use this, I am sure, without positive and pressing -necessity," he said. "But I must make one condition. Promise me to keep -my plan for communicating with the police a strict secret--" - -"A strict secret from Grace?" interposed Lady Janet. (Julian bowed.) "Do -you suppose I want to frighten her? Do you think I have not had anxiety -enough about her already? Of course I shall keep it a secret from -Grace!" - -Re-assured on this point, Julian hastened out into the grounds. As soon -as his back was turned Lady Janet lifted the gold pencil-case which hung -at her watch-chain, and wrote on her nephew's card (for the information -of the officer in plain clothes), "_You are wanted at Mablethorpe -House_." This done, she put the card into the old-fashioned pocket of -her dress, and returned to the dining-room. - - - -Grace was waiting, in obedience to the instructions which she had -received. - -For the first moment or two not a word was spoken on either side. Now -that she was alone with her adopted daughter, a certain coldness and -hardness began to show itself in Lady Janet's manner. The discovery that -she had made on opening the drawing-room door still hung on her mind. -Julian had certainly convinced her that she had misinterpreted what she -had seen; but he had convinced her against her will. She had found Mercy -deeply agitated; suspiciously silent. Julian might be innocent, she -admitted--there was no accounting for the vagaries of men. But the case -of Mercy was altogether different. Women did not find themselves in the -arms of men without knowing what they were about. Acquitting Julian, -Lady Janet declined to acquit Mercy. "There is some secret understanding -between them," thought the old lady, "and she's to blame; the women -always are!" - -Mercy still waited to be spoken to; pale and quiet, silent and -submissive. Lady Janet--in a highly uncertain state of temper--was -obliged to begin. - -"My dear!" she called out, sharply. - -"Yes, Lady Janet." - -"How much longer are you going to sit there with your mouth shut up and -your eyes on the carpet? Have you no opinion to offer on this alarming -state of things? You heard what the man said to Julian--I saw you -listening. Are you horribly frightened?" - -"No, Lady Janet." - -"Not even nervous?" - -"No, Lady Janet." - -"Ha! I should hardly have given you credit for so much courage after my -experience of you a week ago. I congratulate you on your recovery." - -"Thank you, Lady Janet." - -"I am not so composed as you are. We were an excitable set in _my_ -youth--and I haven't got the better of it yet. I feel nervous. Do you -hear? I feel nervous." - -"I am sorry, Lady Janet." - -"You are very good. Do you know what I am going to do?" - -"No, Lady Janet." - -"I am going to summon the household. When I say the household, I mean -the men; the women are no use. I am afraid I fail to attract your -attention?" - -"You have my best attention, Lady Janet." - -"You are very good again. I said the women were of no use." - -"Yes, Lady Janet." - -"I mean to place a man-servant on guard at every entrance to the house. -I am going to do it at once. Will you come with me?" - -"Can I be of any use if I go with your ladyship?" - -"You can't be of the slightest use. I give the orders in this house--not -you. I had quite another motive in asking you to come with me. I am more -considerate of you than you seem to think--I don't like leaving you here -by yourself. Do you understand? - -"I am much obliged to your ladyship. I don't mind being left here by -myself." - -"You don't mind? I never heard of such heroism in my life--out of a -novel! Suppose that crazy wretch should find her way in here?" - -"She would not frighten me this time as she frightened me before." - -"Not too fast, my young lady! Suppose--Good heavens! now I think of it, -there is the conservatory. Suppose she should be hidden in there? Julian -is searching the grounds. Who is to search the conservatory?" - -"With your ladyship's permission, _I_ will search the conservatory." - -"You!!!" - -"With your ladyship's permission." - -"I can hardly believe my own ears! Well, 'Live and learn' is an old -proverb. I thought I knew your character. This _is_ a change!" - -"You forget, Lady Janet (if I may venture to say so), that the -circumstances are changed. She took me by surprise on the last occasion; -I am prepared for her now." - -"Do you really feel as coolly as you speak?" - -"Yes, Lady Janet." - -"Have your own way, then. I shall do one thing, however, in case of your -having overestimated your own courage. I shall place one of the men in -the library. You will only have to ring for him if anything happens. He -will give the alarm--and I shall act accordingly. I have my plan," said -her Ladyship, comfortably conscious of the card in her pocket. "Don't -look as if you wanted to know what it is. I have no intention of saying -anything about it--except that it will do. Once more, and for the last -time--do you stay here? or do you go with me?" - -"I stay here." - -She respectfully opened the library door for Lady Janet's departure as -she made that reply. Throughout the interview she had been carefully -and coldly deferential; she had not once lifted her eyes to Lady -Janet's face. The conviction in her that a few hours more would, in all -probability, see her dismissed from the house, had of necessity fettered -every word that she spoke--had morally separated her already from the -injured mistress whose love she had won in disguise. Utterly incapable -of attributing the change in her young companion to the true motive, -Lady Janet left the room to summon her domestic garrison, thoroughly -puzzled and (as a necessary consequence of that condition) thoroughly -displeased. - -Still holding the library door in her hand, Mercy stood watching with a -heavy heart the progress of her benefactress down the length of the -room on the way to the front hall beyond. She had honestly loved and -respected the warm-hearted, quick-tempered old lady. A sharp pang of -pain wrung her as she thought of the time when even the chance utterance -of her name would become an unpardonable offense in Lady Janet's house. - -But there was no shrinking in her now from the ordeal of the confession. -She was not only anxious--she was impatient for Julian's return. Before -she slept that night Julian's confidence in her should be a confidence -that she had deserved. - -"Let her own the truth, without the base fear of discovery to drive her -to it. Let her do justice to the woman whom she has wronged, while that -woman is still powerless to expose her. Let her sacrifice everything -that she has gained by the fraud to the sacred duty of atonement. If -she can do that, then her repentance has nobly revealed the noble nature -that is in her; then she is a woman to be trusted, respected, beloved." -Those words were as vividly present to her as if she still heard them -falling from his lips. Those other words which had followed them rang -as grandly as ever in her ears: "Rise, poor wounded heart! Beautiful, -purified soul, God's angels rejoice over you! Take your place among the -noblest of God's creatures!" Did the woman live who could hear Julian -Gray say that, and who could hesitate, at any sacrifice, at any loss, to -justify his belief in her? "Oh!" she thought, longingly while her eyes -followed Lady Janet to the end of the library, "if your worst fears -could only be realized! If I could only see Grace Roseberry in this -room, how fearlessly I could meet her now!" - -She closed the library door, while Lady Janet opened the other door -which led into the hall. - -As she turned and looked back into the dining-room a cry of astonishment -escaped her. - -There--as if in answer to the aspiration which was still in her mind; -there, established in triumph on the chair that she had just left--sat -Grace Roseberry, in sinister silence, waiting for her. - - - -CHAPTER XIX. THE EVIL GENIUS. - -RECOVERING from the first overpowering sensation of surprise, Mercy -rapidly advanced, eager to say her first penitent words. Grace stopped -her by a warning gesture of the hand. "No nearer to me," she said, with -a look of contemptuous command. "Stay where you are." - -Mercy paused. Grace's reception had startled her. She instinctively took -the chair nearest to her to support herself. Grace raised a warning hand -for the second time, and issued another command: "I forbid you to be -seated in my presence. You have no right to be in this house at all. -Remember, if you please, who you are, and who I am." - -The tone in which those words were spoken was an insult in itself. Mercy -suddenly lifted her head; the angry answer was on her lips. She checked -it, and submitted in silence. "I will be worthy of Julian Gray's -confidence in me," she thought, as she stood patiently by the chair. "I -will bear anything from the woman whom I have wronged." - -In silence the two faced each other; alone together, for the first time -since they had met in the French cottage. The contrast between them was -strange to see. Grace Roseberry, seated in her chair, little and lean, -with her dull white complexion, with her hard, threatening face, with -her shrunken figure clad in its plain and poor black garments, looked -like a being of a lower sphere, compared with Mercy Merrick, standing -erect in her rich silken dress; her tall, shapely figure towering -over the little creature before her; her grand head bent in graceful -submission; gentle, patient, beautiful; a woman whom it was a privilege -to look at and a distinction to admire. If a stranger had been told that -those two had played their parts in a romance of real life--that one of -them was really connected by the ties of relationship with Lady Janet -Roy, and that the other had successfully attempted to personate her--he -would inevitably, if it had been left to him to guess which was which, -have picked out Grace as the counterfeit and Mercy as the true woman. - -Grace broke the silence. She had waited to open her lips until she had -eyed her conquered victim all over, with disdainfully minute attention, -from head to foot. - -"Stand there. I like to look at you," she said, speaking with a spiteful -relish of her own cruel words. "It's no use fainting this time. You -have not got Lady Janet Roy to bring you to. There are no gentlemen here -to-day to pity you and pick you up. Mercy Merrick, I have got you at -last. Thank God, my turn has come! You can't escape me now!" - -All the littleness of heart and mind which had first shown itself in -Grace at the meeting in the cottage, when Mercy told the sad story of -her life, now revealed itself once more. The woman who in those -past times had felt no impulse to take a suffering and a penitent -fellow-creature by the hand was the same woman who could feel no pity, -who could spare no insolence of triumph, now. Mercy's sweet voice -answered her patiently, in low, pleading tones. - -"I have not avoided you," she said. "I would have gone to you of my own -accord if I had known that you were here. It is my heartfelt wish to -own that I have sinned against you, and to make all the atonement that -I can. I am too anxious to deserve your forgiveness to have any fear of -seeing you." - -Conciliatory as the reply was, it was spoken with a simple and modest -dignity of manner which roused Grace Roseberry to fury. - -"How dare you speak to me as if you were any equal?" she burst out. "You -stand there and answer me as if you had your right and your place -in this house. You audacious woman! _I_ have my right and my place -here--and what am I obliged to do? I am obliged to hang about in the -grounds, and fly from the sight of the servants, and hide like a thief, -and wait like a beggar, and all for what? For the chance of having a -word with _you_. Yes! you, madam! with the air of the Refuge and the -dirt of the streets on you!" - -Mercy's head sank lower; her hand trembled as it held by the back of the -chair. - -It was hard to bear the reiterated insults heaped on her, but Julian's -influence still made itself felt. She answered as patiently as ever. - -"If it is your pleasure to use hard words to me," she said, "I have no -right to resent them." - -"You have no right to anything!" Grace retorted. "You have no right -to the gown on your back. Look at yourself, and look at Me!" Her eyes -traveled with a tigerish stare over Mercy's costly silk dress. "Who gave -you that dress? who gave you those jewels? I know! Lady Janet gave them -to Grace Roseberry. Are _you_ Grace Roseberry? That dress is mine. Take -off your bracelets and your brooch. They were meant for me." - -"You may soon have them, Miss Roseberry. They will not be in my -possession many hours longer." - -"What do you mean?" - -"However badly you may use me, it is my duty to undo the harm that I -have done. I am bound to do you justice--I am determined to confess the -truth." - -Grace smiled scornfully. - -"You confess!" she said. "Do you think I am fool enough to believe that? -You are one shameful brazen lie from head to foot! Are _you_ the woman -to give up your silks and your jewels, and your position in this house, -and to go back to the Refuge of your own accord? Not you--not you!" - -A first faint flush of color showed itself, stealing slowly over Mercy's -face; but she still held resolutely by the good influence which Julian -had left behind him. She could still say to herself, "Anything rather -than disappoint Julian Gray." Sustained by the courage which _he_ had -called to life in her, she submitted to her martyrdom as bravely as -ever. But there was an ominous change in her now: she could only submit -in silence; she could no longer trust herself to answer. - -The mute endurance in her face additionally exasperated Grace Roseberry. - -"_You_ won't confess," she went on. "You have had a week to confess in, -and you have not done it yet. No, no! you are of the sort that cheat and -lie to the last. I am glad of it; I shall have the joy of exposing you -myself before the whole house. I shall be the blessed means of casting -you back on the streets. Oh! it will be almost worth all I have gone -through to see you with a policeman's hand on your arm, and the mob -pointing at you and mocking you on your way to jail!" - -This time the sting struck deep; the outrage was beyond endurance. Mercy -gave the woman who had again and again deliberately insulted her a first -warning. - -"Miss Roseberry," she said, "I have borne without a murmur the bitterest -words you could say to me. Spare me any more insults. Indeed, indeed, I -am eager to restore you to your just rights. With my whole heart I say -it to you--I am resolved to confess everything!" - -She spoke with trembling earnestness of tone. Grace listened with a hard -smile of incredulity and a hard look of contempt. - -"You are not far from the bell," she said; "ring it." - -Mercy looked at her in speechless surprise. - -"You are a perfect picture of repentance--you are dying to own the -truth," pursued the other, satirically. "Own it before everybody, -and own it at once. Call in Lady Janet--call in Mr. Gray and Mr. -Holmcroft--call in the servants. Go down on your knees and acknowledge -yourself an impostor before them all. Then I will believe you--not -before." - -"Don't, don't turn me against you!" cried Mercy, entreatingly. - -"What do I care whether you are against me or not?" - -"Don't--for your own sake, don't go on provoking me much longer!" - -"For my own sake? You insolent creature! Do you mean to threaten me?" - -With a last desperate effort, her heart beating faster and faster, the -blood burning hotter and hotter in her cheeks, Mercy still controlled -herself. - -"Have some compassion on me!" she pleaded. "Badly as I have behaved -to you, I am still a woman like yourself. I can't face the shame of -acknowledging what I have done before the whole house. Lady Janet treats -me like a daughter; Mr. Holmcroft has engaged himself to marry me. -I can't tell Lady Janet and Mr. Holmcroft to their faces that I have -cheated them out of their love. But they shall know it, for all that. -I can, and will, before I rest to-night, tell the whole truth to Mr. -Julian Gray." - -Grace burst out laughing. "Aha!" she exclaimed, with a cynical outburst -of gayety. "Now we have come to it at last!" - -"Take care!" said Mercy. "Take care!" - -"Mr. Julian Gray! I was behind the billiard-room door--I saw you coax -Mr. Julian Gray to come in! confession loses all its horrors, and -becomes quite a luxury, with Mr. Julian Gray!" - -"No more, Miss Roseberry! no more! For God's sake, don't put me beside -myself! You have tortured me enough already." - -"You haven't been on the streets for nothing. You are a woman with -resources; you know the value of having two strings to your bow. If Mr. -Holmcroft fails you, you have got Mr. Julian Gray. Ah! you sicken me. -_I'll_ see that Mr. Holmcroft's eyes are opened; he shall know what a -woman he might have married but for Me--" - -She checked herself; the next refinement of insult remained suspended on -her lips. - -The woman whom she had outraged suddenly advanced on her. Her eyes, -staring helplessly upward, saw Mercy Merrick's face, white with the -terrible anger which drives the blood back on the heart, bending -threateningly over her. - -"'You will see that Mr. Holmcroft's eyes are opened,'" Mercy slowly -repeated; "'he shall know what a woman he might have married but for -you!'" - -She paused, and followed those words by a question which struck a -creeping terror through Grace Roseberry, from the hair of her head to -the soles of her feet: - -"_Who are you?_" - -The suppressed fury of look and tone which accompanied that question -told, as no violence could have told it, that the limits of Mercy's -endurance had been found at last. In the guardian angel's absence the -evil genius had done its evil work. The better nature which Julian -Gray had brought to life sank, poisoned by the vile venom of a womanly -spiteful tongue. An easy and a terrible means of avenging the outrages -heaped on her was within Mercy's reach, if she chose to take it. In the -frenzy of her indignation she never hesitated--she took it. - -"Who are you?" she asked for the second time. - -Grace roused herself and attempted to speak. Mercy stopped her with a -scornful gesture of her hand. - -"I remember!" she went on, with the same fiercely suppressed rage. "You -are the madwoman from the German hospital who came here a week ago. I am -not afraid of you this time. Sit down and rest yourself, Mercy Merrick." - -Deliberately giving her that name to her face, Mercy turned from her -and took the chair which Grace had forbidden her to occupy when the -interview began. Grace started to her feet. - -"What does this mean?" she asked. - -"It means," answered Mercy, contemptuously, "that I recall every word -I said to you just now. It means that I am resolved to keep my place in -this house." - -"Are you out of your senses?" - -"You are not far from the bell. Ring it. Do what you asked _me_ to do. -Call in the whole household, and ask them which of us is mad--you or I." - -"Mercy Merrick! you shall repent this to the last hour of your life!" - -Mercy rose again, and fixed her flashing eyes on the woman who still -defied her. - -"I have had enough of you!" she said. "Leave the house while you can -leave it. Stay here, and I will send for Lady Janet Roy." - -"You can't send for her! You daren't send for her!" - -"I can and I dare. You have not a shadow of a proof against me. I have -got the papers; I am in possession of the place; I have established -myself in Lady Janet's confidence. I mean to deserve your opinion of -me--I will keep my dresses and my jewels and my position in the house. I -deny that I have done wrong. Society has used me cruelly; I owe nothing -to Society. I have a right to take any advantage of it if I can. I deny -that I have injured you. How was I to know that you would come to life -again? Have I degraded your name and your character? I have done honor -to both. I have won everybody's liking and everybody's respect. Do you -think Lady Janet would have loved you as she loves me? Not she! I tell -you to your face I have filled the false position more creditably than -you could have filled the true one, and I mean to keep it. I won't give -up your name; I won't restore your character! Do your worst; I defy -you!" - -She poured out those reckless words in one headlong flow which defied -interruption. There was no answering her until she was too breathless -to say more. Grace seized her opportunity the moment it was within her -reach. - -"You defy me?" she returned, resolutely. "You won't defy me long. I have -written to Canada. My friends will speak for me." - -"What of it, if they do? Your friends are strangers here. I am Lady -Janet's adopted daughter. Do you think she will believe your friends? -She will believe me. She will burn their letters if they write. She will -forbid the house to them if they come. I shall be Mrs. Horace Holmcroft -in a week's time. Who can shake _my_ position? Who can injure Me?" - -"Wait a little. You forget the matron at the Refuge." - -"Find her, if you can. I never told you her name. I never told you where -the Refuge was." - -"I will advertise your name, and find the matron in that way." - -"Advertise in every newspaper in London. Do you think I gave a stranger -like you the name I really bore in the Refuge? I gave you the name I -assumed when I left England. No such person as Mercy Merrick is known to -the matron. No such person is known to Mr. Holmcroft. He saw me at the -French cottage while you were senseless on the bed. I had my gray cloak -on; neither he nor any of them saw me in my nurse's dress. Inquiries -have been made about me on the Continent--and (I happen to know from -the person who made them) with no result. I am safe in your place; I -am known by your name. I am Grace Roseberry; and you are Mercy Merrick. -Disprove it, if you can!" - -Summing up the unassailable security of her false position in those -closing words, Mercy pointed significantly to the billiard-room door. - -"You were hiding there, by your own confession," she said. "You know -your way out by that door. Will you leave the room?" - -"I won't stir a step!" - -Mercy walked to a side-table, and struck the bell placed on it. - -At the same moment the billiard-room door opened. Julian Gray -appeared--returning from his unsuccessful search in the grounds. - -He had barely crossed the threshold before the library door was -thrown open next by the servant posted in the room. The man drew back -respectfully, and gave admission to Lady Janet Roy. She was followed by -Horace Holmcroft with his mother's wedding present to Mercy in his hand. - - - -CHAPTER XX. THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES. - -JULIAN looked round the room, and stopped at the door which he had just -opened. - -His eyes rested first on Mercy, next on Grace. - -The disturbed faces of both the women told him but too plainly that -the disaster which he had dreaded had actually happened. They had met -without any third person to interfere between them. To what extremities -the hostile interview might have led it was impossible for him to guess. -In his aunt's presence he could only wait his opportunity of speaking to -Mercy, and be ready to interpose if anything was ignorantly done which -might give just cause of offense to Grace. - -Lady Janet's course of action on entering the dining-room was in perfect -harmony with Lady Janet's character. - -Instantly discovering the intruder, she looked sharply at Mercy. "What -did I tell you?" she asked. "Are you frightened? No! not in the least -frightened! Wonderful!" She turned to the servant. "Wait in the library; -I may want you again." She looked at Julian. "Leave it all to me; I can -manage it." She made a sign to Horace. "Stay where you are, and hold -your tongue." Having now said all that was necessary to every one else, -she advanced to the part of the room in which Grace was standing, with -lowering brows and firmly shut lips, defiant of everybody. - -"I have no desire to offend you, or to act harshly toward you," her -ladyship began, very quietly. "I only suggest that your visits to my -house cannot possibly lead to any satisfactory result. I hope you -will not oblige me to say any harder words than these--I hope you will -understand that I wish you to withdraw." - -The order of dismissal could hardly have been issued with more humane -consideration for the supposed mental infirmity of the person to whom -it was addressed. Grace instantly resisted it in the plainest possible -terms. - -"In justice to my father's memory and in justice to myself," -she answered, "I insist on a hearing. I refuse to withdraw." She -deliberately took a chair and seated herself in the presence of the -mistress of the house. - -Lady Janet waited a moment--steadily controlling her temper. In the -interval of silence Julian seized the opportunity of remonstrating with -Grace. - -"Is this what you promised me?" he asked, gently. "You gave me your word -that you would not return to Mablethorpe House." - -Before he could say more Lady Janet had got her temper under command. -She began her answer to Grace by pointing with a peremptory forefinger -to the library door. - -"If you have not made up your mind to take my advice by the time I have -walked back to that door," she said, "I will put it out of your power -to set me at defiance. I am used to be obeyed, and I will be obeyed. You -force me to use hard words. I warn you before it is too late. Go!" - -She returned slowly toward the library. Julian attempted to interfere -with another word of remonstrance. His aunt stopped him by a gesture -which said, plainly, "I insist on acting for myself." He looked next -at Mercy. Would she remain passive? Yes. She never lifted her head; -she never moved from the place in which she was standing apart from the -rest. Horace himself tried to attract her attention, and tried in vain. - -Arrived at the library door, Lady Janet looked over her shoulder at the -little immovable black figure in the chair. - -"Will you go?" she asked, for the last time. - -Grace started up angrily from her seat, and fixed her viperish eyes on -Mercy. - -"I won't be turned out of your ladyship's house in the presence of that -impostor," she said. "I may yield to force, but I will yield to nothing -else. I insist on my right to the place that she has stolen from me. -It's no use scolding me," she added, turning doggedly to Julian. "As -long as that woman is here under my name I can't and won't keep away -from the house. I warn her, in your presence, that I have written to -my friends in Canada! I dare her before you all to deny that she is the -outcast and adventuress, Mercy Merrick!" - -The challenge forced Mercy to take part in the proceedings in her own -defense. She had pledged herself to meet and defy Grace Roseberry on her -own ground. She attempted to speak--Horace stopped her. - -"You degrade yourself if you answer her," he said. "Take my arm, and let -us leave the room." - -"Yes! Take her out!" cried Grace. "She may well be ashamed to face an -honest woman. It's her place to leave the room--not mine!" - -Mercy drew her hand out of Horace's arm. "I decline to leave the room," -she said, quietly. - -Horace still tried to persuade her to withdraw. "I can't bear to hear -you insulted," he rejoined. "The woman offends me, though I know she is -not responsible for what she says." - -"Nobody's endurance will be tried much longer," said Lady Janet. She -glanced at Julian, and taking from her pocket the card which he had -given to her, opened the library door. - -"Go to the police station," she said to the servant in an undertone, -"and give that card to the inspector on duty. Tell him there is not a -moment to lose." - -"Stop!" said Julian, before his aunt could close the door again. - -"Stop?" repeated Lady Janet, sharply. "I have given the man his orders. -What do you mean?" - -"Before you send the card I wish to say a word in private to this lady," -replied Julian, indicating Grace. "When that is done," he continued, -approaching Mercy, and pointedly addressing himself to her, "I shall -have a request to make--I shall ask you to give me an opportunity of -speaking to you without interruption." - -His tone pointed the allusion. Mercy shrank from looking at him. The -signs of painful agitation began to show themselves in her shifting -color and her uneasy silence. Roused by Julian's significantly distant -reference to what had passed between them, her better impulses were -struggling already to recover their influence over her. She might, at -that critical moment, have yielded to the promptings of her own nobler -nature--she might have risen superior to the galling remembrance of the -insults that had been heaped upon her--if Grace's malice had not seen -in her hesitation a means of referring offensively once again to her -interview with Julian Gray. - -"Pray don't think twice about trusting him alone with me," she said, -with a sardonic affectation of politeness. "_I_ am not interested in -making a conquest of Mr. Julian Gray." - -The jealous distrust in Horace (already awakened by Julian's request) -now attempted to assert itself openly. Before he could speak, Mercy's -indignation had dictated Mercy's answer. - -"I am much obliged to you, Mr. Gray," she said, addressing Julian (but -still not raising her eyes to his). "I have nothing more to say. There -is no need for me to trouble you again." - -In those rash words she recalled the confession to which she stood -pledged. In those rash words she committed herself to keeping the -position that she had usurped, in the face of the woman whom she had -deprived of it! - -Horace was silenced, but not satisfied. He saw Julian's eyes fixed in -sad and searching attention on Mercy's face while she was speaking. -He heard Julian sigh to himself when she had done. He observed -Julian--after a moment's serious consideration, and a moment's glance -backward at the stranger in the poor black clothes--lift his head with -the air of a man who had taken a sudden resolution. - -"Bring me that card directly," he said to the servant. His tone -announced that he was not to be trifled with. The man obeyed. - -Without answering Lady Janet--who still peremptorily insisted on her -right to act for herself--Julian took the pencil from his pocketbook and -added his signature to the writing already inscribed on the card. When -he had handed it back to the servant he made his apologies to his aunt. - -"Pardon me for venturing to interfere," he said "There is a serious -reason for what I have done, which I will explain to you at a fitter -time. In the meanwhile I offer no further obstruction to the course -which you propose taking. On the contrary, I have just assisted you in -gaining the end that you have in view." - -As he said that he held up the pencil with which he had signed his name. - -Lady Janet, naturally perplexed, and (with some reason, perhaps) -offended as well, made no answer. She waved her hand to the servant, and -sent him away with the card. - -There was silence in the room. The eyes of all the persons present -turned more or less anxiously on Julian. Mercy was vaguely surprised and -alarmed. Horace, like Lady Janet, felt offended, without clearly knowing -why. Even Grace Roseberry herself was subdued by her own presentiment -of some coming interference for which she was completely unprepared. -Julian's words and actions, from the moment when he had written on the -card, were involved in a mystery to which not one of the persons round -him held the clew. - - - -The motive which had animated his conduct may, nevertheless, be -described in two words: Julian still held to his faith in the inbred -nobility of Mercy's nature. - -He had inferred, with little difficulty, from the language which Grace -had used toward Mercy in his presence, that the injured woman must have -taken pitiless advantage of her position at the interview which he had -interrupted. Instead of appealing to Mercy's sympathies and Mercy's -sense of right--instead of accepting the expression of her sincere -contrition, and encouraging her to make the completest and the speediest -atonement--Grace had evidently outraged and insulted her. As a necessary -result, her endurance had given way--under her own sense of intolerable -severity and intolerable wrong. - -The remedy for the mischief thus done was, as Julian had first seen it, -to speak privately with Grace, to soothe her by owning that his opinion -of the justice of her claims had undergone a change in her favor, and -then to persuade her, in her own interests, to let him carry to Mercy -such expressions of apology and regret as might lead to a friendly -understanding between them. - -With those motives, he had made his request to be permitted to speak -separately to the one and the other. The scene that had followed, the -new insult offered by Grace, and the answer which it had wrung -from Mercy, had convinced him that no such interference as he had -contemplated would have the slightest prospect of success. - -The only remedy now left to try was the desperate remedy of letting -things take their course, and trusting implicitly to Mercy's better -nature for the result. - -Let her see the police officer in plain clothes enter the room. Let her -understand clearly what the result of his interference would be. Let her -confront the alternative of consigning Grace Roseberry to a mad-house or -of confessing the truth--and what would happen? If Julian's confidence -in her was a confidence soundly placed, she would nobly pardon the -outrages that had been heaped upon her, and she would do justice to the -woman whom she had wronged. - -If, on the other hand, his belief in her was nothing better than the -blind belief of an infatuated man--if she faced the alternative and -persisted in asserting her assumed identity--what then? - -Julian's faith in Mercy refused to let that darker side of the question -find a place in his thoughts. It rested entirely with him to bring the -officer into the house. He had prevented Lady Janet from making any -mischievous use of his card by sending to the police station and warning -them to attend to no message which they might receive unless the card -produced bore his signature. Knowing the responsibility that he was -taking on himself--knowing that Mercy had made no confession to him -to which it was possible to appeal--he had signed his name without an -instant's hesitation: and there he stood now, looking at the woman whose -better nature he was determined to vindicate, the only calm person in -the room. - -Horace's jealousy saw something suspiciously suggestive of a private -understanding in Julian's earnest attention and in Mercy's downcast -face. Having no excuse for open interference, he made an effort to part -them. - -"You spoke just now," he said to Julian, "of wishing to say a word in -private to that person." (He pointed to Grace.) "Shall we retire, or -will you take her into the library?" - -"I refuse to have anything to say to him," Grace burst out, before -Julian could answer. "I happen to know that he is the last person to do -me justice. He has been effectually hoodwinked. If I speak to anybody -privately, it ought to be to you. You have the greatest interest of any -of them in finding out the truth." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Do you want to marry an outcast from the streets?" - -Horace took one step forward toward her. There was a look in his face -which plainly betrayed that he was capable of turning her out of the -house with his own hands. Lady Janet stopped him. - -"You were right in suggesting just now that Grace had better leave the -room," she said. "Let us all three go. Julian will remain here and give -the man his directions when he arrives. Come." - -No. By a strange contradiction it was Horace himself who now interfered -to prevent Mercy from leaving the room. In the heat of his indignation -he lost all sense of his own dignity; he descended to the level of a -woman whose intellect he believed to be deranged. To the surprise of -every one present, he stepped back and took from the table a jewel-case -which he had placed there when he came into the room. It was the wedding -present from his mother which he had brought to his betrothed wife. His -outraged self-esteem seized the opportunity of vindicating Mercy by a -public bestowal of the gift. - -"Wait!" he called out, sternly. "That wretch shall have her answer. She -has sense enough to see and sense enough to hear. Let her see and hear!" - -He opened the jewel-case, and took from it a magnificent pearl necklace -in an antique setting. - -"Grace," he said, with his highest distinction of manner, "my mother -sends you her love and her congratulations on our approaching marriage. -She begs you to accept, as part of your bridal dress, these pearls. She -was married in them herself. They have been in our family for centuries. -As one of the family, honored and beloved, my mother offers them to my -wife." - -He lifted the necklace to clasp it round Mercy's neck. - -Julian watched her in breathless suspense. Would she sustain the ordeal -through which Horace had innocently condemned her to pass? - -Yes! In the insolent presence of Grace Roseberry, what was there now -that she could _not_ sustain? Her pride was in arms. Her lovely eyes -lighted up as only a woman's eyes _can_ light up when they see jewelry. -Her grand head bent gracefully to receive the necklace. Her face w -armed into color; her beauty rallied its charms. Her triumph over -Grace Roseberry was complete! Julian's head sank. For one sad moment he -secretly asked himself the question: "Have I been mistaken in her?" - -Horace arrayed her in the pearls. - -"Your husband puts these pearls on your neck, love," he said, proudly, -and paused to look at her. "Now," he added, with a contemptuous backward -glance at Grace, "we may go into the library. She has seen, and she has -heard." - -He believed that he had silenced her. He had simply furnished her sharp -tongue with a new sting. - -"_You_ will hear, and _you_ will see, when my proofs come from Canada," -she retorted. "You will hear that your wife has stolen my name and my -character! You will see your wife dismissed from this house!" - -Mercy turned on her with an uncontrollable outburst of passion. - -"You are mad!" she cried. - -Lady Janet caught the electric infection of anger in the air of the -room. She, too, turned on Grace. She, too, said it: - -"You are mad!" - -Horace followed Lady Janet. _He_ was beside himself. _He_ fixed his -pitiless eyes on Grace, and echoed the contagious words: - -"You are mad!" - -She was silenced, she was daunted at last. The treble accusation -revealed to her, for the first time, the frightful suspicion to which -she had exposed herself. She shrank back with a low cry of horror, and -struck against a chair. She would have fallen if Julian had not sprung -forward and caught her. - -Lady Janet led the way into the library. She opened the -door--started--and suddenly stepped aside, so as to leave the entrance -free. - -A man appeared in the open doorway. - -He was not a gentleman; he was not a workman; he was not a servant. He -was vilely dressed, in glossy black broadcloth. His frockcoat hung on -him instead of fitting him. His waistcoat was too short and too tight -over the chest. His trousers were a pair of shapeless black bags. -His gloves were too large for him. His highly-polished boots creaked -detestably whenever he moved. He had odiously watchful eyes--eyes that -looked skilled in peeping through key-holes. His large ears, set forward -like the ears of a monkey, pleaded guilty to meanly listening behind -other people's doors. His manner was quietly confidential when he spoke, -impenetrably self-possessed when he was silent. A lurking air of secret -service enveloped the fellow, like an atmosphere of his own, from head -to foot. He looked all round the magnificent room without betraying -either surprise or admiration. He closely investigated every person in -it with one glance of his cunningly watchful eyes. Making his bow to -Lady Janet, he silently showed her, as his introduction, the card that -had summoned him. And then he stood at ease, self-revealed in his own -sinister identity--a police officer in plain clothes. - -Nobody spoke to him. Everybody shrank inwardly as if a reptile had -crawled into the room. - -He looked backward and forward, perfectly unembarrassed, between Julian -and Horace. - -"Is Mr. Julian Gray here?" he asked. - -Julian led Grace to a seat. Her eyes were fixed on the man. She -trembled--she whispered, "Who is he?" Julian spoke to the police officer -without answering her. - -"Wait there," he said, pointing to a chair in the most distant corner of -the room. "I will speak to you directly." - -The man advanced to the chair, marching to the discord of his creaking -boots. He privately valued the carpet at so much a yard as he walked -over it. He privately valued the chair at so much the dozen as he sat -down on it. He was quite at his ease: it was no matter to him whether he -waited and did nothing, or whether he pried into the private character -of every one in the room, as long as he was paid for it. - -Even Lady Janet's resolution to act for herself was not proof against -the appearance of the policeman in plain clothes. She left it to her -nephew to take the lead. Julian glanced at Mercy before he stirred -further in the matter. He alone knew that the end rested now not with -him but with her. - -She felt his eye on her while her own eyes were looking at the man. She -turned her head--hesitated--and suddenly approached Julian. Like Grace -Roseberry, she was trembling. Like Grace Roseberry, she whispered, "Who -is he?" - -Julian told her plainly who he was. - -"Why is he here?" - -"Can't you guess?" - -"No!" - -Horace left Lady Janet, and joined Mercy and Julian--impatient of the -private colloquy between them. - -"Am I in the way?" he inquired. - -Julian drew back a little, understanding Horace perfectly. He looked -round at Grace. Nearly the whole length of the spacious room divided -them from the place in which she was sitting. She had never moved -since he had placed her in a chair. The direst of all terrors was in -possession of her--terror of the unknown. There was no fear of her -interfering, and no fear of her hearing what they said so long as -they were careful to speak in guarded tones. Julian set the example by -lowering his voice. - -"Ask Horace why the police officer is here?" he said to Mercy. - -She put the question directly. "Why is he here?" - -Horace looked across the room at Grace, and answered, "He is here to -relieve us of that woman." - -"Do you mean that he will take her away?" - -"Yes." - -"Where will he take her to?" - -"To the police station." - -Mercy started, and looked at Julian. He was still watching the slightest -changes in her face. She looked back again at Horace. - -"To the police station!" she repeated. "What for?" - -"How can you ask the question?" said Horace, irritably. "To be placed -under restraint, of course." - -"Do you mean prison?" - -"I mean an asylum." - -Again Mercy turned to Julian. There was horror now, as well as surprise, -in her face. "Oh!" she said to him, "Horace is surely wrong? It can't -be?" - -Julian left it to Horace to answer. Every facility in him seemed to be -still absorbed in watching Mercy's face. She was compelled to address -herself to Horace once more. - -"What sort of asylum?" she asked. "You don't surely mean a madhouse?" - -"I do," he rejoined. "The workhouse first, perhaps--and then the -madhouse. What is there to surprise you in that? You yourself told her -to her face she was mad. Good Heavens! how pale you are! What is the -matter?" - -She turned to Julian for the third time. The terrible alternative -that was offered to her had showed itself at last, without reserve or -disguise. Restore the identity that you have stolen, or shut her up in a -madhouse--it rests with you to choose! In that form the situation shaped -itself in her mind. She chose on the instant. Before she opened her lips -the higher nature in her spoke to Julian, in her eyes. The steady -inner light that he had seen in them once already shone in them again, -brighter and purer than before. The conscience that he had fortified, -the soul that he had saved, looked at him and said, Doubt us no more! - -"Send that man out of the house." - -Those were her first words. She spoke (pointing to the police officer) -in clear, ringing, resolute tones, audible in the remotest corner of the -room. - -Julian's hand stole unobserved to hers, and told her, in its momentary -pressure, to count on his brotherly sympathy and help. All the other -persons in the room looked at her in speechless surprise. Grace rose -from her chair. Even the man in plain clothes started to his feet. Lady -Janet (hurriedly joining Horace, and fully sharing his perplexity and -alarm) took Mercy impulsively by the arm, and shook it, as if to rouse -her to a sense of what she was doing. Mercy held firm; Mercy resolutely -repeated what she had said: "Send that man out of the house." - -Lady Janet lost all her patience with her. "What has come to you?" she -asked, sternly. "Do you know what you are saying? The man is here in -your interest, as well as in mine; the man is here to spare you, as -well as me, further annoyance and insult. And you insist--insist, in my -presence--on his being sent away! What does it mean?" - -"You shall know what it means, Lady Janet, in half an hour. I don't -insist--I only reiterate my entreaty. Let the man be sent away." - -Julian stepped aside (with his aunt's eyes angrily following him) and -spoke to the police officer. "Go back to the station," he said, "and -wait there till you hear from me." - -The meanly vigilant eyes of the man in plain clothes traveled sidelong -from Julian to Mercy, and valued her beauty as they had valued the -carpet and the chairs. "The old story," he thought. "The nice-looking -woman is always at the bottom of it; and, sooner or later, the -nice-looking woman has her way." He marched back across the room, to the -discord of his own creaking boots, bowed, with a villainous smile which -put the worst construction on everything, and vanished through the -library door. - -Lady Janet's high breeding restrained her from saying anything until the -police officer was out of hearing. Then, and not till then, she appealed -to Julian. - -"I presume you are in the secret of this?" she said. "I suppose you have -some reason for setting my authority at defiance in my own house?" - -"I have never yet failed to respect your ladyship," Julian answered. -"Before long you will know that I am not failing in respect toward you -now." - -Lady Janet looked across the room. Grace was listening eagerly, -conscious that events had taken some mysterious turn in her favor within -the last minute. - -"Is it part of your new arrangement of my affairs," her ladyship -continued, "that this person is to remain in the house?" - -The terror that had daunted Grace had not lost all hold of her yet. She -left it to Julian to reply. Before he could speak Mercy crossed the room -and whispered to her, "Give me time to confess it in writing. I can't -own it before them--with this round my neck." She pointed to the -necklace. Grace cast a threatening glance at her, and suddenly looked -away again in silence. - -Mercy answered Lady Janet's question. "I beg your ladyship to permit her -to remain until the half hour is over," she said. "My request will have -explained itself by that time." - -Lady Janet raised no further obstacles. For something in Mercy's face, -or in Mercy's tone, seemed to have silenced her, as it had silenced -Grace. Horace was the next who spoke. In tones of suppressed rage -and suspicion he addressed himself to Mercy, standing fronting him by -Julian's side. - -"Am I included," he asked, "in the arrangement which engages you to -explain your extraordinary conduct in half an hour?" - -_His_ hand had placed his mother's wedding present round Mercy's neck. A -sharp pang wrung her as she looked at Horace, and saw how deeply she -had already distressed and offended him. The tears rose in her eyes; she -humbly and faintly answered him. - -"If you please," was all she could say, before the cruel swelling at her -heart rose and silenced her. - -Horace's sense of injury refused to be soothed by such simple submission -as this. - -"I dislike mysteries and innuendoes," he went on, harshly. "In my family -circle we are accustomed to meet each other frankly. Why am I to wait -half an hour for an explanation which might be given now? What am I to -wait for?" - -Lady Janet recovered herself as Horace spoke. - -"I entirely agree with you," she said. "I ask, too, what are we to wait -for?" - -Even Julian's self-possession failed him when his aunt repeated that -cruelly plain question. How would Mercy answer it? Would her courage -still hold out? - -"You have asked me what you are to wait for," she said to Horace, -quietly and firmly. "Wait to hear something more of Mercy Merrick." - -Lady Janet listened with a look of weary disgust. - -"Don't return to _that!_" she said. "We know enough about Mercy Merrick -already." - -"Pardon me--your ladyship does _not_ know. I am the only person who can -inform you." - -"You?" - -She bent her head respectfully. - -"I have begged you, Lady Janet, to give me half an hour," she went on. -"In half an hour I solemnly engage myself to produce Mercy Merrick in -this room. Lady Janet Roy, Mr. Horace Holmcroft, you are to wait for -that." - -Steadily pledging herself in those terms to make her confession, she -unclasped the pearls from her neck, put them away in their cases and -placed it in Horace's hand. "Keep it," she said, with a momentary -faltering in her voice, "until we meet again." - -Horace took the case in silence; he looked and acted like a man whose -mind was paralyzed by surprise. His hand moved mechanically. His eyes -followed Mercy with a vacant, questioning look. Lady Janet seemed, in -her different way, to share the strange oppression that had fallen on -him. A vague sense of dread and distress hung like a cloud over her -mind. At that memorable moment she felt her age, she looked her age, as -she had never felt it or looked it yet. - -"Have I your ladyship's leave," said Mercy, respectfully, "to go to my -room?" - -Lady Janet mutely granted the request. Mercy's last look, before she -went out, was a look at Grace. "Are you satisfied now?" the grand gray -eyes seemed to say, mournfully. Grace turned her head aside, with a -quick, petulant action. Even her narrow nature opened for a moment -unwillingly, and let pity in a little way, in spite of itself. - -Mercy's parting words recommended Grace to Julian's care: - -"You will see that she is allowed a room to wait in? You will warn her -yourself when the half hour has expired?" - -Julian opened the library door for her. - -"Well done! Nobly done!" he whispered. "All my sympathy is with you--all -my help is yours." - -Her eyes looked at him, and thanked him, through her gathering tears. -His own eyes were dimmed. She passed quietly down the room, and was lost -to him before he had shut the door again. - - - -CHAPTER XXI. THE FOOTSTEP IN THE CORRIDOR. - -MERCY was alone. - -She had secured one half hour of retirement in her own room, designing -to devote that interval to the writing of her confession, in the form of -a letter addressed to Julian Gray. - -No recent change in her position had, as yet, mitigated her horror of -acknowledging to Horace and to Lady Janet that she had won her way to -their hearts in disguise. Through Julian only could she say the words -which were to establish Grace Roseberry in her right position in the -house. - -How was her confession to be addressed to him? In writing? or by word of -mouth? - -After all that had happened, from the time when Lady Janet's -appearance had interrupted them, she would have felt relief rather than -embarrassment in personally opening her heart to the man who had so -delicately understood her, who had so faithfully befriended her in her -sorest need. But the repeated betrayals of Horace's jealous suspicion -of Julian warned her that she would only be surrounding herself with -new difficulties, and be placing Julian in a position of painful -embarrassment, if she admitted him to a private interview while Horace -was in the house. - -The one course left to take was the course that she had adopted. -Determining to address the narrative of the Fraud to Julian in the form -of a letter, she arranged to add, at the close, certain instructions, -pointing out to him the line of conduct which she wished him to pursue. - -These instructions contemplated the communication of her letter to Lady -Janet and to Horace in the library, while Mercy--self-confessed as the -missing woman whom she had pledged herself to produce--awaited in the -adjoining room whatever sentence it pleased them to pronounce on her. -Her resolution not to screen herself behind Julian from any consequences -which might follow the confession had taken root in her mind from the -moment when Horace had harshly asked her (and when Lady Janet had joined -him in asking) why she delayed her explanation, and what she was keeping -them waiting for. Out of the very pain which those questions inflicted, -the idea of waiting her sentence in her own person in one room, while -her letter to Julian was speaking for her in another, had sprung -to life. "Let them break my heart if they like," she had thought to -herself, in the self-abasement of that bitter moment; "it will be no -more than I have deserved." - - - -She locked her door and opened her writing-desk. Knowing what she had to -do, she tried to collect herself and do it. - -The effort was in vain. Those persons who study writing as an art -are probably the only persons who can measure the vast distance which -separates a conception as it exists in the mind from the reduction -of that conception to form and shape in words. The heavy stress of -agitation that had been laid on Mercy for hours together had utterly -unfitted her for the delicate and difficult process of arranging the -events of a narrative in their due sequence and their due proportion -toward each other. Again and again she tried to begin her letter, and -again and again she was baffled by the same hopeless confusion of ideas. -She gave up the struggle in despair. - -A sense of sinking at her heart, a weight of hysterical oppression on -her bosom, warned her not to leave herself unoccupied, a prey to morbid -self-investigation and imaginary alarms. - -She turned instinctively, for a temporary employment of some kind, to -the consideration of her own future. Here there were no intricacies -or entanglements. The prospect began and ended with her return to the -Refuge, if the matron would receive her. She did no injustice to Julian -Gray; that great heart would feel for her, that kind hand would be -held out to her, she knew. But what would happen if she thoughtlessly -accepted all that his sympathy might offer? Scandal would point to her -beauty and to his youth, and would place its own vile interpretation on -the purest friendship that could exist between them. And _he_ would -be the sufferer, for _he_ had a character--a clergyman's character--to -lose. No. For his sake, out of gratitude to _him_, the farewell to -Mablethorpe House must be also the farewell to Julian Gray. - -The precious minutes were passing. She resolved to write to the matron -and ask if she might hope to be forgiven and employed at the Refuge -again. Occupation over the letter that was easy to write might have its -fortifying effect on her mind, and might pave the way for resuming -the letter that was hard to write. She waited a moment at the window, -thinking of the past life to which she was soon to return, before she -took up the pen again. - -Her window looked eastward. The dusky glare of lighted London met her as -her eyes rested on the sky. It seemed to beckon her back to the horror -of the cruel streets--to point her way mockingly to the bridges over -the black river--to lure her to the top of the parapet, and the dreadful -leap into God's arms, or into annihilation--who knew which? - -She turned, shuddering, from the window. "Will it end in that way," she -asked herself, "if the matron says No?" - -She began her letter. - -"DEAR MADAM--So long a time has passed since you heard from me that I -almost shrink from writing to you. I am afraid you have already given me -up in your own mind as a hard-hearted, ungrateful woman. - -"I have been leading a false life; I have not been fit to write to you -before to-day. Now, when I am doing what I can to atone to those whom I -have injured--now, when I repent with my whole heart--may I ask leave -to return to the friend who has borne with me and helped me through many -miserable years? Oh, madam, do not cast me off! I have no one to turn to -but you. - -"Will you let me own everything to you? Will you forgive me when you -know what I have done? Will you take me back into the Refuge, if you -have any employment for me by which I may earn my shelter and my bread? - -"Before the night comes I must leave the house from which I am now -writing. I have nowhere to go to. The little money, the few valuable -possessions I have, must be left behind me: they have been obtained -under false pretenses; they are not mine. No more forlorn creature -than I am lives at this moment. You are a Christian woman. Not for my -sake--for Christ's sake--pity me and take me back. - -"I am a good nurse, as you know, and I am a quick worker with my needle. -In one way or the other can you not find occupation for me? - -"I could also teach, in a very unpretending way. But that is useless. -Who would trust their children to a woman without a character? There is -no hope for me in this direction. And yet I am so fond of children! I -think I could be, not happy again, perhaps, but content with my lot, if -I could be associated with them in some way. Are there not charitable -societies which are trying to help and protect destitute children -wandering about the streets? I think of my own wretched childhood--and -oh! I should so like to be employed in saving other children from ending -as I have ended. I could work, for such an object as that, from morning -to night, and never feel weary. All my heart would be in it; and I -should have this advantage over happy and prosperous women--I should -have nothing else to think of. Surely they might trust me with the poor -little starving wanderers of the streets--if you said a word for me? -If I am asking too much, please forgive me. I am so wretched, madam--so -lonely and so weary of my life. - -"There is only one thing more. My time here is very short. Will you -please reply to this letter (to say yes or no) by telegram? - -"The name by which you know me is not the name by which I have been -known here. I must beg you to address the telegram to 'The Reverend -Julian Gray, Mablethorpe House, Kensington.' He is here, and he will -show it to me. No words of mine can describe what I owe to him. He has -never despaired of me--he has saved me from myself. God bless and reward -the kindest, truest, best man I have ever known! - -"I have no more to say, except to ask you to excuse this long letter, -and to believe me your grateful servant, ----." - - - -She signed and inclosed the letter, and wrote the address. Then, for -the first time, an obstacle which she ought to have seen before showed -itself, standing straight in her way. - -There was no time to forward her letter in the ordinary manner by post. -It must be taken to its destination by a private messenger. Lady Janet's -servants had hitherto been, one and all, at her disposal. Could she -presume to employ them on her own affairs, when she might be dismissed -from the house, a disgraced woman, in half an hour's time? Of the two -alternatives it seemed better to take her chance, and present herself at -the Refuge without asking leave first. - -While she was still considering the question she was startled by a knock -at her door. On opening it she admitted Lady Janet's maid, with a morsel -of folded note-paper in her hand. - -"From my lady, miss," said the woman, giving her the note. "There is no -answer." - -Mercy stopped her as she was about to leave the room. The appearance of -the maid suggested an inquiry to her. She asked if any of the servants -were likely to be going into town that afternoon. - -"Yes, miss. One of the grooms is going on horseback, with a message to -her ladyship's coach-maker." - -The Refuge was close by the coach-maker's place of business. Under the -circumstances, Mercy was emboldened to make use of the man. It was a -pardonable liberty to employ his services now. - -"Will you kindly give the groom that letter for me?" she said. "It will -not take him out of his way. He has only to deliver it--nothing more." - -The woman willingly complied with the request. Left once more by -herself, Mercy looked at the little note which had been placed in her -hands. - -It was the first time that her benefactress had employed this formal -method of communicating with her when they were both in the house. What -did such a departure from established habits mean? Had she received her -notice of dismissal? Had Lady Janet's quick intelligence found its way -already to a suspicion of the truth? Mercy's nerves were unstrung. She -trembled pitiably as she opened the folded note. - -It began without a form of address, and it ended without a signature. -Thus it ran: - - - -"I must request you to delay for a little while the explanation which -you have promised me. At my age, painful surprises are very trying -things. I must have time to compose myself, before I can hear what you -have to say. You shall not be kept waiting longer than I can help. In -the meanwhile everything will go on as usual. My nephew Julian, and -Horace Holmcroft, and the lady whom I found in the dining-room, will, by -my desire, remain in the house until I am able to meet them, and to meet -you, again." - - - -There the note ended. To what conclusion did it point? - -Had Lady Janet really guessed the truth? or had she only surmised that -her adopted daughter was connected in some discreditable manner with -the mystery of "Mercy Merrick"? The line in which she referred to the -intruder in the dining-room as "the lady" showed very remarkably that -her opinions had undergone a change in that quarter. But was the -phrase enough of itself to justify the inference that she had actually -anticipated the nature of Mercy's confession? It was not easy to decide -that doubt at the moment--and it proved to be equally difficult to -throw any light on it at an aftertime. To the end of her life Lady Janet -resolutely refused to communicate to any one the conclusions which she -might have privately formed, the griefs which she might have secretly -stifled, on that memorable day. - -Amid much, however, which was beset with uncertainty, one thing at -least was clear. The time at Mercy's disposal in her own room had been -indefinitely prolonged by Mercy's benefactress. Hours might pass before -the disclosure to which she stood committed would be expected from her. -In those hours she might surely compose her mind sufficiently to be able -to write her letter of confession to Julian Gray. - -Once more she placed the sheet of paper before her. Resting her head on -her hand as she sat at the table, she tried to trace her way through -the labyrinth of the past, beginning with the day when she had met -Grace Roseberry in the French cottage, and ending with the day which had -brought them face to face, for the second time, in the dining-room at -Mablethorpe House. - -The chain of events began to unroll itself in her mind clearly, link by -link. - -She remarked, as she pursued the retrospect, how strangely Chance, or -Fate, had paved the way for the act of personation, in the first place. - -If they had met under ordinary circumstances, neither Mercy nor Grace -would have trusted each other with the confidences which had been -exchanged between them. As the event had happened, they had come -together, under those extraordinary circumstances of common trial and -common peril, in a strange country, which would especially predispose -two women of the same nation to open their hearts to each other. In -no other way could Mercy have obtained at a first interview that fatal -knowledge of Grace's position and Grace's affairs which had placed -temptation before her as the necessary consequence that followed the -bursting of the German shell. - -Advancing from this point through the succeeding series of events which -had so naturally and yet so strangely favored the perpetration of the -fraud, Mercy reached the later period when Grace had followed her to -England. Here again she remarked, in the second place, how Chance, or -Fate, had once more paved the way for that second meeting which had -confronted them with one another at Mablethorpe House. - -She had, as she well remembered, attended at a certain assembly -(convened by a charitable society) in the character of Lady Janet's -representative, at Lady Janet's own request. For that reason she had -been absent from the house when Grace had entered it. If her return had -been delayed by a few minutes only, Julian would have had time to take -Grace out of the room, and the terrible meeting which had stretched -Mercy senseless on the floor would never have taken place. As the event -had happened, the period of her absence had been fatally shortened by -what appeared at the time to be, the commonest possible occurrence. The -persons assembled at the society's rooms had disagreed so seriously on -the business which had brought them together as to render it necessary -to take the ordinary course of adjourning the proceedings to a future -day. And Chance, or Fate, had so timed that adjournment as to bring -Mercy back into the dining-room exactly at the moment when Grace -Roseberry insisted on being confronted with the woman who had taken her -place. - -She had never yet seen the circumstances in this sinister light. She was -alone in her room, at a crisis in her life. She was worn and weakened by -emotions which had shaken her to the soul. - -Little by little she felt the enervating influences let loose on her, in -her lonely position, by her new train of thought. Little by little her -heart began to sink under the stealthy chill of superstitious dread. -Vaguely horrible presentiments throbbed in her with her pulses, flowed -through her with her blood. Mystic oppressions of hidden disaster -hovered over her in the atmosphere of the room. The cheerful -candle-light turned traitor to her and grew dim. Supernatural murmurs -trembled round the house in the moaning of the winter wind. She was -afraid to look behind her. On a sudden she felt her own cold hands -covering her face, without knowing when she had lifted them to it, or -why. - -Still helpless, under the horror that held her, she suddenly heard -footsteps--a man's footsteps--in the corridor outside. At other times -the sound would have startled her: now it broke the spell. The footsteps -suggested life, companionship, human interposition--no matter of what -sort. She mechanically took up her pen; she found herself beginning to -remember her letter to Julian Gray. - -At the same moment the footsteps stopped outside her door. The man -knocked. - -She still felt shaken. She was hardly mistress of herself yet. A faint -cry of alarm escaped her at the sound of the knock. Before it could be -repeated she had rallied her courage, and had opened the door. - -The man in the corridor was Horace Holmcroft. - -His ruddy complexion had turned pale. His hair (of which he was -especially careful at other times) was in disorder. The superficial -polish of his manner was gone; the undisguised man, sullen, distrustful, -irritated to the last degree of endurance, showed through. He looked at -her with a watchfully suspicious eye; he spoke to her, without preface -or apology, in a coldly angry voice. - -"Are you aware," he asked, "of what is going on downstairs?" - -"I have not left my room," she answered. "I know that Lady Janet has -deferred the explanation which I had promised to give her, and I know no -more." - -"Has nobody told you what Lady Janet did after you left us? Has nobody -told you that she politely placed her own boudoir at the disposal of the -very woman whom she had ordered half an hour before to leave the house? -Do you really not know that Mr. Julian Gray has himself conducted this -suddenly-honored guest to her place of retirement? and that I am left -alone in the midst of these changes, contradictions, and mysteries--the -only person who is kept out in the dark?" - -"It is surely needless to ask me these questions," said Mercy, gently. -"Who could possibly have told me what was going on below stairs before -you knocked at my door?" - -He looked at her with an ironical affectation of surprise. - -"You are strangely forgetful to-day," he said. "Surely your friend Mr. -Julian Gray might have told you? I am astonished to hear that he has not -had his private interview yet." - -"I don't understand you, Horace." - -"I don't want you to understand me," he retorted, irritably. "The proper -person to understand me is Julian Gray. I look to _him_ to account to -me for the confidential relations which seem to have been established -between you behind my back. He has avoided me thus far, but I shall find -my way to him yet." - -His manner threatened more than his words expressed. In Mercy's nervous -condition at the moment, it suggested to her that he might attempt to -fasten a quarrel on Julian Gray. - -"You are entirely mistaken," she said, warmly. "You are ungratefully -doubting your best and truest friend. I say nothing of myself. You will -soon discover why I patiently submit to suspicions which other women -would resent as an insult." - -"Let me discover it at once. Now! Without wasting a moment more!" - -There had hitherto been some little distance between them. Mercy had -listened, waiting on the threshold of her door; Horace had spoken, -standing against the opposite wall of the corridor. When he said his -last words he suddenly stepped forward, and (with something imperative -in the gesture) laid his hand on her arm. The strong grasp of it almost -hurt her. She struggled to release herself. - -"Let me go!" she said. "What do you mean?" - -He dropped her arm as suddenly as he had taken it. - -"You shall know what I mean," he replied. "A woman who has grossly -outraged and insulted you--whose only excuse is that she is mad--is -detained in the house at your desire, I might almost say at your -command, when the police officer is waiting to take her away. I have a -right to know what this means. I am engaged to marry you. If you won't -trust other people, you are bound to explain yourself to Me. I refuse -to wait for Lady Janet's convenience. I insist (if you force me to say -so)--I insist on knowing the real nature of your connection with -this affair. You have obliged me to follow you here; it is my only -opportunity of speaking to you. You avoid me; you shut yourself up -from me in your own room. I am not your husband yet--I have no right to -follow you in. But there are other rooms open to us. The library is at -our disposal, and I will take care that we are not interrupted. I am now -going there, and I have a last question to ask. You are to be my wife in -a week's time: will you take me into your confidence or not?" - -To hesitate was, in this case, literally to be lost. Mercy's sense -of justice told her that Horace had claimed no more than his due. She -answered instantly: - -"I will follow you to the library, Horace, in five minutes." - -Her prompt and frank compliance with his wishes surprised and touched -him. He took her hand. - -She had endured all that his angry sense of injury could say. His -gratitude wounded her to the quick. The bitterest moment she had felt -yet was the moment in which he raised her hand to his lips, and murmured -tenderly, "My own true Grace!" She could only sign to him to leave her, -and hurry back into her own room. - -Her first feeling, when she found herself alone again, was -wonder--wonder that it should never have occurred to her, until he had -himself suggested it, that her betrothed husband had the foremost right -to her confession. Her horror at owning to either of them that she had -cheated them out of their love had hitherto placed Horace and Lady Janet -on the same level. She now saw for the first time that there was no -comparison between the claims which they respectively had on her. She -owned an allegiance to Horace to which Lady Janet could assert no right. -Cost her what it might to avow the truth to him with her own lips, the -cruel sacrifice must be made. - -Without a moment's hesitation she put away her writing materials. It -amazed her that she should ever have thought of using Julian Gray as -an interpreter between the man to whom she was betrothed and herself. -Julian's sympathy (she thought) must have made a strong impression on -her indeed to blind her to a duty which was beyond all compromise, which -admitted of no dispute! - -She had asked for five minutes of delay before she followed Horace. It -was too long a time. - -Her one chance of finding courage to crush him with the dreadful -revelation of who she really was, of what she had really done, was -to plunge headlong into the disclosure without giving herself time to -think. The shame of it would overpower her if she gave herself time to -think. - -She turned to the door to follow him at once. - -Even at that terrible moment the most ineradicable of all a woman's -instincts--the instinct of personal self-respect--brought her to a -pause. She had passed through more than one terrible trial since she had -dressed to go downstairs. Remembering this, she stopped mechanically, -retraced her steps, and looked at herself in the glass. - -There was no motive of vanity in what she now did. The action was as -unconscious as if she had buttoned an unfastened glove, or shaken out a -crumpled dress. Not the faintest idea crossed her mind of looking to see -if her beauty might still plead for her, and of trying to set it off at -its best. - -A momentary smile, the most weary, the most hopeless, that ever saddened -a woman's face, appeared in the reflection which her mirror gave her -back. "Haggard, ghastly, old before my time!" she said to herself. -"Well! better so. He will feel it less--he will not regret me." - -With that thought she went downstairs to meet him in the library. - - - -CHAPTER XXII. THE MAN IN THE DINING-ROOM. - -IN the great emergencies of life we feel, or we act, as our dispositions -incline us. But we never think. Mercy's mind was a blank as she -descended the stairs. On her way down she was conscious of nothing but -the one headlong impulse to get to the library in the shortest possible -space of time. Arrived at the door, the impulse capriciously left her. -She stopped on the mat, wondering why she had hurried herself, with time -to spare. Her heart sank; the fever of her excitement changed suddenly -to a chill as she faced the closed door, and asked herself the question, -Dare I go in? - -Her own hand answered her. She lifted it to turn the handle of the lock. -It dropped again helplessly at her side. - -The sense of her own irresolution wrung from her a low exclamation of -despair. Faint as it was, it had apparently not passed unheard. The door -was opened from within--and Horace stood before her. - -He drew aside to let her pass into the room. But he never followed her -in. He stood in the doorway, and spoke to her, keeping the door open -with his hand. - -"Do you mind waiting here for me?" he asked. - -She looked at him, in vacant surprise, doubting whether she had heard -him aright. - -"It will not be for long," he went on. "I am far too anxious to hear -what you have to tell me to submit to any needless delays. The truth is, -I have had a message from Lady Janet." - -(From Lady Janet! What could Lady Janet want with him, at a time when -she was bent on composing herself in the retirement of her own room?) - -"I ought to have said two messages," Horace proceeded. "The first -was given to me on my way downstairs. Lady Janet wished to see me -immediately. I sent an excuse. A second message followed. Lady Janet -would accept no excuse. If I refused to go to her I should be merely -obliging her to come to me. It is impossible to risk being interrupted -in that way; my only alternative is to get the thing over as soon as -possible. Do you mind waiting?" - -"Certainly not. Have you any idea of what Lady Janet wants with you?" - -"No. Whatever it is, she shall not keep me long away from you. You will -be quite alone here; I have warned the servants not to show any one in." -With those words he left her. - -Mercy's first sensation was a sensation of relief--soon lost in a -feeling of shame at the weakness which could welcome any temporary -relief in such a position as hers. The emotion thus roused merged, -in its turn, into a sense of impatient regret. "But for Lady Janet's -message," she thought to herself, "I might have known my fate by this -time!" - -The slow minutes followed each other drearily. She paced to and fro in -the library, faster and faster, under the intolerable irritation, the -maddening uncertainty, of her own suspense. Ere long, even the spacious -room seemed to be too small for her. The sober monotony of the long -book-lined shelves oppressed and offended her. She threw open the door -which led into the dining-room, and dashed in, eager for a change of -objects, athirst for more space and more air. - -At the first step she checked herself; rooted to the spot, under a -sudden revulsion of feeling which quieted her in an instant. - -The room was only illuminated by the waning fire-light. A man was -obscurely visible, seated on the sofa, with his elbows on his knees and -his head resting on his hands. He looked up as the open door let in -the light from the library lamps. The mellow glow reached his face and -revealed Julian Gray. - -Mercy was standing with her back to the light; her face being -necessarily hidden in deep shadow. He recognized her by her figure, and -by the attitude into which it unconsciously fell. That unsought grace, -that lithe long beauty of line, belonged to but one woman in the house. -He rose, and approached her. - -"I have been wishing to see you," he said, "and hoping that accident -might bring about some such meeting as this." - -He offered her a chair. Mercy hesitated before she took her seat. This -was their first meeting alone since Lady Janet had interrupted her at -the moment when she was about to confide to Julian the melancholy story -of the past. Was he anxious to seize the opportunity of returning to -her confession? The terms in which he had addressed her seemed to imply -it. She put the question to him in plain words, - -"I feel the deepest interest in hearing all that you have still to -confide to me," he answered. "But anxious as I may be, I will not hurry -you. I will wait, if you wish it." - -"I am afraid I must own that I do wish it," Mercy rejoined. "Not on my -account--but because my time is at the disposal of Horace Holmcroft. I -expect to see him in a few minutes." - -"Could you give me those few minutes?" Julian asked. "I have something -on my side to say to you which I think you ought to know before you see -any one--Horace himself included." - -He spoke with a certain depression of tone which was not associated -with her previous experience of him. His face looked prematurely old and -careworn in the red light of the fire. Something had plainly happened to -sadden and to disappoint him since they had last met. - -"I willingly offer you all the time that I have at my own command," -Mercy replied. "Does what you have to tell me relate to Lady Janet?" - -He gave her no direct reply. "What I have to tell you of Lady Janet," -he said, gravely, "is soon told. So far as she is concerned you have -nothing more to dread. Lady Janet knows all." - -Even the heavy weight of oppression caused by the impending interview -with Horace failed to hold its place in Mercy's mind when Julian -answered her in those words. - -"Come into the lighted room," she said, faintly. "It is too terrible to -hear you say that in the dark." - -Julian followed her into the library. Her limbs trembled under her. -She dropped into a chair, and shrank under his great bright eyes, as he -stood by her side looking sadly down on her. - -"Lady Janet knows all!" she repeated, with her head on her breast, and -the tears falling slowly over her cheeks. "Have you told her?" - -"I have said nothing to Lady Janet or to any one. Your confidence is a -sacred confidence to me, until you have spoken first." - -"Has Lady Janet said anything to you?" - -"Not a word. She has looked at you with the vigilant eyes of love; she -has listened to you with the quick hearing of love--and she has found -her own way to the truth. She will not speak of it to me--she will not -speak of it to any living creature. I only know now how dearly she loved -you. In spite of herself she clings to you still. Her life, poor soul, -has been a barren one; unworthy, miserably unworthy, of such a nature as -hers. Her marriage was loveless and childless. She has had admirers, but -never, in the higher sense of the word, a friend. All the best years of -her life have been wasted in the unsatisfied longing for something to -love. At the end of her life You have filled the void. Her heart has -found its youth again, through You. At her age--at any age--is such a -tie as this to be rudely broken at the mere bidding of circumstances? -No! She will suffer anything, risk anything, forgive anything, rather -than own, even to herself, that she has been deceived in you. There is -more than her happiness at stake; there is pride, a noble pride, in such -love as hers, which will ignore the plainest discovery and deny the most -unanswerable truth. I am firmly convinced--from my own knowledge of her -character, and from what I have observed in her to-day--that she will -find some excuse for refusing to hear your confession. And more than -that, I believe (if the exertion of her influence can do it) that she -will leave no means untried of preventing you from acknowledging -your true position here to any living creature. I take a serious -responsibility on myself in telling you this--and I don't shrink -from it. You ought to know, and you shall know, what trials and what -temptations may yet lie before you." - -He paused--leaving Mercy time to compose herself, if she wished to speak -to him. - -She felt that there was a necessity for her speaking to him. He was -plainly not aware that Lady Janet had already written to her to defer -her promised explanation. This circumstance was in itself a confirmation -of the opinion which he had expressed. She ought to mention it to him; -she tried to mention it to him. But she was not equal to the effort. -The few simple words in which he had touched on the tie that bound Lady -Janet to her had wrung her heart. Her tears choked her. She could only -sign to him to go on. - -"You may wonder at my speaking so positively," he continued, "with -nothing better than my own conviction to justify me. I can only say -that I have watched Lady Janet too closely to feel any doubt. I saw the -moment in which the truth flashed on her, as plainly as I now see you. -It did not disclose itself gradually--it burst on her, as it burst on -me. She suspected nothing--she was frankly indignant at your sudden -interference and your strange language--until the time came in which -you pledged yourself to produce Mercy Merrick. Then (and then only) -the truth broke on her mind, trebly revealed to her in your words, your -voice, and your look. Then (and then only) I saw a marked change come -over her, and remain in her while she remained in the room. I dread to -think of what she may do in the first reckless despair of the discovery -that she has made. I distrust--though God knows I am not naturally a -suspicious man--the most apparently trifling events that are now taking -place about us. You have held nobly to your resolution to own the truth. -Prepare yourself, before the evening is over, to be tried and tempted -again." - -Mercy lifted her head. Fear took the place of grief in her eyes, as they -rested in startled inquiry on Julian's face. - -"How is it possible that temptation can come to me now?" she asked. - -"I will leave it to events to answer that question," he said. "You will -not have long to wait. In the meantime I have put you on your guard." -He stooped, and spoke his next words earnestly, close at her ear. "Hold -fast by the admirable courage which you have shown thus far," he went -on. "Suffer anything rather than suffer the degradation of yourself. Be -the woman whom I once spoke of--the woman I still have in my mind--who -can nobly reveal the noble nature that is in her. And never forget -this--my faith in you is as firm as ever!" - -She looked at him proudly and gratefully. - -"I am pledged to justify your faith in me," she said. "I have put it -out of my own power to yield. Horace has my promise that I will explain -everything to him, in this room." - -Julian started. - -"Has Horace himself asked it of you?" he inquired. "_He_, at least, has -no suspicion of the truth." - -"Horace has appealed to my duty to him as his betrothed wife," she -answered. "He has the first claim to my confidence--he resents my -silence, and he has a right to resent it. Terrible as it will be to open -_his_ eyes to the truth, I must do it if he asks me." - -She was looking at Julian while she spoke. The old longing to associate -with the hard trial of the confession the one man who had felt for her, -and believed in her, revived under another form. If she could only -know, while she was saying the fatal words to Horace, that Julian was -listening too, she would be encouraged to meet the worst that could -happen! As the idea crossed her mind, she observed that Julian was -looking toward the door through which they had lately passed. In an -instant she saw the means to her end. Hardly waiting to hear the few -kind expressions of sympathy and approval which he addressed to her, she -hinted timidly at the proposal which she had now to make to him. - -"Are you going back into the next room?" she asked. - -"Not if you object to it," he replied. - -"I don't object. I want you to be there." - -"After Horace has joined you?" - -"Yes. After Horace has joined me." - -"Do you wish to see me when it is over?" - -She summoned her resolution, and told him frankly what she had in her -mind. - -"I want you to be near me while I am speaking to Horace," she said. "It -will give me courage if I can feel that I am speaking to you as well as -to him. I can count on _your_ sympathy--and sympathy is so precious to -me now! Am I asking too much, if I ask you to leave the door unclosed -when you go back to the dining-room? Think of the dreadful trial--to him -as well as to me! I am only a woman; I am afraid I may sink under it, if -I have no friend near me. And I have no friend but you." - -In those simple words she tried her powers of persuasion on him for the -first time. - -Between perplexity and distress Julian was, for the moment, at a loss -how to answer her. The love for Mercy which he dared not acknowledge was -as vital a feeling in him as the faith in her which he had been free to -avow. To refuse anything that she asked of him in her sore need--and, -more even than that, to refuse to hear the confession which it had been -her first impulse to make to _him_--these were cruel sacrifices to his -sense of what was due to Horace and of what was due to himself. But -shrink as he might, even from the appearance of deserting her, it was -impossible for him (except under a reserve which was almost equivalent -to a denial) to grant her request. - -"All that I can do I will do," he said. "The doors shall be left -unclosed, and I will remain in the next room, on this condition, -that Horace knows of it as well as you. I should be unworthy of your -confidence in me if I consented to be a listener on any other terms. You -understand that, I am sure, as well as I do." - -She had never thought of her proposal to him in this light. Woman-like, -she had thought of nothing but the comfort of having him near her. She -understood him now. A faint flush of shame rose on her pale cheeks as -she thanked him. He delicately relieved her from her embarrassment by -putting a question which naturally occurred under the circumstances. - -"Where is Horace all this time?" he asked. "Why is he not here?" - -"He has been called away," she answered, "by a message from Lady Janet." - -The reply more than astonished Julian; it seemed almost to alarm him. He -returned to Mercy's chair; he said to her, eagerly, "Are you sure?" - -"Horace himself told me that Lady Janet had insisted on seeing him." - -"When?" - -"Not long ago. He asked me to wait for him here while he went upstairs." - -Julian's face darkened ominously. - -"This confirms my worst fears," he said. "Have _you_ had any -communication with Lady Janet?" - -Mercy replied by showing him his aunt's note. He read it carefully -through. - -"Did I not tell you," he said, "that she would find some excuse for -refusing to hear your confession? She begins by delaying it, simply to -gain time for something else which she has it in her mind to do. When -did you receive this note? Soon after you went upstairs?" - -"About a quarter of an hour after, as well as I can guess." - -"Do you know what happened down here after you left us?" - -"Horace told me that Lady Janet had offered Miss Roseberry the use of -her boudoir." - -"Any more?" - -"He said that you had shown her the way to the room." - -"Did he tell you what happened after that?" - -"No." - -"Then I must tell you. If I can do nothing more in this serious state -of things, I can at least prevent your being taken by surprise. In -the first place, it is right you should know that I had a motive for -accompanying Miss Roseberry to the boudoir. I was anxious (for your -sake) to make some appeal to her better self--if she had any better -self to address. I own I had doubts of my success--judging by what I -had already seen of her. My doubts were confirmed. In the ordinary -intercourse of life I should merely have thought her a commonplace, -uninteresting woman. Seeing her as I saw her while we were alone--in -other words, penetrating below the surface--I have never, in all my sad -experience, met with such a hopelessly narrow, mean, and low nature as -hers. Understanding, as she could not fail to do, what the sudden change -in Lady Janet's behavior toward her really meant, her one idea was to -take the cruelest possible advantage of it. So far from feeling any -consideration for _you_, she was only additionally imbittered toward -you. She protested against your being permitted to claim the merit of -placing her in her right position here by your own voluntary avowal of -the truth. She insisted on publicly denouncing you, and on forcing Lady -Janet to dismiss you, unheard, before the whole household! 'Now I can -have my revenge! At last Lady Janet is afraid of me!' Those were her own -words--I am almost ashamed to repeat them--those, on my honor, were -her own words! Every possible humiliation to be heaped on you; no -consideration to be shown for Lady Janet's age and Lady Janet's -position; nothing, absolutely nothing, to be allowed to interfere with -Miss Roseberry's vengeance and Miss Roseberry's triumph! There is this -woman's shameless view of what is due to her, as stated by herself in -the plainest terms. I kept my temper; I did all I could to bring her to -a better frame of mind. I might as well have pleaded--I won't say with -a savage; savages are sometimes accessible to remonstrance, if you know -how to reach them--I might as well have pleaded with a hungry animal to -abstain from eating while food was within its reach. I had just given up -the hopeless effort in disgust, when Lady Janet's maid appeared with a -message for Miss Roseberry from her mistress: 'My lady's compliments, -ma'am, and she will be glad to see you at your earliest convenience, in -her room.'" - -Another surprise! Grace Roseberry invited to an interview with Lady -Janet! It would have been impossible to believe it, if Julian had not -heard the invitation given with his own ears. - -"She instantly rose," Julian proceeded. "'I won't keep her ladyship -waiting a moment,' she said; 'show me the way.' She signed to the maid -to go out of the room first, and then turned round and spoke to me from -the door. I despair of describing the insolent exultation of her manner. -I can only repeat her words: 'This is exactly what I wanted! I had -intended to insist on seeing Lady Janet: she saves me the trouble. I am -infinitely obliged to her.' With that she nodded to me, and closed the -door. I have not seen her, I have not heard of her, since. For all I -know, she may be still with my aunt, and Horace may have found her there -when he entered the room." - -"What can Lady Janet have to say to her?" Mercy asked, eagerly. - -"It is impossible even to guess. When you found me in the dining-room -I was considering that very question. I cannot imagine that any neutral -ground can exist on which it is possible for Lady Janet and this woman -to meet. In her present frame of mind she will in all probability insult -Lady Janet before she has been five minutes in the room. I own I am -completely puzzled. The one conclusion I can arrive at is that the note -which my aunt sent to you, the private interview with Miss Roseberry -which has followed, and the summons to Horace which has succeeded in its -turn, are all links in the same chain of events, and are all tending to -that renewed temptation against which I have already warned you." - -Mercy held up her hand for silence. She looked toward the door that -opened on the hall; had she heard a footstep outside? No. All was still. -Not a sign yet of Horace's return. - -"Oh!" she exclaimed, "what would I not give to know what is going on -upstairs!" - -"You will soon know it now," said Julian. "It is impossible that our -present uncertainty can last much longer." - -He turned away, intending to go back to the room in which she had found -him. Looking at her situation from a man's point of view, he naturally -assumed that the best service he could now render to Mercy would be to -leave her to prepare herself for the interview with Horace. Before -he had taken three steps away from her she showed him the difference -between the woman's point of view and the man's. The idea of considering -beforehand what she should say never entered her mind. In her horror of -being left by herself at that critical moment, she forgot every other -consideration. Even the warning remembrance of Horace's jealous distrust -of Julian passed away from her, for the moment, as completely as if it -never had a place in her memory. "Don't leave me!" she cried. "I can't -wait here alone. Come back--come back!" - -She rose impulsively while she spoke, as if to follow him into the -dining-room, if he persisted in leaving her. - -A momentary expression of doubt crossed Julian's face as he retraced his -steps and signed to her to be seated a gain. Could she be depended on -(he asked himself) to sustain the coming test of her resolution, when -she had not courage enough to wait for events in a room by herself? -Julian had yet to learn that a woman's courage rises with the greatness -of the emergency. Ask her to accompany you through a field in which some -harmless cattle happen to be grazing, and it is doubtful, in nine cases -out of ten, if she will do it. Ask her, as one of the passengers in a -ship on fire, to help in setting an example of composure to the rest, -and it is certain, in nine cases out of ten, that she will do it. As -soon as Julian had taken a chair near her, Mercy was calm again. - -"Are you sure of your resolution?" he asked. - -"I am certain of it," she answered, "as long as you don't leave me by -myself." - -The talk between them dropped there. They sat together in silence, with -their eyes fixed on the door, waiting for Horace to come in. - -After the lapse of a few minutes their attention was attracted by -a sound outside in the grounds. A carriage of some sort was plainly -audible approaching the house. - -The carriage stopped; the bell rang; the front door was opened. Had a -visitor arrived? No voice could be heard making inquiries. No footsteps -but the servant's footsteps crossed the hall. Along pause followed, -the carriage remaining at the door. Instead of bringing some one to the -house, it had apparently arrived to take some one away. - -The next event was the return of the servant to the front door. They -listened again. Again no second footstep was audible. The door was -closed; the servant recrossed the hall; the carriage was driven away. -Judging by sounds alone, no one had arrived at the house, and no one had -left the house. - -Julian looked at Mercy. "Do you understand this?" he asked. - -She silently shook her head. - -"If any person has gone away in the carriage," Julian went on, "that -person can hardly have been a man, or we must have heard him in the -hall." - -The conclusion which her companion had just drawn from the noiseless -departure of the supposed visitor raised a sudden doubt in Mercy's mind. - -"Go and inquire!" she said, eagerly. - -Julian left the room, and returned again, after a brief absence, with -signs of grave anxiety in his face and manner. - -"I told you I dreaded the most trifling events that were passing about -us," he said. "An event, which is far from being trifling, has just -happened. The carriage which we heard approaching along the drive turns -out to have been a cab sent for from the house. The person who has gone -away in it--" - -"Is a woman, as you supposed?" - -"Yes." - -Mercy rose excitedly from her chair. - -"It can't be Grace Roseberry?" she exclaimed. - -"It _is_ Grace Roseberry." - -"Has she gone away alone?" - -"Alone--after an interview with Lady Janet." - -"Did she go willingly?" - -"She herself sent the servant for the cab." - -"What does it mean?" - -"It is useless to inquire. We shall soon know." - -They resumed their seats, waiting, as they had waited already, with -their eyes on the library door. - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. LADY JANET AT BAY. - -THE narrative leaves Julian and Mercy for a while, and, ascending to the -upper regions of the house, follows the march of events in Lady Janet's -room. - -The maid had delivered her mistress's note to Mercy, and had gone away -again on her second errand to Grace Roseberry in her boudoir. Lady Janet -was seated at her writing-table, waiting for the appearance of the woman -whom she had summoned to her presence. A single lamp diffused its mild -light over the books, pictures, and busts round her, leaving the further -end of the room, in which the bed was placed, almost lost in obscurity. -The works of art were all portraits; the books were all presentation -copies from the authors. It was Lady Janet's fancy to associate her -bedroom with memorials of the various persons whom she had known in the -long course of her life--all of them more or less distinguished, most of -them, by this time, gathered with the dead. - -She sat near her writing-table, lying back in her easy-chair--the living -realization of the picture which Julian's description had drawn. Her -eyes were fixed on a photographic likeness of Mercy, which was so raised -upon a little gilt easel as to enable her to contemplate it under the -full light of the lamp. The bright, mobile old face was strangely and -sadly changed. The brow was fixed; the mouth was rigid; the whole face -would have been like a mask, molded in the hardest forms of passive -resistance and suppressed rage, but for the light and life still thrown -over it by the eyes. There was something unutterably touching in the -keen hungering tenderness of the look which they fixed on the portrait, -intensified by an underlying expression of fond and patient reproach. -The danger which Julian so wisely dreaded was in the rest of the face; -the love which he had so truly described was in the eyes alone. _They_ -still spoke of the cruelly profaned affection which had been the one -immeasurable joy, the one inexhaustible hope of Lady Janet's closing -life. The brow expressed nothing but her obstinate determination to -stand by the wreck of that joy, to rekindle the dead ashes of that hope. -The lips were only eloquent of her unflinching resolution to ignore the -hateful present and to save the sacred past. "My idol may be shattered, -but none of you shall know it. I stop the march of discovery; I -extinguish the light of truth. I am deaf to your words; am blind to your -proofs. At seventy years old, my idol is my life. It shall be my idol -still." - - - -The silence in the bedroom was broken by a murmuring of women's voices -outside the door. - -Lady Janet instantly raised herself in the chair and snatched the -photograph off the easel. She laid the portrait face downward, among -some papers on the table, then abruptly changed her mind, and hid it -among the thick folds of lace which clothed her neck and bosom. There -was a world of love in the action itself, and in the sudden softening of -the eyes which accompanied it. The next moment Lady Janet's mask was on. -Any superficial observer who had seen her now would have said, "This is -a hard woman!" - -The door was opened by the maid. Grace Roseberry entered the room. - -She advanced rapidly, with a defiant assurance in her manner, and a -lofty carriage of her head. She sat down in the chair, to which Lady -Janet silently pointed, with a thump; she returned Lady Janet's grave -bow with a nod and a smile. Every movement and every look of the little, -worn, white-faced, shabbily dressed woman expressed insolent triumph, -and said, as if in words, "My turn has come!" - -"I am glad to wait on your ladyship," she began, without giving Lady -Janet an opportunity of speaking first. "Indeed, I should have felt it -my duty to request an interview, if you had not sent your maid to invite -me up here." - -"You would have felt it your duty to request an interview?" Lady Janet -repeated, very quietly. "Why?" - -The tone in which that one last word was spoken embarrassed Grace at -the outset. It established as great a distance between Lady Janet and -herself as if she had been lifted in her chair and conveyed bodily to -the other end of the room. - -"I am surprised that your ladyship should not understand me," she said, -struggling to conceal her confusion. "Especially after your kind offer -of your own boudoir." - -Lady Janet remained perfectly unmoved. "I do _not_ understand you," she -answered, just as quietly as ever. - -Grace's temper came to her assistance. She recovered the assurance which -had marked her first appearance on the scene. - -"In that case," she resumed, "I must enter into particulars, in justice -to myself. I can place but one interpretation on the extraordinary -change in your ladyship's behavior to me downstairs. The conduct of that -abominable woman has at last opened your eyes to the deception that has -been practiced on you. For some reason of your own, however, you -have not yet chosen to recognize me openly. In this painful position -something is due to my own self-respect. I cannot, and will not, permit -Mercy Merrick to claim the merit of restoring me to my proper place in -this house. After what I have suffered it is quite impossible for me to -endure that. I should have requested an interview (if you had not sent -for me) for the express purpose of claiming this person's immediate -expulsion from the house. I claim it now as a proper concession to Me. -Whatever you or Mr. Julian Gray may do, _I_ will not tamely permit her -to exhibit herself as an interesting penitent. It is really a little too -much to hear this brazen adventuress appoint her own time for explaining -herself. It is too deliberately insulting to see her sail out of the -room--with a clergyman of the Church of England opening the door for -her--as if she was laying me under an obligation! I can forgive much, -Lady Janet--including the terms in which you thought it decent to order -me out of your house. I am quite willing to accept the offer of your -boudoir, as the expression on your part of a better frame of mind. But -even Christian Charity has its limits. The continued presence of that -wretch under your roof is, you will permit me to remark, not only a -monument of your own weakness, but a perfectly insufferable insult to -Me." - -There she stopped abruptly--not for want of words, but for want of a -listener. - -Lady Janet was not even pretending to attend to her. Lady Janet, with a -deliberate rudeness entirely foreign to her usual habits, was composedly -busying herself in arranging the various papers scattered about the -table. Some she tied together with little morsels of string; some -she placed under paper-weights; some she deposited in the fantastic -pigeon-holes of a little Japanese cabinet--working with a placid -enjoyment of her own orderly occupation, and perfectly unaware, to all -outward appearance, that any second person was in the room. She looked -up, with her papers in both hands, when Grace stopped, and said, -quietly, - -"Have you done?" - -"Is your ladyship's purpose in sending for me to treat me with studied -rudeness?" Grace retorted, angrily. - -"My purpose in sending for you is to say something as soon as you will -allow me the opportunity." - -The impenetrable composure of that reply took Grace completely by -surprise. She had no retort ready. In sheer astonishment she waited -silently with her eyes riveted on the mistress of the house. - -Lady Janet put down her papers, and settled herself comfortably in the -easy-chair, preparatory to opening the interview on her side. - -"The little that I have to say to you," she began, "may be said in a -question. Am I right in supposing that you have no present employment, -and that a little advance in money (delicately offered) would be very -acceptable to you?" - -"Do you mean to insult me, Lady Janet?" - -"Certainly not. I mean to ask you a question." - -"Your question is an insult." - -"My question is a kindness, if you will only understand it as it is -intended. I don't complain of your not understanding it. I don't even -hold you responsible for any one of the many breaches of good manners -which you have committed since you have been in this room. I was -honestly anxious to be of some service to you, and you have repelled my -advances. I am sorry. Let us drop the subject." - -Expressing herself in the most perfect temper in those terms, Lady Janet -resumed the arrangement of her papers, and became unconscious once more -of the presence of any second person in the room. - -Grace opened her lips to reply with the utmost intemperance of an angry -woman, and thinking better of it, controlled herself. It was plainly -useless to take the violent way with Lady Janet Roy. Her age and her -social position were enough of themselves to repel any violence. She -evidently knew that, and trusted to it. Grace resolved to meet the enemy -on the neutral ground of politeness, as the most promising ground that -she could occupy under present circumstances. - -"If I have said anything hasty, I beg to apologize to your ladyship," -she began. "May I ask if your only object in sending for me was to -inquire into my pecuniary affairs, with a view to assisting me?" - -"That," said Lady Janet, "was my only object." - -"You had nothing to say to me on the subject of Mercy Merrick?" - -"Nothing whatever. I am weary of hearing of Mercy Merrick. Have you any -more questions to ask me?" - -"I have one more." - -"Yes?" - -"I wish to ask your ladyship whether you propose to recognize me in the -presence of your household as the late Colonel Roseberry's daughter?" - -"I have already recognized you as a lady in embarrassed circumstances, -who has peculiar claims on my consideration and forbearance. If you wish -me to repeat those words in the presence of the servants (absurd as it -is), I am ready to comply with your request." - -Grace's temper began to get the better of her prudent resolutions. - -"Lady Janet!" she said; "this won't do. I must request you to express -yourself plainly. You talk of my peculiar claims on your forbearance. -What claims do you mean?" - -"It will be painful to both of us if we enter into details," replied -Lady Janet. "Pray don't let us enter into details." - -"I insist on it, madam." - -"Pray don't insist on it." - -Grace was deaf to remonstrance. - -"I ask you in plain words," she went on, "do you acknowledge that you -have been deceived by an adventuress who has personated me? Do you mean -to restore me to my proper place in this house?" - -Lady Janet returned to the arrangement of her papers. - -"Does your ladyship refuse to listen to me?" - -Lady Janet looked up from her papers as blandly as ever. - -"If _you_ persist in returning to your delusion," she said, "you will -oblige _me_ to persist in returning to my papers." - -"What is my delusion, if you please?" - -"Your delusion is expressed in the questions you have just put to me. -Your delusion constitutes your peculiar claim on my forbearance. Nothing -you can say or do will shake my forbearance. When I first found you in -the dining-room, I acted most improperly; I lost my temper. I did worse; -I was foolish enough and imprudent enough to send for a police officer. -I owe you every possible atonement (afflicted as you are) for treating -you in that cruel manner. I offered you the use of my boudoir, as part -of my atonement. I sent for you, in the hope that you would allow me to -assist you, as part of my atonement. You may behave rudely to me, you -may speak in the most abusive terms of my adopted daughter; I will -submit to anything, as part of my atonement. So long as you abstain from -speaking on one painful subject, I will listen to you with the greatest -pleasure. Whenever you return to that subject I shall return to my -papers." - -Grace looked at Lady Janet with an evil smile. - -"I begin to understand your ladyship," she said. "You are ashamed -to acknowledge that you have been grossly imposed upon. Your only -alternative, of course, is to ignore everything that has happened. Pray -count on _my_ forbearance. I am not at all offended--I am merely amused. -It is not every day that a lady of high rank exhibits herself in such a -position as yours to an obscure woman like me. Your humane consideration -for me dates, I presume, from the time when your adopted daughter set -you the example, by ordering the police officer out of the room?" - -Lady Janet's composure was proof even against this assault on it. She -gravely accepted Grace's inquiry as a question addressed to her in -perfect good faith. - -"I am not at all surprised," she replied, "to find that my adopted -daughter's interference has exposed her to misrepresentation. She ought -to have remonstrated with me privately before she interfered. But she -has one fault--she is too impulsive. I have never, in all my experience, -met with such a warm-hearted person as she is. Always too considerate -of others; always too forgetful of herself! The mere appearance of the -police officer placed you in a situation to appeal to her compassion, -and her impulses carried her away as usual. My fault! All my fault!" - -Grace changed her tone once more. She was quick enough to discern that -Lady Janet was a match for her with her own weapons. - -"We have had enough of this," she said. "It is time to be serious. Your -adopted daughter (as you call her) is Mercy Merrick, and you know it." - -Lady Janet returned to her papers. - -"I am Grace Roseberry, whose name she has stolen, and you know _that_." - -Lady Janet went on with her papers. - -Grace got up from her chair. - -"I accept your silence, Lady Janet," she said, "as an acknowledgment -of your deliberate resolution to suppress the truth. You are evidently -determined to receive the adventuress as the true woman; and you don't -scruple to face the consequences of that proceeding, by pretending to my -face to believe that I am mad. I will not allow myself to be impudently -cheated out of my rights in this way. You will hear from me again madam, -when the Canadian mail arrives in England." - -She walked toward the door. This time Lady Janet answered, as readily -and as explicitly as it was possible to desire. - -"I shall refuse to receive your letters," she said. - -Grace returned a few steps, threateningly. - -"My letters shall be followed by my witnesses," she proceeded. - -"I shall refuse to receive your witnesses." - -"Refuse at your peril. I will appeal to the law." - -Lady Janet smiled. - -"I don't pretend to much knowledge of the subject," she said; "but I -should be surprised indeed if I discovered that you had any claim on me -which the law could enforce. However, let us suppose that you _can_ set -the law in action. You know as well as I do that the only motive power -which can do that is--money. I am rich; fees, costs, and all the rest of -it are matters of no sort of consequence to me. May I ask if you are in -the same position?" - -The question silenced Grace. So far as money was concerned, she was -literally at the end of her resources. Her only friends were friends in -Canada. After what she had said to him in the boudoir, it would be quite -useless to appeal to the sympathies of Julian Gray. In the pecuniary -sense, and in one word, she was absolutely incapable of gratifying -her own vindictive longings. And there sat the mistress of Mablethorpe -House, perfectly well aware of it. - -Lady Janet pointed to the empty chair. - -"Suppose you sit down again?" she suggested. "The course of our -interview seems to have brought us back to the question that I asked -you when you came into my room. Instead of threatening me with the law, -suppose you consider the propriety of permitting me to be of some use to -you. I am in the habit of assisting ladies in embarrassed circumstances, -and nobody knows of it but my steward--who keeps the accounts--and -myself. Once more, let me inquire if a little advance of the pecuniary -sort (delicately offered) would be acceptable to you?" - -Grace returned slowly to the chair that she had left. She stood by it, -with one hand grasping the top rail, and with her eyes fixed in mocking -scrutiny on Lady Janet's face. - -"At last your ladyship shows your hand," she said. "Hush-money!" - -"You _will_ send me back to my papers," rejoined Lady Janet. "How -obstinate you are!" - -Grace's hand closed tighter and tighter round the rail of the chair. -Without witnesses, without means, without so much as a refuge--thanks to -her own coarse cruelties of language and conduct--in the sympathies -of others, the sense of her isolation and her helplessness was almost -maddening at that final moment. A woman of finer sensibilities would -have instantly left the room. Grace's impenetrably hard and narrow mind -impelled her to meet the emergency in a very different way. A last base -vengeance, to which Lady Janet had voluntarily exposed herself, was -still within her reach. "For the present," she thought, "there is but -one way of being even with your ladyship. I can cost you as much as -possible." - -"Pray make some allowances for me," she said. "I am not obstinate--I am -only a little awkward at matching the audacity of a lady of high rank. -I shall improve with practice. My own language is, as I am painfully -aware, only plain English. Permit me to withdraw it, and to substitute -yours. What advance is your ladyship (delicately) prepared to offer me?" - -Lady Janet opened a drawer, and took out her check-book. - -The moment of relief had come at last! The only question now left to -discuss was evidently the question of amount. Lady Janet considered a -little. The question of amount was (to her mind) in some sort a question -of conscience as well. Her love for Mercy and her loathing for Grace, -her horror of seeing her darling degraded and her affection profaned -by a public exposure, had hurried her--there was no disputing it--into -treating an injured woman harshly. Hateful as Grace Roseberry might be, -her father had left her, in his last moments, with Lady Janet's full -concurrence, to Lady Janet's care. But for Mercy she would have been -received at Mablethorpe House as Lady Janet's companion, with a salary -of one hundred pounds a year. On the other hand, how long (with such a -temper as she had revealed) would Grace have remained in the service of -her protectress? She would probably have been dismissed in a few weeks, -with a year's salary to compensate her, and with a recommendation to -some suitable employment. What would be a fair compensation now? Lady -Janet decided that five years' salary immediately given, and future -assistance rendered if necessary, would represent a fit remembrance -of the late Colonel Roseberry's claims, and a liberal pecuniary -acknowledgment of any harshness of treatment which Grace might have -sustained at her hands. At the same time, and for the further satisfying -of her own conscience, she determined to discover the sum which Grace -herself would consider sufficient by the simple process of making Grace -herself propose the terms. - -"It is impossible for me to make you an offer," she said, "for this -reason--your need of money will depend greatly on your future plans. I -am quite ignorant of your future plans.'' - -"Perhaps your ladyship will kindly advise me?" said Grace, satirically. - -"I cannot altogether undertake to advise you," Lady Janet replied. "I -can only suppose that you will scarcely remain in England, where you -have no friends. Whether you go to law with me or not, you will surely -feel the necessity of communicating personally with your friends in -Canada. Am I right?" - -Grace was quite quick enough to understand this as it was meant. -Properly interpreted, the answer signified--"If you take your -compensation in money, it is understood, as part of the bargain that you -don't remain in England to annoy me." - -"Your ladyship is quite right," she said. "I shall certainly not remain -in England. I shall consult my friends--and," she added, mentally, "go -to law with you afterward, if I possibly can, with your own money!" - -"You will return to Canada," Lady Janet proceeded; "and your prospects -there will be, probably, a little uncertain at first. Taking this into -consideration, at what amount do you estimate, in your own mind, the -pecuniary assistance which you will require?" - -"May I count on your ladyship's, kindness to correct me if my own -ignorant calculations turn out to be wrong?" Grace asked, innocently. - -Here again the words, properly interpreted, had a special signification -of their own: "It is stipulated, on my part, that I put myself up to -auction, and that my estimate shall be regulated by your ladyship's -highest bid." Thoroughly understanding the stipulation, Lady Janet -bowed, and waited gravely. - -Gravely, on her side, Grace began. - -"I am afraid I should want more than a hundred pounds," she said. - -Lady Janet made her first bid. "I think so too." - -"More, perhaps, than two hundred?" - -Lady Janet made her second bid. "Probably." - -"More than three hundred? Four hundred? Five hundred?" - -Lady Janet made her highest bid. "Five hundred pounds will do," she -said. - -In spite of herself, Grace's rising color betrayed her ungovernable -excitement. From her earliest childhood she had been accustomed to see -shillings and sixpences carefully considered before they were parted -with. She had never known her father to possess so much as five golden -sovereigns at his own disposal (unencumbered by debt) in all her -experience of him. The atmosphere in which she had lived and breathed -was the all-stifling one of genteel poverty. There was something -horrible in the greedy eagerness of her eyes as they watched Lady Janet, -to see if she was really sufficiently in earnest to give away five -hundred pounds sterling with a stroke of her pen. - -Lady Janet wrote t he check in a few seconds, and pushed it across the -table. - -Grace's hungry eyes devoured the golden line, "Pay to myself or bearer -five hundred pounds," and verified the signature beneath, "Janet -Roy." Once sure of the money whenever she chose to take it, the native -meanness of her nature instantly asserted itself. She tossed her head, -and let the check lie on the table, with an overacted appearance of -caring very little whether she took it or not. - -"Your ladyship is not to suppose that I snap at your check," she said. - -Lady Janet leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. The very sight -of Grace Roseberry sickened her. Her mind filled suddenly with the image -of Mercy. She longed to feast her eyes again on that grand beauty, to -fill her ears again with the melody of that gentle voice. - -"I require time to consider--in justice to my own self-respect," Grace -went on. - -Lady Janet wearily made a sign, granting time to consider. - -"Your ladyship's boudoir is, I presume, still at my disposal?" - -Lady Janet silently granted the boudoir. - -"And your ladyship's servants are at my orders, if I have occasion to -employ them?" - -Lady Janet suddenly opened her eyes. "The whole household is at your -orders," she cried, furiously. "Leave me!" - -Grace was far from being offended. If anything, she was gratified--there -was a certain triumph in having stung Lady Janet into an open outbreak -of temper. She insisted forthwith on another condition. - -"In the event of my deciding to receive the check," she said, "I cannot, -consistently with my own self-respect, permit it to be delivered to me -otherwise than inclosed. Your ladyship will (if necessary) be so kind as -to inclose it. Good-evening." - -She sauntered to the door, looking from side to side, with an air of -supreme disparagement, at the priceless treasures of art which adorned -the walls. Her eyes dropped superciliously on the carpet (the design of -a famous French painter), as if her feet condescended in walking over -it. The audacity with which she had entered the room had been marked -enough; it shrank to nothing before the infinitely superior proportions -of the insolence with which she left it. - -The instant the door was closed Lady Janet rose from her chair. Reckless -of the wintry chill in the outer air, she threw open one of the windows. -"Pah!" she exclaimed, with a shudder of disgust, "the very air of the -room is tainted by her!" - -She returned to her chair. Her mood changed as she sat down again--her -heart was with Mercy once more. "Oh, my love!" she murmured "how low I -have stooped, how miserably I have degraded myself--and all for You!" -The bitterness of the retrospect was unendurable. The inbred force of -the woman's nature took refuge from it in an outburst of defiance and -despair. "Whatever she has done, that wretch deserves it! Not a living -creature in this house shall say she has deceived me. She has _not_ -deceived me--she loves me! What do I care whether she has given me her -true name or not! She has given me her true heart. What right had Julian -to play upon her feelings and pry into her secrets? My poor, tempted, -tortured child! I won't hear her confession. Not another word shall she -say to any living creature. I am mistress--I will forbid it at once!" -She snatched a sheet of notepaper from the case; hesitated, and threw it -from her on the table. "Why not send for my darling?" she thought. "Why -write?" She hesitated once more, and resigned the idea. "No! I can't -trust myself! I daren't see her yet!" - -She took up the sheet of paper again, and wrote her second message to -Mercy. This time the note began fondly with a familiar form of address. - -"MY DEAR CHILD--I have had time to think and compose myself a little, -since I last wrote, requesting you to defer the explanation which you -had promised me. I already understand (and appreciate) the motives -which led you to interfere as you did downstairs, and I now ask you to -entirely abandon the explanation. It will, I am sure, be painful to -you (for reasons of your own into which I have no wish to inquire) to -produce the person of whom you spoke, and as you know already, I myself -am weary of hearing of her. Besides, there is really no need now for you -to explain anything. The stranger whose visits here have caused us so -much pain and anxiety will trouble us no more. She leaves England of -her own free will, after a conversation with me which has perfectly -succeeded in composing and satisfying her. Not a word more, my dear, -to me, or to my nephew, or to any other human creature, of what has -happened in the dining-room to-day. When we next meet, let it be -understood between us that the past is henceforth and forever _buried -to oblivion_. This is not only the earnest request--it is, if necessary, -the positive command, of your mother and friend, - -"JANET ROY. - -"P.S.--I shall find opportunities (before you leave your room) of -speaking separately to my nephew and to Horace Holmcroft. You need dread -no embarrassment, when you next meet them. I will not ask you to answer -my note in writing. Say yes to the maid who will bring it to you, and I -shall know we understand each other." - - -After sealing the envelope which inclosed these lines, Lady Janet -addressed it, as usual, to "Miss Grace Roseberry." She was just rising -to ring the bell, when the maid appeared with a message from the -boudoir. The woman's tones and looks showed plainly that she had been -made the object of Grace's insolent self-assertion as well as her -mistress. - -"If you please, my lady, the person downstairs wishes--" - -Lady Janet, frowning contemptuously, interrupted the message at the -outset. "I know what the person downstairs wishes. She has sent you for -a letter from me?" - -"Yes, my lady." - -"Anything more?" - -"She has sent one of the men-servants, my lady, for a cab. If your -ladyship had only heard how she spoke to him!" - -Lady Janet intimated by a sign that she would rather not hear. She at -once inclosed the check in an undirected envelope. - -"Take that to her," she said, "and then come back to me." - -Dismissing Grace Roseberry from all further consideration, Lady Janet -sat, with her letter to Mercy in her hand, reflecting on her position, -and on the efforts which it might still demand from her. Pursuing this -train of thought, it now occurred to her that accident might bring -Horace and Mercy together at any moment, and that, in Horace's present -frame of mind, he would certainly insist on the very explanation which -it was the foremost interest of her life to suppress. The dread of this -disaster was in full possession of her when the maid returned. - -"Where is Mr. Holmcroft?" she asked, the moment the woman entered the -room. - -"I saw him open the library door, my lady, just now, on my way -upstairs." - -"Was he alone?" - -"Yes, my lady." - -"Go to him, and say I want to see him here immediately." - -The maid withdrew on her second errand. Lady Janet rose restlessly, and -closed the open window. Her impatient desire to make sure of Horace so -completely mastered her that she left her room, and met the woman in -the corridor on her return. Receiving Horace's message of excuse, she -instantly sent back the peremptory rejoinder, "Say that he will oblige -me to go to him, if he persists in refusing to come to me. And, stay!" -she added, remembering the undelivered letter. "Send Miss Roseberry's -maid here; I want her." - -Left alone again, Lady Janet paced once or twice up and down the -corridor--then grew suddenly weary of the sight of it, and went back to -her room. The two maids returned together. One of them, having announced -Horace's submission, was dismissed. The other was sent to Mercy's room -with Lady Janet's letter. In a minute or two the messenger appeared -again, with the news that she had found the room empty. - -"Have you any idea where Miss Roseberry is?" - -"No, my lady." - -Lady Janet reflected for a moment. If Horace presented himself without -any needless delay, the plain inference would he that she had succeeded -in separating him from Mercy. If his appearance was suspiciously -deferred, she decided on personally searching for Mercy in the reception -rooms on the lower floor of the house. - -"What have you done with the letter?" she asked. - -"I left it on Miss Roseberry's table, my lady." - -"Very well. Keep within hearing of the bell, in case I want you again." - -Another minute brought Lady Janet's suspense to an end. She heard the -welcome sound of a knock at her door from a man's hand. Horace hurriedly -entered the room. - -"What is it you want with me, Lady Janet?" he inquired, not very -graciously. - -"Sit down, Horace, and you shall hear." - -Horace did not accept the invitation. "Excuse me," he said, "if I -mention that I am rather in a hurry." - -"Why are you in a hurry?" - -"I have reasons for wishing to see Grace as soon as possible." - -"And _I_ have reasons," Lady Janet rejoined, "for wishing to speak to -you about Grace before you see her; serious reasons. Sit down." - -Horace started. "Serious reasons?" he repeated. "You surprise me." - -"I shall surprise you still more before I have done." - -Their eyes met as Lady Janet answered in those terms. Horace observed -signs of agitation in her, which he now noticed for the first time. His -face darkened with an expression of sullen distrust--and he took the -chair in silence. - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. LADY JANET'S LETTER. - -THE narrative leaves Lady Janet and Horace Holmcroft together, and -returns to Julian and Mercy in the library. - -An interval passed--a long interval, measured by the impatient reckoning -of suspense--after the cab which had taken Grace Roseberry away had left -the house. The minutes followed each other; and still the warning sound -of Horace's footsteps was not heard on the marble pavement of the -hall. By common (though unexpressed) consent, Julian and Mercy avoided -touching upon the one subject on which they were now both interested -alike. With their thoughts fixed secretly in vain speculation on the -nature of the interview which was then taking place in Lady Janet's -room, they tried to speak on topics indifferent to both of them--tried, -and failed, and tried again. In a last and longest pause of silence -between them, the next event happened. The door from the hall was softly -and suddenly opened. - -Was it Horace? No--not even yet. The person who had opened the door was -only Mercy's maid. - -"My lady's love, miss; and will you please to read this directly?" - -Giving her message in those terms, the woman produced from the pocket -of her apron Lady Janet's second letter to Mercy, with a strip of paper -oddly pinned round the envelope. Mercy detached the paper, and found on -the inner side some lines in pencil, hurriedly written in Lady Janet's -hand. They ran thus. - -"Don't lose a moment in reading my letter. And mind this, when H. -returns to you--meet him firmly: say nothing." - -Enlightened by the warning words which Julian had spoken to her, Mercy -was at no loss to place the right interpretation on those strange lines. -Instead of immediately opening the letter, she stopped the maid at the -library door. Julian's suspicion of the most trifling events that were -taking place in the house had found its way from his mind to hers. -"Wait!" she said. "I don't understand what is going on upstairs; I want -to ask you something." - -The woman came back--not very willingly. - -"How did you know I was here?" Mercy inquired. - -"If you please, miss, her ladyship ordered me to take the letter to you -some little time since. You were not in your room, and I left it on your -table." - -"I understand that. But how came you to bring the letter here?" - -"My lady rang for me, miss. Before I could knock at her door she came -out into the corridor with that morsel of paper in her hand--" - -"So as to keep you from entering her room?" - -"Yes, miss. Her ladyship wrote on the paper in a great hurry, and told -me to pin it round the letter that I had left in your room. I was to -take them both together to you, and to let nobody see me. 'You will find -Miss Roseberry in the library' (her ladyship says), 'and run, run, run! -there isn't a moment to lose!' Those were her own words, miss." - -"Did you hear anything in the room before Lady Janet came out and met -you?" - -The woman hesitated, and looked at Julian. - -"I hardly know whether I ought to tell you, miss." - -Julian turned away to leave the library. Mercy stopped him by a motion -of her hand. - -"You know that I shall not get you into any trouble," she said to the -maid. "And you may speak quite safely before Mr. Julian Gray." - -Thus re-assured, the maid spoke. - -"To own the truth, miss, I heard Mr. Holmcroft in my lady's room. His -voice sounded as if he was angry. I may say they were both angry--Mr. -Holmcroft and my lady." (She turned to Julian.) "And just before her -ladyship came out, sir, I heard your name, as if it was you they were -having words about. I can't say exactly what it was; I hadn't time to -hear. And I didn't listen, miss; the door was ajar; and the voices were -so loud nobody could help hearing them." - -It was useless to detain the woman any longer. Having given her leave to -withdraw, Mercy turned to Julian. - -"Why were they quarreling about you?" she asked. - -Julian pointed to the unopened letter in her hand. - -"The answer to your question may be there," he said. "Read the letter -while you have the chance. And if I can advise you, say so at once." - -With a strange reluctance she opened the envelope. With a sinking -heart she read the lines in which Lady Janet, as "mother and friend," -commanded her absolutely to suppress the confession which she had -pledged herself to make in the sacred interests of justice and truth. -A low cry of despair escaped her, as the cruel complication in her -position revealed itself in all its unmerited hardship. "Oh, Lady Janet, -Lady Janet!" she thought, "there was but one trial more left in my hard -lot--and it comes to me from _you!_" - -She handed the letter to Julian. He took it from her in silence. His -pale complexion turned paler still as he read it. His eyes rested on her -compassionately as he handed it back. - -"To my mind," he said, "Lady Janet herself sets all further doubt at -rest. Her letter tells me what she wanted when she sent for Horace, and -why my name was mentioned between them." - -"Tell me!" cried Mercy, eagerly. - -He did not immediately answer her. He sat down again in the chair by her -side, and pointed to the letter. - -"Has Lady Janet shaken your resolution?" he asked. - -"She has strengthened my resolution," Mercy answered. "She has added a -new bitterness to my remorse." - -She did not mean it harshly, but the reply sounded harshly in Julian's -ears. It stirred the generous impulses, which were the strongest -impulses in his nature. He who had once pleaded with Mercy for -compassionate consideration for herself now pleaded with her for -compassionate consideration for Lady Janet. With persuasive gentleness -he drew a little nearer, and laid his hand on her arm. - -"Don't judge her harshly," he said. "She is wrong, miserably wrong. She -has recklessly degraded herself; she has recklessly tempted you. Still, -is it generous--is it even just--to hold her responsible for deliberate -sin? She is at the close of her days; she can feel no new affection; she -can never replace you. View her position in that light, and you will see -(as I see) that it is no base motive which has led her astray. Think of -her wounded heart and her wasted life--and say to yourself forgivingly, -She loves me!" - -Mercy's eyes filled with tears. - -"I do say it!" she answered. "Not forgivingly--it is _I_ who have need -of forgiveness. I say it gratefully when I think of her--I say it with -shame and sorrow when I think of myself." - -He took her hand for the first time. He looked, guiltlessly looked, at -her downcast face. He spoke as he had spoken at the memorable interview -between them which had made a new woman of her. - -"I can imagine no crueler trial," he said, "than the trial that is now -before you. The benefactress to whom you owe everything asks nothing -from you but your silence. The person whom you have wronged is no longer -present to stimulate your resolution to speak. Horace himself (unless I -am entirely mistaken) will not hold you to the explanation that you have -promised. The temptation to keep your false position in this house is, I -do not scruple to say, all but irresistible. Sister and friend! can you -still justify my faith in you? Will you still own the truth, without -the base fear of discovery to drive you to it?" - -She lifted her head, with the steady light of resolution shining again -in her grand, gray eyes. Her low, sweet voice answered him, without a -faltering note in it, - -"I will!" - -"You will do justice to the woman whom you have wronged--unworthy as she -is; powerless as she is to expose you?" - -"I will!" - -"You will sacrifice everything you have gained by the fraud to the -sacred duty of atonement? You will suffer anything--even though you -offend the second mother who has loved you and sinned for you--rather -than suffer the degradation of yourself?" - -Her hand closed firmly on his. Again, and for the last time, she -answered, - -"I will!" - -His voice had not trembled yet. It failed him now. His next words were -spoken in faint whispering tones--to himself; not to her. - -"Thank God for this day!" he said. "I have been of some service to one -of the noblest of God's creatures!" - -Some subtle influence, as he spoke, passed from his hand to hers. It -trembled through her nerves; it entwined itself mysteriously with the -finest sensibilities in her nature; it softly opened her heart to a -first vague surmising of the devotion that she had inspired in him. A -faint glow of color, lovely in its faintness, stole over her face and -neck. Her breathing quickened tremblingly. She drew her hand away from -him, and sighed when she had released it. - -He rose suddenly to his feet and left her, without a word or a look, -walking slowly down the length of the room. When he turned and came back -to her, his face was composed; he was master of himself again. - - - -Mercy was the first to speak. She turned the conversation from herself -by reverting to the proceedings in Lady Janet's room. - -"You spoke of Horace just now," she said, "in terms which surprised me. -You appeared to think that he would not hold me to my explanation. Is -that one of the conclusions which you draw from Lady Janet's letter?" - -"Most assuredly," Julian answered. "You will see the conclusion as I -see it if we return for a moment to Grace Roseberry's departure from the -house." - -Mercy interrupted him there. "Can you guess," she asked, "how Lady Janet -prevailed upon her to go?" - -"I hardly like to own it," said Julian. "There is an expression in the -letter which suggests to me that Lady Janet has offered her money, and -that she has taken the bribe." - -"Oh, I can't think that!" - -"Let us return to Horace. Miss Roseberry once out of the house, but one -serious obstacle is left in Lady Janet's way. That obstacle is Horace -Holmcroft." - -"How is Horace an obstacle?" - -"He is an obstacle in this sense. He is under an engagement to marry you -in a week's time; and Lady Janet is determined to keep him (as she is -determined to keep every one else) in ignorance of the truth. She will -do that without scruple. But the inbred sense of honor in her is not -utterly silenced yet. She cannot, she dare not, let Horace make you -his wife under the false impression that you are Colonel Roseberry's -daughter. You see the situation? On the one hand, she won't enlighten -him. On the other hand, she cannot allow him to marry you blindfold. In -this emergency what is she to do? There is but one alternative that I -can discover. She must persuade Horace (or she must irritate Horace) -into acting for himself, and breaking off the engagement on his own -responsibility." - -Mercy stopped him. "Impossible!" she cried, warmly. "Impossible!" - -"Look again at her letter," Julian rejoined. "It tells, you plainly that -you need fear no embarrassment when you next meet Horace. If words -mean anything, those words mean that he will not claim from you the -confidence which you have promised to repose in him. On what condition -is it possible for him to abstain from doing that? On the one condition -that you have ceased to represent the first and foremost interest of his -life." - -Mercy still held firm. "You are wronging Lady Janet," she said. - -Julian smiled sadly. - -"Try to look at it," he answered, "from Lady Janet's point of view. Do -you suppose _she_ sees anything derogatory to her in attempting to break -off the marriage? I will answer for it, she believes she is doing you a -kindness. In one sense it _would_ be a kindness to spare you the shame -of a humiliating confession, and to save you (possibly) from being -rejected to your face by the man you love. In my opinion, the thing is -done already. I have reasons of my own for believing that my aunt will -succeed far more easily than she could anticipate. Horace's temper will -help her." - -Mercy's mind began to yield to him, in spite of herself. - -"What do you mean by Horace's temper?" she inquired. - -"Must you ask me that?" he said, drawing back a little from her. - -"I must." - -"I mean by Horace's temper, Horace's unworthy distrust of the interest -that I feel in you." - -She instantly understood him. And more than that, she secretly admired -him for the scrupulous delicacy with which he had expressed himself. -Another man would not have thought of sparing her in that way. Another -man would have said, plainly, "Horace is jealous of me." - -Julian did not wait for her to answer him. He considerately went on. - -"For the reason that I have just mentioned," he said, "Horace will be -easily irritated into taking a course which, in his calmer moments, -nothing would induce him to adopt. Until I heard what your maid said to -you I had thought (for your sake) of retiring before he joined you -here. Now I know that my name has been introduced, and has made mischief -upstairs, I feel the necessity (for your sake again) of meeting Horace -and his temper face to face before you see him. Let me, if I can, -prepare him to hear you without any angry feeling in his mind toward -you. Do you object to retire to the next room for a few minutes in the -event of his coming back to the library?" - -Mercy's courage instantly rose with the emergency. She refused to leave -the two men together. - -"Don't think me insensible to your kindness," she said. "If I leave you -with Horace I may expose you to insult. I refuse to do that. What makes -you doubt his coming back?" - -"His prolonged absence makes me doubt it," Julian replied. "In my -belief, the marriage is broken off. He may go as Grace Roseberry has -gone. You may never see him again." - -The instant the opinion was uttered, it was practically contradicted by -the man himself. Horace opened the library door. - - - -CHAPTER XXV. THE CONFESSION - -HE stopped just inside the door. His first look was for Mercy; his is -second look was for Julian. - -"I knew it!" he said, with an assumption of sardonic composure. "If I -could only have persuaded Lady Janet to bet, I should have won a hundred -pounds." He advanced to Julian, with a sudden change from irony to -anger. "Would you like to hear what the bet was?" he asked. - -"I should prefer seeing you able to control yourself in the presence of -this lady," Julian answered, quietly. - -"I offered to lay Lady Janet two hundred pounds to one," Horace -proceeded, "that I should find you here, making love to Miss Roseberry -behind my back." - -Mercy interfered before Julian could reply. - -"If you cannot speak without insulting one of us," she said, "permit me -to request that you will _not_ address yourself to Mr. Julian Gray." - -Horace bowed to her with a mockery of respect. - -"Pray don't alarm yourself--I am pledged to be scrupulously civil to -both of you," he said. "Lady Janet only allowed me to leave her on -condition of my promising to behave with perfect politeness. What else -can I do? I have two privileged people to deal with--a parson and -a woman. The parson's profession protects him, and the woman's sex -protects her. You have got me at a disadvantage, and you both of -you know it. I beg to apologize if I have forgotten the clergyman's -profession and the lady's sex." - -"You have forgotten more than that," said Julian. "You have forgotten -that you were born a gentleman and bred a man of honor. So far as I am -concerned, I don't ask you to remember that I am a clergyman--I obtrude -my profession on nobody--I only ask you to remember your birth and your -breeding. It is quite bad enough to cruelly and unjustly suspect an old -friend who has never forgotten what he owes to you and to himself. But -it is still more unworthy of you to acknowledge those suspicions in -the hearing of a woman whom your own choice has doubly bound you to -respect." - -He stopped. The two eyed each other for a moment in silence. - -It was impossible for Mercy to look at them, as she was looking now, -without drawing the inevitable comparison between the manly force and -dignity of Julian and the womanish malice and irritability of Horace. -A last faithful impulse of loyalty toward the man to whom she had -been betrothed impelled her to part them, before Horace had hopelessly -degraded himself in her estimation by contrast with Julian. - -"You had better wait to speak to me," she said to him, "until we are -alone." - -"Certainly," Horace answered with a sneer, "if Mr. Julian Gray will -permit it." - -Mercy turned to Julian, with a look which said plainly, "Pity us both, -and leave us!" - -"Do you wish me to go?" he asked. - -"Add to all your other kindnesses to me," she answered. "Wait for me in -that room." - -She pointed to the door that led into the dining-room. Julian hesitated. - -"You promise to let me know it if I can be of the smallest service to -you?" he said. - -"Yes, yes!" She followed him as he withdrew, and added, rapidly, in a -whisper, "Leave the door ajar!" - -He made no answer. As she returned to Horace he entered the dining-room. -The one concession he could make to her he did make. He closed the door -so noiselessly that not even her quick hearing could detect that he had -shut it. - -Mercy spoke to Horace, without waiting to let him speak first. - -"I have promised you an explanation of my conduct," she said, in accents -that trembled a little in spite of herself. "I am ready to perform my -promise." - -"I have a question to ask you before you do that," he rejoined. "Can you -speak the truth?" - -"I am waiting to speak the truth." - -"I will give you an opportunity. Are you or are you not in love with -Julian Gray?" - -"You ought to be ashamed to ask the question!" - -"Is that your only answer?" - -"I have never been unfaithful to you, Horace, even in thought. If I had -_not_ been true to you, should I feel my position as you see I feel it -now?" - -He smiled bitterly. "I have my own opinion of your fidelity and of his -honor," he said. "You couldn't even send him into the next room without -whispering to him first. Never mind that now. At least you know that -Julian Gray is in love with you." - -"Mr. Julian Gray has never breathed a word of it to me." - -"A man can show a woman that he loves her, without saying it in words." - -Mercy's power of endurance began to fail her. Not even Grace Roseberry -had spoken more insultingly to her of Julian than Horace was speaking -now. "Whoever says that of Mr. Julian Gray, lies!" she answered, warmly. - -"Then Lady Janet lies," Horace retorted. - -"Lady Janet never said it! Lady Janet is incapable of saying it!" - -"She may not have said it in so many words; but she never denied it when -_I_ said it. I reminded her of the time when Julian Gray first heard -from me that I was going to marry you: he was so overwhelmed that he was -barely capable of being civil to me. Lady Janet was present, and could -not deny it. I asked her if she had observed, since then, signs of -a confidential understanding between you two. She could not deny the -signs. I asked if she had ever found you two together. She could not -deny that she had found you together, this very day, under circumstances -which justified suspicion. Yes! yes! Look as angry as you like! you -don't know what has been going on upstairs. Lady Janet is bent on -breaking off our engagement--and Julian Gray is at the bottom of it." - -As to Julian, Horace was utterly wrong. But as to Lady Janet, he echoed -the warning words which Julian himself had spoken to Mercy. She was -staggered, but she still held to her own opinion. "I don't believe it," -she said, firmly. - -He advanced a step, and fixed his angry eyes on her searchingly. - -"Do you know why Lady Janet sent for me?" he asked. - -"No." - -"Then I will tell you. Lady Janet is a stanch friend of yours, there is -no denying that. She wished to inform me that she had altered her mind -about your promised explanation of your conduct. She said, 'Reflection -has convinced me that no explanation is required; I have laid my -positive commands on my adopted daughter that no explanation shall take -place.' Has she done that?" - -"Yes." - -"Now observe! I waited till she had finished, and then I said, 'What -have I to do with this?' Lady Janet has one merit--she speaks out. -'You are to do as I do,' she answered. 'You are to consider that no -explanation is required, and you are to consign the whole matter to -oblivion from this time forth.' 'Are you serious?' I asked. 'Quite -serious.' 'In that case I have to inform your ladyship that you insist -on more than you may suppose: you insist on my breaking my engagement -to Miss Roseberry. Either I am to have the explanation that she has -promised me, or I refuse to marry her.' How do you think Lady Janet took -that? She shut up her lips, and she spread out her hands, and she looked -at me as much as to say, 'Just as you please! Refuse if you like; it's -nothing to me!'" - -He paused for a moment. Mercy remained silent, on her side: she foresaw -what was coming. Mistaken in supposing that Horace had left the house, -Julian had, beyond all doubt, been equally in error in concluding that -he had been entrapped into breaking off the engagement upstairs. - -"Do you understand me so far?" Horace asked. - -"I understand you perfectly." - -"I will not trouble you much longer," he resumed. "I said to Lady Janet, -'Be so good as to answer me in plain words. Do you still insist on -closing Miss Roseberry's lips?' 'I still insist,' she answered. -'No explanation is required. If you are base enough to suspect your -betrothed wife, I am just enough to believe in my adopted daughter.' I -replied--and I beg you will give your best attention to what I am now -going to say--I replied to that, 'It is not fair to charge me with -suspecting her. I don't understand her confidential relations with -Julian Gray, and I don't understand her language and conduct in the -presence of the police officer. I claim it as my right to be satisfied -on both those points--in the character of the man who is to marry her.' -There was my answer. I spare you all that followed. I only repeat what I -said to Lady Janet. She has commanded you to be silent. If you obey her -commands, I owe it to myself and I owe it to my family to release you -from your engagement. Choose between your duty to Lady Janet and your -duty to Me." - -He had mastered his temper at last: he spoke with dignity, and he spoke -to the point. His position was unassailable; he claimed nothing but his -right. - -"My choice was made," Mercy answered, "when I gave you my promise -upstairs." - -She waited a little, struggling to control herself on the brink of the -terrible revelation that was coming. Her eyes dropped before his; -her heart beat faster and faster; but she struggled bravely. With a -desperate courage she faced the position. "If you are ready to listen," -she went on, "I am ready to tell you why I insisted on having the police -officer sent out of the house." - -Horace held up his hand warningly. - -"Stop!" he said; "that is not all." - -His infatuated jealousy of Julian (fatally misinterpreting her -agitation) distrusted her at the very outset. She had limited herself -to clearing up the one question of her interference with the officer -of justice. The other question of her relations with Julian she had -deliberately passed over. Horace instantly drew his own ungenerous -conclusion. - -"Let us not misunderstand one another," he said. "The explanation of -your conduct in the other room is only one of the explanations which -you owe me. You have something else to account for. Let us begin with -_that_, if you please." - -She looked at him in unaffected surprise. - -"What else have I to account for?" she asked. - -He again repeated his reply to Lady Janet. - -"I have told you already," he said. "I don't understand your -confidential relations with Julian Gray." - -Mercy's color rose; Mercy's eyes began to brighten. - -"Don't return to that!" she cried, with an irrepressible outbreak of -disgust. "Don't, for God's sake, make me despise you at such a moment as -this!" - -His obstinacy only gathered fresh encouragement from that appeal to his -better sense. - -"I insist on returning to it." - -She had resolved to bear anything from him--as her fit punishment for -the deception of which she had been guilty. But it was not in womanhood -(at the moment when the first words of her confession were trembling on -her lips) to endure Horace's unworthy suspicion of her. She rose from -her seat and met his eye firmly. - -"I refuse to degrade myself, and to degrade Mr. Julian Gray, by -answering you," she said. - -"Consider what you are doing," he rejoined. "Change your mind, before it -is too late!" - -"You have had my reply." - -Those resolute words, that steady resistance, seemed to infuriate him. -He caught her roughly by the arm. - -"You are as false as hell!" he cried. "It's all over between you and -me!" - -The loud threatening tone in which he had spoken penetrated through -the closed door of the dining-room. The door instantly opened. Julian -returned to the library. - -He had just set foot in the room, when there was a knock at the -other door--the door that opened on the hall. One of the men-servants -appeared, with a telegraphic message in his hand. Mercy was the first to -see it. It was the Matron's answer to the letter which she had sent to -the Refuge. - -"For Mr. Julian Gray?" she asked. - -"Yes, miss." - -"Give it to me." - -She signed to the man to withdraw, and herself gave the telegram to -Julian. "It is addressed to you, at my request," she said. "You will -recognize the name of the person who sends it, and you will find a -message in it for me." - -Horace interfered before Julian could open the telegram. - -"Another private understanding between you!" he said. "Give me that -telegram." - -Julian looked at him with quiet contempt. - -"It is directed to Me," he answered--and opened the envelope. - -The message inside was expressed in these terms: "I am as deeply -interested in her as you are. Say that I have received her letter, and -that I welcome her back to the Refuge with all my heart. I have -business this evening in the neighborhood. I will call for her myself at -Mablethorpe House." - -The message explained itself. Of her own free-will she had made the -expiation complete! Of her own free-will she was going back to the -martyrdom of her old life! Bound as he knew himself to be to let no -compromising word or action escape him in the presence of Horace, the -irrepressible expression of Julian's admiration glowed in his eyes as -they rested on Mercy. Horace detected the look. He sprang forward and -tried to snatch the telegram out of Julian's hand. - -"Give it to me!" he said. "I will have it!" - -Julian silently put him back at arms-length. - -Maddened with rage, he lifted his hand threateningly. "Give it to me!" -he repeated between his set teeth, "or it will be the worse for you!" - -"Give it to _me!_" said Mercy, suddenly placing herself between them. - -Julian gave it. She turned, and offered it to Horace, looking at him -with a steady eye, holding it out to him with a steady hand. - -"Read it," she said. - -Julian's generous nature pitied the man who had insulted him. Julian's -great heart only remembered the friend of former times. - -"Spare him!" he said to Mercy. "Remember he is unprepared." - -She neither answered nor moved. Nothing stirred the horrible torpor of -her resignation to her fate. She knew that the time had come. - -Julian appealed to Horace. - -"Don't read it!" he cried. "Hear what she has to say to you first!" - -Horace's hand answered him with a contemptuous gesture. Horace's eyes -devoured, word by word, the Matron's message. - -He looked up when he had read it through. There was a ghastly change in -his face as he turned it on Mercy. - -She stood between the two men like a statue. The life in her seemed -to have died out, except in her eyes. Her eyes rested on Horace with a -steady, glittering calmness. - -The silence was only broken by the low murmuring of Julian's voice. His -face was hidden in his hands--he was praying for them. - -Horace spoke, laying his finger on the telegram. His voice had changed -with the change in his face. The tone was low and trembling: no one -would have recognized it as the tone of Horace's voice. - -"What does this mean?" he said to Mercy. "It can't be for you?" - -"It _is_ for me." - -"What have You to do with a Refuge?" - -Without a change in her face, without a movement in her limbs, she spoke -the fatal words: - -"I have come from a Refuge, and I am going back to a Refuge. Mr. Horace -Holmcroft, I am Mercy Merrick." - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. GREAT HEART AND LITTLE HEART. - -THERE was a pause. - -The moments passed--and not one of the three moved. The moments -passed--and not one of the three spoke. Insensibly the words of -supplication died away on Julian's lips. Even his energy failed to -sustain him, tried as it now was by the crushing oppression of suspense. -The first trifling movement which suggested the idea of change, and -which so brought with it the first vague sense of relief, came from -Mercy. Incapable of sustaining the prolonged effort of standing, she -drew back a little and took a chair. No outward manifestation of emotion -escaped her. There she sat--with the death-like torpor of resignation in -her face--waiting her sentence in silence from the man at whom she had -hurled the whole terrible confession of the truth in one sentence! - -Julian lifted his head as she moved. He looked at Horace, and advancing -a few steps, looked again. There was fear in his face, as he suddenly -turned it toward Mercy. - -"Speak to him!" he said, in a whisper. "Rouse him, before it's too -late!" - -She moved mechanically in her chair; she looked mechanically at Julian. - -"What more have I to say to him?" she asked, in faint, weary tones. "Did -I not tell him everything when I told him my name?" - -The natural sound of her voice might have failed to affect Horace. The -altered sound of it roused him. He approached Mercy's chair, with a dull -surprise in his face, and put his hand, in a weak, wavering way, on her -shoulder. In that position he stood for a while, looking down at her in -silence. - -The one idea in him that found its way outward to expression was the -idea of Julian. Without moving his hand, without looking up from Mercy, -he spoke for the first time since the shock had fallen on him. - -"Where is Julian?" he asked, very quietly. - -"I am here, Horace--close by you." - -"Will you do me a service?" - -"Certainly. How can I help you?" - -He considered a little before he replied. His hand left Mercy's -shoulder, and went up to his head--then dropped at his side. His next -words were spoken in a sadly helpless, bewildered way. - -"I have an idea, Julian, that I have been somehow to blame. I said some -hard words to you. It was a little while since. I don't clearly remember -what it was all about. My temper has been a good deal tried in this -house; I have never been used to the sort of thing that goes on -here--secrets and mysteries, and hateful low-lived quarrels. We have -no secrets and mysteries at home. And as for quarrels--ridiculous! -My mother and my sisters are highly bred women (you know them); -gentlewomen, in the best sense of the word. When I am with _them_ I have -no anxieties. I am not harassed at home by doubts of who people are, and -confusion about names, and so on. I suspect the contrast weighs a little -on my mind and upsets it. They make me over-suspicious among them here, -and it ends in my feeling doubts and fears that I can't get over: doubts -about you and fears about myself. I have got a fear about myself now. I -want you to help me. Shall I make an apology first?" - -"Don't say a word. Tell me what I can do." - -He turned his face toward Julian for the first time. - -"Just look at me," he said. "Does it strike you that I am at all wrong -in my mind? Tell me the truth, old fellow." - -"Your nerves are a little shaken, Horace. Nothing more." - -He considered again after that reply, his eyes remaining anxiously fixed -on Julian's face. - -"My nerves are a little shaken," he repeated. "That is true; I feel they -are shaken. I should like, if you don't mind, to make sure that it's no -worse. Will you help me to try if my memory is all right?" - -"I will do anything you like." - -"Ah! you are a good fellow, Julian--and a clear-headed fellow too, which -is very important just now. Look here! I say it's about a week since the -troubles began in this house. Do you say so too?" - -"Yes." - -"The troubles came in with the coming of a woman from Germany, a -stranger to us, who behaved very violently in the dining-room there. Am -I right, so far?" - -"Quite right." - -"The woman carried matters with a high hand. She claimed Colonel -Roseberry--I wish to be strictly accurate--she claimed _the late_ -Colonel Roseberry as her father. She told a tiresome story about her -having been robbed of her papers and her name by an impostor who had -personated her. She said the name of the impostor was Mercy Merrick. And -she afterward put the climax to it all: she pointed to the lady who is -engaged to be my wife, and declared that _she_ was Mercy Merrick. Tell -me again, is that right or wrong?" - -Julian answered him as before. He went on, speaking more confidently and -more excitedly than he had spoken yet. - -"Now attend to this, Julian. I am going to pass from my memory of what -happened a week ago to my memory of what happened five minutes since. -You were present; I want to know if you heard it too." He paused, and, -without taking his eyes off Julian, pointed backward to Mercy. "There is -the lady who is engaged to marry me," he resumed. "Did I, or did I not, -hear her say that she had come out of a Refuge, and that she was going -back to a Refuge? Did I, or did I not, hear her own to my face that her -name was Mercy Merrick? Answer me, Julian. My good friend, answer me, -for the sake of old times." - -His voice faltered as he spoke those imploring words. Under the dull -blank of his face there appeared the first signs of emotion slowly -forcing its way outward. The stunned mind was reviving faintly. Julian -saw his opportunity of aiding the recovery, and seized it. He took -Horace gently by the arm, and pointed to Mercy. - -"There is your answer!" he said. "Look!--and pity her." - -She had not once interrupted them while they had been speaking: she had -changed her position again, and that was all. There was a writing-table -at the side of her chair; her outstretched arms rested on it. Her head -had dropped on her arms, and her face was hidden. Julian's judgment -had not misled him; the utter self-abandonment of her attitude answered -Horace as no human language could have answered him. He looked at her. -A quick spasm of pain passed across his face. He turned once more to -the faithful friend who had forgiven him. His head fell on Julian's -shoulder, and he burst into tears. - -Mercy started wildly to her feet, and looked at the two men. - -"O God" she cried, "what have I done!" - -Julian quieted her by a motion of his hand. - -"You have helped me to save him," he said. "Let his tears have their -way. Wait." - -He put one arm round Horace to support him. The manly tenderness of the -action, the complete and noble pardon of past injuries which it implied, -touched Mercy to the heart. She went back to her chair. Again shame and -sorrow overpowered her, and again she hid her face from view. - -Julian led Horace to a seat, and silently waited by him until he had -recovered his self-control. He gratefully took the kind hand that had -sustained him: he said, simply, almost boyishly, "Thank you, Julian. I -am better now." - -"Are you composed enough to listen to what is said to you?" Julian -asked. - -"Yes. Do _you_ wish to speak to me?" - -Julian left him without immediately replying, and returned to Mercy. - -"The time has come," he said. "Tell him all--truly, unreservedly, as you -would tell it to me." - -She shuddered as he spoke. "Have I not told him enough?" she asked. -"Do you want me to break his heart? Look at him! Look what I have done -already!" - -Horace shrank from the ordeal as Mercy shrank from it. - -"No, no! I can't listen to it! I daren't listen to it!" he cried, and -rose to leave the room. - -Julian had taken the good work in hand: he never faltered over it for an -instant. Horace had loved her--how dearly Julian now knew for the first -time. The bare possibility that she might earn her pardon if she was -allowed to plead her own cause was a possibility still left. To let her -win on Horace to forgive her, was death to the love that still filled -his heart in secret. But he never hesitated. With a resolution which the -weaker man was powerless to resist, he took him by the arm and led him -back to his place. - -"For her sake, and for your sake, you shall not condemn her unheard," he -said to Horace, firmly. "One temptation to deceive you after another -has tried her, and she has resisted them all. With no discovery to fear, -with a letter from the benefactress who loves her commanding her to be -silent, with everything that a woman values in this world to lose, if -she owns what she has done--_this_ woman, for the truth's sake, has -spoken the truth. Does she deserve nothing at your hands in return for -that? Respect her, Horace--and hear her." - -Horace yielded. Julian turned to Mercy. - -"You have allowed me to guide you so far," he said. "Will you allow me -to guide you still?" - -Her eyes sank before his; her bosom rose and fell rapidly. His -influence over her maintained its sway. She bowed her head in speechless -submission. - -"Tell him," Julian proceeded, in accents of entreaty, not of -command--"tell him what your life has been. Tell him how you were tried -and tempted, with no friend near to speak the words which might have -saved you. And then," he added, raising her from the chair, "let him -judge you--if he can!" - -He attempted to lead her across the room to the place which Horace -occupied. But her submission had its limits. Half-way to the place she -stopped, and refused to go further. Julian offered her a chair. She -declined to take it. Standing with one hand on the back of the chair, -she waited for the word from Horace which would permit her to speak. She -was resigned to the ordeal. Her face was calm; her mind was clear. The -hardest of all humiliations to endure--the humiliation of acknowledging -her name--she had passed through. Nothing remained but to show her -gratitude to Julian by acceding to his wishes, and to ask pardon of -Horace before they parted forever. In a little while the Matron would -arrive at the house--and then it would be over. - -Unwillingly Horace looked at her. Their eyes met. He broke out suddenly -with something of his former violence. - -"I can't realize it even now!" he cried. "_Is_ it true that you are not -Grace Roseberry? Don't look at me! Say in one word--Yes or No!" - -She answered him, humbly and sadly, "Yes." - -"You have done what that woman accused you of doing? Am I to believe -that?" - -"You are to believe it, sir." - -All the weakness of Horace's character disclosed itself when she made -that reply. - -"Infamous!" he exclaimed. "What excuse can you make for the cruel -deception you have practiced on me? Too bad! too bad! There can be no -excuse for you!" - -She accepted his reproaches with unshaken resignation. "I have deserved -it!" was all she said to herself, "I have deserved it!" - -Julian interposed once more in Mercy's defense. - -"Wait till you are sure there is no excuse for her, Horace," he said, -quietly. "Grant her justice, if you can grant no more. I leave you -together." - -He advanced toward the door of the dining-room. Horace's weakness -disclosed itself once more. - -"Don't leave me alone with her!" he burst out. "The misery of it is more -than I can bear!" - -Julian looked at Mercy. Her face brightened faintly. That momentary -expression of relief told him how truly he would be befriending her if -he consented to remain in the room. A position of retirement was offered -to him by a recess formed by the central bay-window of the library. If -he occupied this place, they could see or not see that he was present, -as their own inclinations might decide them. - -"I will stay with you, Horace, as long as you wish me to be here." -Having answered in those terms, he stopped as he passed Mercy, on his -way to the window. His quick and kindly insight told him that he might -still be of some service to her. A hint from him might show her the -shortest and the easiest way of making her confession. Delicately and -briefly he gave her the hint. "The first time I met you," he said, "I -saw that your life had had its troubles. Let us hear how those troubles -began." - -He withdrew to his place in the recess. For the first time, since -the fatal evening when she and Grace Roseberry had met in the French -cottage, Mercy Merrick looked back into the purgatory on earth of her -past life, and told her sad story simply and truly in these words. - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. MAGDALEN'S APPRENTICESHIP. - -"MR. JULIAN GRAY has asked me to tell him, and to tell you, Mr. -Holmcroft, how my troubles began. They began before my recollection. -They began with my birth. - -"My mother (as I have heard her say) ruined her prospects, when she was -quite a young girl, by a marriage with one of her father's servants--the -groom who rode out with her. She suffered, poor creature, the usual -penalty of such conduct as hers. After a short time she and her husband -were separated--on the condition of her sacrificing to the man whom she -had married the whole of the little fortune that she possessed in her -right. - -"Gaining her freedom, my mother had to gain her daily bread next. Her -family refused to take her back. She attached herself to a company of -strolling players. - -"She was earning a bare living in this way, when my father accidentally -met with her. He was a man of high rank, proud of his position, and well -known in the society of that time for his many accomplishments and his -refined tastes. My mother's beauty fascinated him. He took her from the -strolling players, and surrounded her with every luxury that a woman -could desire in a house of her own. - -"I don't know how long they lived together. I only know that my father, -at the time of my first recollections, had abandoned her. She had -excited his suspicions of her fidelity--suspicions which cruelly wronged -her, as she declared to her dying day. I believed her, because she was -my mother. But I cannot expect others to do as I did--I can only repeat -what she said. My father left her absolutely penniless. He never saw -her again; and he refused to go to her when she sent to him in her last -moments on earth. - -"She was back again among the strolling players when I first remember -her. It was not an unhappy time for me. I was the favorite pet and -plaything of the poor actors. They taught me to sing and to dance at -an age when other children are just beginning to learn to read. At five -years old I was in what is called 'the profession,' and had made my -poor little reputation in booths at country fairs. As early as that, Mr. -Holmcroft, I had begun to live under an assumed name--the prettiest name -they could invent for me 'to look well in the bills.' It was sometimes -a hard struggle for us, in bad seasons, to keep body and soul together. -Learning to sing and dance in public often meant learning to bear hunger -and cold in private, when I was apprenticed to the stage. And yet I have -lived to look back on my days with the strolling players as the happiest -days of my life! - -"I was ten years old when the first serious misfortune that I can -remember fell upon me. My mother died, worn out in the prime of her -life. And not long afterward the strolling company, brought to the end -of its resources by a succession of bad seasons, was broken up. - -"I was left on the world, a nameless, penniless outcast, with one fatal -inheritance--God knows, I can speak of it without vanity, after what I -have gone through!--the inheritance of my mother's beauty. - -"My only friends were the poor starved-out players. Two of them (husband -and wife) obtained engagements in another company, and I was included in -the bargain The new manager by whom I was employed was a drunkard and -a brute. One night I made a trifling mistake in the course of the -performances--and I was savagely beaten for it. Perhaps I had inherited -some of my father's spirit--without, I hope, also inheriting my father's -pitiless nature. However that may be, I resolved (no matter what became -of me) never again to serve the man who had beaten me. I unlocked the -door of our miserable lodging at daybreak the next morning; and, at ten -years old, with my little bundle in my hand, I faced the world alone. - -"My mother had confided to me, in her last moments, my father's name -and the address of his house in London. 'He may feel some compassion -for you' (she said), 'though he feels none for me: try him.' I had a few -shillings, the last pitiful remains of my wages, in my pocket; and I was -not far from London. But I never went near my father: child as I was, I -would have starved and died rather than go to him. I had loved my mother -dearly; and I hated the man who had turned his back on her when she lay -on her deathbed. It made no difference to Me that he happened to be my -father. - -"Does this confession revolt you? You look at me, Mr. Holmcroft, as if -it did. - -"Think a little, sir. Does what I have just said condemn me as a -heartless creature, even in my earliest years? What is a father to a -child--when the child has never sat on his knee, and never had a kiss -or a present from him? If we had met in the street, we should not have -known each other. Perhaps in after-days, when I was starving in London, -I may have begged of my father without knowing it; and he may have -thrown his daughter a penny to get rid of her, without knowing it -either! What is there sacred in the relations between father and child, -when they are such relations as these? Even the flowers of the field -cannot grow without light and air to help them! How is a child's love to -grow, with nothing to help it? - -"My small savings would have been soon exhausted, even if I had been old -enough and strong enough to protect them myself. As things were, my few -shillings were taken from me by gypsies. I had no reason to complain. -They gave me food and the shelter of their tents, and they made me -of use to them in various ways. After a while hard times came to the -gypsies, as they had come to the strolling players. Some of them were -imprisoned; the rest were dispersed. It was the season for hop-gathering -at the time. I got employment among the hop-pickers next; and that done, -I went to London with my new friends. - -"I have no wish to weary and pain you by dwelling on this part of my -childhood in detail. It will be enough if I tell you that I sank lower -and lower until I ended in selling matches in the street. My mother's -legacy got me many a sixpence which my matches would never have charmed -out of the pockets of strangers if I had been an ugly child. My face. -which was destined to be my greatest misfortune in after-years, was my -best friend in those days. - -"Is there anything, Mr. Holmcroft, in the life I am now trying to -describe which reminds you of a day when we were out walking together -not long since? - -"I surprised and offended you, I remember; and it was not possible -for me to explain my conduct at the time. Do you recollect the little -wandering girl, with the miserable faded nosegay in her hand, who ran -after us, and begged for a half-penny? I shocked you by bursting out -crying when the child asked us to buy her a bit of bread. Now you know -why I was so sorry for her. Now you know why I offended you the next day -by breaking an engagement with your mother and sisters, and going to see -that child in her wretched home. After what I have confessed, you will -admit that my poor little sister in adversity had the first claim on me. - -"Let me go on. I am sorry if I have distressed you. Let me go on. - -"The forlorn wanderers of the streets have (as I found it) one way -always open to them of presenting their sufferings to the notice of -their rich and charitable fellow-creatures. They have only to break the -law--and they make a public appearance in a court of justice. If the -circumstances connected with their offense are of an interesting kind, -they gain a second advantage: they are advertised all over England by a -report in the newspapers. - -"Yes! even _I_ have my knowledge of the law. I know that it completely -overlooked me as long as I respected it. But on two different occasions -it became my best friend when I set it at defiance! My first fortunate -offense was committed when I was just twelve years old. - -"It was evening time. I was half dead with starvation; the rain was -falling; the night was coming on. I begged--openly, loudly, as only -a hungry child can beg. An old lady in a carriage at a shop door -complained of my importunity. The policeman did his duty. The law gave -me a supper and shelter at the station-house that night. I appeared at -the police court, and, questioned by the magistrate, I told my story -truly. It was the every-day story of thousands of children like me; but -it had one element of interest in it. I confessed to having had a father -(he was then dead) who had been a man of rank; and I owned (just as -openly as I owned everything else) that I had never applied to him for -help, in resentment of his treatment of my mother. This incident was -new, I suppose; it led to the appearance of my 'case' in the newspapers. -The reporters further served my interests by describing me as 'pretty -and interesting.' Subscriptions were sent to the court. A benevolent -married couple, in a respectable sphere of life, visited the workhouse -to see me. I produced a favorable impression on them--especially on the -wife. I was literally friendless; I had no unwelcome relatives to follow -me and claim me. The wife was childless; the husband was a good-natured -man. It ended in their taking me away with them to try me in service. - -"I have always felt the aspiration, no matter how low I may have fallen, -to struggle upward to a position above me; to rise, in spite of fortune, -superior to my lot in life. Perhaps some of my father's pride may be -at the root of this restless feeling in me. It seems to be a part of -my nature. It brought me into this house--and it will go with me out of -this house. Is it my curse or my blessing? I am not able to decide. - -"On the first night when I slept in my new home I said to myself, -'They have taken me to be their servant: I will be something more than -that--they shall end in taking me for their child.' Before I had been a -week in the house I was the wife's favorite companion in the absence -of her husband at his place of business. She was a highly accomplished -woman, greatly her husband's superior in cultivation, and, unfortunately -for herself, also his superior in years. The love was all on her side. -Excepting certain occasions on which he roused her jealousy, they lived -together on sufficiently friendly terms. She was one of the many wives -who resign themselves to be disappointed in their husbands--and he was -one of the many husbands who never know what their wives really think of -them. Her one great happiness was in teaching me. I was eager to learn; -I made rapid progress. At my pliant age I soon acquired the refinements -of language and manner which characterized my mistress. It is only -the truth to say that the cultivation which has made me capable of -personating a lady was her work. - -"For three happy years I lived under that friendly roof. I was between -fifteen and sixteen years of age, when the fatal inheritance from my -mother cast its first shadow on my life. One miserable day the wife's -motherly love for me changed in an instant to the jealous hatred that -never forgives. Can you guess the reason? The husband fell in love with -me. - -"I was innocent; I was blameless. He owned it himself to the clergyman -who was with him at his death. By that time years had passed. It was too -late to justify me. - -"He was at an age (when I was under his care) when men are usually -supposed to regard women with tranquillity, if not with indifference. It -had been the habit of years with me to look on him as my second father. -In my innocent ignorance of the feeling which really inspired him, I -permitted him to indulge in little paternal familiarities with me, which -inflamed his guilty passion. His wife discovered him--not I. No words -can describe my astonishment and my horror when the first outbreak of -her indignation forced on me the knowledge of the truth. On my knees I -declared myself guiltless. On my knees I implored her to do justice -to my purity and my youth. At other times the sweetest and the most -considerate of women, jealousy had now transformed her to a perfect -fury. She accused me of deliberately encouraging him; she declared -she would turn me out of the house with her own hands. Like other -easy-tempered men, her husband had reserves of anger in him which it was -dangerous to provoke. When his wife lifted her hand against me, he lost -all self-control, on his side. He openly told her that life was worth -nothing to him without me. He openly avowed his resolution to go with me -when I left the house. The maddened woman seized him by the arm--I saw -that, and saw no more. I ran out into the street, panic-stricken. A -cab was passing. I got into it before he could open the house door, and -drove to the only place of refuge I could think of--a small shop, kept -by the widowed sister of one of our servants. Here I obtained shelter -for the night. The next day he discovered me. He made his vile -proposals; he offered me the whole of his fortune; he declared his -resolution, say what I might, to return the next day. That night, by -help of the good woman who had taken care of me--under cover of the -darkness, as if _I_ had been to blame!--I was secretly removed to the -East End of London, and placed under the charge of a trustworthy person -who lived, in a very humble way, by letting lodgings. - -"Here, in a little back garret at the top of the house, I was thrown -again on the world--an age when it was doubly perilous for me to be left -to my own resources to earn the bread I ate and the roof that covered -me. - -"I claim no credit to myself--young as I was, placed as I was between -the easy life of Vice and the hard life of Virtue--for acting as I did. -The man simply horrified me: my natural impulse was to escape from him. -But let it be remembered, before I approach the saddest part of my -sad story, that I was an innocent girl, and that I was at least not to -blame. - -"Forgive me for dwelling as I have done on my early years. I shrink from -speaking of the events that are still to come. - -"In losing the esteem of my first benefactress, I had, in my friendless -position, lost all hold on an honest life--except the one frail hold -of needle-work. The only reference of which I could now dispose was the -recommendation of me by my landlady to a place of business which largely -employed expert needle-women. It is needless for me to tell you how -miserably work of that sort is remunerated: you have read about it in -the newspapers. As long as my health lasted I contrived to live and to -keep out of debt. Few girls could have resisted as long as I did -the slowly-poisoning influences of crowded work-room, insufficient -nourishment, and almost total privation of exercise. My life as a -child had been a life in the open air: it had helped to strengthen -a constitution naturally hardy, naturally free from all taint of -hereditary disease. But my time came at last. Under the cruel stress -laid on it my health gave way. I was struck down by low fever, and -sentence was pronounced on me by my fellow-lodgers: 'Ah, poor thing, -_her_ troubles will soon be at an end!' - -"The prediction might have proved true--I might never have committed the -errors and endured the sufferings of after years--if I had fallen ill in -another house. - -"But it was my good, or my evil, fortune--I dare not say which--to have -interested in myself and my sorrows an actress at a suburban theatre, -who occupied the room under mine. Except when her stage duties took her -away for two or three hours in the evening, this noble creature -never left my bedside. Ill as she could afford it, her purse paid my -inevitable expenses while I lay helpless. The landlady, moved by her -example, accepted half the weekly rent of my room. The doctor, with the -Christian kindness of his profession, would take no fees. All that the -tenderest care could accomplish was lavished on me; my youth and my -constitution did the rest. I struggled back to life--and then I took up -my needle again. - -"It may surprise you that I should have failed (having an actress for my -dearest friend) to use the means of introduction thus offered to me to -try the stage--especially as my childish training had given me, in some -small degree, a familiarity with the Art. - -"I had only one motive for shrinking from an appearance at the -theatre--but it was strong enough to induce me to submit to any -alternative that remained, no matter how hopeless it might be. If I -showed myself on the public stage, my discovery by the man from whom -I had escaped would be only a question of time. I knew him to be -habitually a play-goer and a subscriber to a theatrical newspaper. I had -even heard him speak of the theatre to which my friend was attached, -and compare it advantageously with places of amusement of far higher -pretensions. Sooner or later, if I joined the company he would be -certain to go and see 'the new actress.' The bare thought of it -reconciled me to returning to my needle. Before I was strong enough to -endure the atmosphere of the crowded workroom I obtained permission, as -a favor, to resume my occupation at home. - -"Surely my choice was the choice of a virtuous girl? And yet the day -when I returned to my needle was the fatal day of my life. - -"I had now not only to provide for the wants of the passing hour--I had -my debts to pay. It was only to be done by toiling harder than ever, and -by living more poorly than ever. I soon paid the penalty, in my weakened -state, of leading such a life as this. One evening my head turned -suddenly giddy; my heart throbbed frightfully. I managed to open the -window, and to let the fresh air into the room, and I felt better. But I -was not sufficiently recovered to be able to thread my needle. I thought -to myself, 'If I go out for half an hour, a little exercise may put me -right again.' I had not, as I suppose, been out more than ten minutes -when the attack from which I had suffered in my room was renewed. There -was no shop near in which I could take refuge. I tried to ring the bell -of the nearest house door. Before I could reach it I fainted in the -street. - -"How long hunger and weakness left me at the mercy of the first stranger -who might pass by, it is impossible for me to say. - -"When I partially recovered my senses I was conscious of being under -shelter somewhere, and of having a wine-glass containing some cordial -drink held to my lips by a man. I managed to swallow--I don't know how -little, or how much. The stimulant had a very strange effect on me. -Reviving me at first, it ended in stupefying me. I lost my senses once -more. - -"When I next recovered myself, the day was breaking. I was in a bed in -a strange room. A nameless terror seized me. I called out. Three or four -women came in, whose faces betrayed, even to my inexperienced eyes, the -shameless infamy of their lives. I started up in the bed. I implored -them to tell me where I was, and what had happened-- - -"Spare me! I can say no more. Not long since you heard Miss Roseberry -call me an outcast from the streets. Now you know--as God is my judge -I am speaking the truth!--now you know what made me an outcast, and in -what measure I deserved my disgrace." - - - -Her voice faltered, her resolution failed her, for the first time. - -"Give me a few minutes," she said, in low, pleading tones. "If I try to -go on now, I am afraid I shall cry." - -She took the chair which Julian had placed for her, turning her face -aside so that neither of the men could see it. One of her hands was -pressed over her bosom, the other hung listlessly at her side. - -Julian rose from the place that he had occupied. Horace neither moved -nor spoke. His head was on his breast: the traces of tears on his cheeks -owned mutely that she had touched his heart. Would he forgive her? -Julian passed on, and approached Mercy's chair. - -In silence he took the hand which hung at her side. In silence he lifted -it to his lips and kissed it, as her brother might have kissed it. She -started, but she never looked up. Some strange fear of discovery seemed -to possess her. "Horace?" she whispered, timidly. Julian made no reply. -He went back to his place, and allowed her to think it was Horace. - -The sacrifice was immense enough--feeling toward her as he felt--to be -worthy of the man who made it. - -A few minutes had been all she asked for. In a few minutes she turned -toward them again. Her sweet voice was steady once more; her eyes rested -softly on Horace as she went on. - -"What was it possible for a friendless girl in my position to do, when -the full knowledge of the outrage had been revealed to me? - -"If I had possessed near and dear relatives to protect and advise me, -the wretches into whose hands I had fallen might have felt the penalty -of the law. I knew no more of the formalities which set the law in -motion than a child. But I had another alternative (you will say). -Charitable societies would have received me and helped me, if I had -stated my case to them. I knew no more of the charitable societies than -I knew of the law. At least, then, I might have gone back to the honest -people among whom I had lived? When I received my freedom, after the -interval of some days, I was ashamed to go back to the honest people. -Helplessly and hopelessly, without sin or choice of mine, I drifted, as -thousands of other women have drifted, into the life which set a mark on -me for the rest of my days. - -"Are you surprised at the ignorance which this confession reveals? - -"You, who have your solicitors to inform you of legal remedies and -your newspapers, circulars, and active friends to sound the praises of -charitable institutions continually in your ears--you, who possess these -advantages, have no idea of the outer world of ignorance in which your -lost fellow-creatures live. They know nothing (unless they are rogues -accustomed to prey on society) of your benevolent schemes to help them. -The purpose of public charities, and the way to discover and apply to -them, ought to be posted at the corner of every street. What do we know -of public dinners and eloquent sermons and neatly printed circulars? -Every now and then the ease of some forlorn creature (generally of a -woman) who has committed suicide, within five minutes' walk, perhaps, of -an institution which would have opened its doors to her, appears in the -newspapers, shocks you dreadfully, and is then forgotten again. Take as -much pains to make charities and asylums known among the people without -money as are taken to make a new play, a new journal, or a new medicine -known among the people with money and you will save many a lost creature -who is perishing now. - -"You will forgive and understand me if I say no more of this period of -my life. Let me pass to the new incident in my career which brought me -for the second time before the public notice in a court of law. - -"Sad as my experience has been, it has not taught me to think ill -of human nature. I had found kind hearts to feel for me in my -former troubles; and I had friends--faithful, self-denying, generous -friends--among my sisters in adversity now. One of these poor women (she -has gone, I am glad to think, from the world that used her so hardly) -especially attracted my sympathies. She was the gentlest, the most -unselfish creature I have ever met with. We lived together like sisters. -More than once in the dark hours when the thought of self-destruction -comes to a desperate woman, the image of my poor devoted friend, left -to suffer alone, rose in my mind and restrained me. You will hardly -understand it, but even we had our happy days. When she or I had a few -shillings to spare, we used to offer one another little presents, and -enjoy our simple pleasure in giving and receiving as keenly as if we had -been the most reputable women living. - -"One day I took my friend into a shop to buy her a ribbon--only a bow -for her dress. She was to choose it, and I was to pay for it, and it was -to be the prettiest ribbon that money could buy. - -"The shop was full; we had to wait a little before we could be served. - -"Next to me, as I stood at the counter with my companion, was a -gaudily-dressed woman, looking at some handkerchiefs. The handkerchiefs -were finely embroidered, but the smart lady was hard to please. She -tumbled them up disdainfully in a heap, and asked for other specimens -from the stock in the shop. The man, in clearing the handkerchiefs -out of the way, suddenly missed one. He was quite sure of it, from a -peculiarity in the embroidery which made the handkerchief especially -noticeable. I was poorly dressed, and I was close to the handkerchiefs. -After one look at me he shouted to the superintendent: 'Shut the door! -There is a thief in the shop!' - -"The door was closed; the lost handkerchief was vainly sought for on -the counter and on the floor. A robbery had been committed; and I was -accused of being the thief. - -"I will say nothing of what I felt--I will only tell you what happened. - -"I was searched, and the handkerchief was discovered on me. The woman -who had stood next to me, on finding herself threatened with discovery, -had no doubt contrived to slip the stolen handkerchief into my pocket. -Only an accomplished thief could have escaped detection in that way -without my knowledge. It was useless, in the face of the facts, to -declare my innocence. I had no character to appeal to. My friend tried -to speak for me; but what was she? Only a lost woman like myself. My -landlady's evidence in favor of my honesty produced no effect; it -was against her that she let lodgings to people in my position. I was -prosecuted, and found guilty. The tale of my disgrace is now complete, -Mr. Holmcroft. No matter whether I was innocent or not, the shame of it -remains--I have been imprisoned for theft. - -"The matron of the prison was the next person who took an interest in -me. She reported favorably of my behavior to the authorities and when I -had served my time (as the phrase was among us) she gave me a letter -to the kind friend and guardian of my later years--to the lady who is -coming here to take me back with her to the Refuge. - -"From this time the story of my life is little more than the story of a -woman's vain efforts to recover her lost place in the world. - -"The matron, on receiving me into the Refuge, frankly acknowledged that -there were terrible obstacles in my way. But she saw that I was sincere, -and she felt a good woman's sympathy and compassion for me. On my side, -I did not shrink from beginning the slow and weary journey back again -to a reputable life from the humblest starting-point--from domestic -service. After first earning my new character in the Refuge, I -obtained a trial in a respectable house. I worked hard, and worked -uncomplainingly; but my mother's fatal legacy was against me from the -first. My personal appearance excited remark; my manners and habits were -not the manners and habits of the women among whom my lot was cast. I -tried one place after another--always with the same results. Suspicion -and jealousy I could endure; but I was defenseless when curiosity -assailed me in its turn. Sooner or later inquiry led to discovery. -Sometimes the servants threatened to give warning in a body--and I was -obliged to go. Sometimes, where there was a young man in the family, -scandal pointed at me and at him--and again I was obliged to go. If -you care to know it, Miss Roseberry can tell you the story of those sad -days. I confided it to her on the memorable night when we met in the -French cottage; I have no heart repeat it now. After a while I wearied -of the hopeless struggle. Despair laid its hold on me--I lost all hope -in the mercy of God. More than once I walked to one or other of the -bridges, and looked over the parapet at the river, and said to myself -'Other women have done it: why shouldn't I?' - -"You saved me at that time, Mr. Gray--as you have saved me since. I was -one of your congregation when you preached in the chapel of the Refuge -You reconciled others besides me to our hard pilgrimage. In their name -and in mine, sir, I thank you. - -"I forget how long it was after the bright day when you comforted and -sustained us that the war broke out between France and Germany. But I -can never forget the evening when the matron sent for me into her own -room and said, 'My dear, your life here is a wasted life. If you have -courage enough left to try it, I can give you another chance.' - -"I passed through a month of probation in a London hospital. A week -after that I wore the red cross of the Geneva Convention--I was -appointed nurse in a French ambulance. When you first saw me, Mr. -Holmcroft, I still had my nurse's dress on, hidden from you and from -everybody under a gray cloak. - -"You know what the next event was; you know how I entered this house. - -"I have not tried to make the worst of my trials and troubles in telling -you what my life has been. I have honestly described it for what it was -when I met with Miss Roseberry--a life without hope. May you never know -the temptation that tried me when the shell struck its victim in the -French cottage! There she lay--dead! _Her_ name was untainted. _Her_ -future promised me the reward which had been denied to the honest -efforts of a penitent woman. My lost place in the world was offered back -to me on the one condition that I stooped to win it by a fraud. I had -no prospect to look forward to; I had no friend near to advise me and to -save me; the fairest years of my womanhood had been wasted in the -vain struggle to recover my good name. Such was my position when the -possibility of personating Miss Roseberry first forced itself on my -mind. Impulsively, recklessly--wickedly, if you like--I seized the -opportunity, and let you pass me through the German lines under Miss -Roseberry's name. Arrived in England, having had time to reflect, I made -my first and last effort to draw back before it was too late. I went to -the Refuge, and stopped on the opposite side of the street, looking at -it. The old hopeless life of irretrievable disgrace confronted me as I -fixed my eyes on the familiar door; the horror of returning to that life -was more than I could force myself to endure. An empty cab passed me at -the moment. The driver held up his hand. In sheer despair I stopped -him, and when he said 'Where to?' in sheer despair again I answered, -'Mablethorpe House.' - -"Of what I have suffered in secret since my own successful deception -established me under Lady Janet's care I shall say nothing. Many things -which must have surprised you in my conduct are made plain to you by -this time. You must have noticed long since that I was not a happy -woman. Now you know why. - -"My confession is made; my conscience has spoken at last. You are -released from your promise to me--you are free. Thank Mr. Julian Gray if -I stand here self-accused of the offense, that I have committed, before -the man whom I have wronged." - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. SENTENCE IS PRONOUNCED ON HER. - -IT was done. The last tones of her voice died away in silence. - -Her eyes still rested on Horace. After hearing what he had heard could -he resist that gentle, pleading look? Would he forgive her? A while -since Julian had seen tears on his cheeks, and had believed that he felt -for her. Why was he now silent? Was it possible that he only felt for -himself? - -For the last time--at the crisis of her life--Julian spoke for her. He -had never loved her as he loved her at that moment; it tried even his -generous nature to plead her cause with Horace against himself. But he -had promised her, without reserve, all the help that her truest friend -could offer. Faithfully and manfully he redeemed his promise. - -"Horace!" he said. - -Horace slowly looked up. Julian rose and approached him. - -"She has told you to thank _me_, if her conscience has spoken. Thank -the noble nature which answered when I called upon it! Own the priceless -value of a woman who can speak the truth. Her heartfelt repentance is -a joy in heaven. Shall it not plead for her on earth? Honor her, if you -are a Christian! Feel for her, if you are a man!" - -He waited. Horace never answered him. - -Mercy's eyes turned tearfully on Julian. _His_ heart was the heart that -felt for her! _His_ words were the words which comforted and pardoned -her! When she looked back again at Horace, it was with an effort. His -last hold on her was lost. In her inmost mind a thought rose unbidden--a -thought which was not to be repressed. "Can I ever have loved this man?" - -She advanced a step toward him; it was not possible, even yet, to -completely forgot the past. She held out her hand. - -He rose on his side--without looking at her. - -"Before we part forever," she said to him, "will you take my hand as a -token that you forgive me?" - -He hesitated. He half lifted his hand. The next moment the generous -impulse died away in him. In its place came the mean fear of what might -happen if he trusted himself to the dangerous fascination of her touch. -His hand dropped again at his side; he turned away quickly. - -"I can't forgive her!" he said. - -With that horrible confession--without even a last look at her--he left -the room. - -At the moment when he opened the door Julian's contempt for him burst -its way through all restraints. - -"Horace," he said, "I pity you!" - -As the words escaped him he looked back at Mercy. She had turned aside -from both of them--she had retired to a distant part of the library The -first bitter foretaste of what was in store for her when she faced the -world again had come to her from Horace! The energy which had sustained -her thus far quailed before the dreadful prospect--doubly dreadful to -a woman--of obloquy and contempt. She sank on her knees before a little -couch in the darkest corner of the room. "O Christ, have mercy on me!" -That was her prayer--no more. - -Julian followed her. He waited a little. Then his kind hand touched her; -his friendly voice fell consolingly on her ear. - -"Rise, poor wounded heart! Beautiful, purified soul, God's angels -rejoice over you! Take your place among the noblest of God's creatures!" - -He raised her as he spoke. All her heart went out to him. She caught -his hand--she pressed it to her bosom; she pressed it to her lips--then -dropped it suddenly, and stood before him trembling like a frightened -child. - -"Forgive me!" was all she could say. "I was so lost and lonely--and you -are so good to me!" - -She tried to leave him. It was useless--her strength was gone; she -caught at the head of the couch to support herself. He looked at her. -The confession of his love was just rising to his lips--he looked again, -and checked it. No, not at that moment; not when she was helpless and -ashamed; not when her weakness might make her yield, only to regret it -at a later time. The great heart which had spared her and felt for her -from the first spared her and felt for her now. - -He, too, left her--but not without a word at parting. - -"Don't think of your future life just yet," he said, gently. "I have -something to propose when rest and quiet have restored you." He opened -the nearest door--the door of the dining-room--and went out. - -The servants engaged in completing the decoration of the dinner-table -noticed, when "Mr. Julian" entered the room, that his eyes were -"brighter than ever." He looked (they remarked) like a man who "expected -good news." They were inclined to suspect--though he was certainly -rather young for it--that her ladyship's nephew was in a fair way of -preferment in the Church. - - - -Mercy seated herself on the couch. - -There are limits, in the physical organization of man, to the action of -pain. When suffering has reached a given point of intensity the nervous -sensibility becomes incapable of feeling more. The rule of Nature, -in this respect, applies not only to sufferers in the body, but to -sufferers in the mind as well. Grief, rage, terror, have also their -appointed limits. The moral sensibility, like the nervous sensibility, -reaches its period of absolute exhaustion, and feels no more. - -The capacity for suffering in Mercy had attained its term. Alone in the -library, she could feel the physical relief of repose; she could -vaguely recall Julian's parting words to her, and sadly wonder what they -meant--she could do no more. - -An interval passed; a brief interval of perfect rest. - -She recovered herself sufficiently to be able to look at her watch and -to estimate the lapse of time that might yet pass before Julian returned -to her as he had promised. While her mind was still languidly following -this train of thought she was disturbed by the ringing of a bell in the -hall, used to summon the servant whose duties were connected with that -part of the house. In leaving the library, Horace had gone out by the -door which led into the hall, and had failed to close it. She plainly -heard the bell--and a moment later (more plainly still) she heard Lady -Janet's voice! - -She started to her feet. Lady Janet's letter was still in the pocket of -her apron--the letter which imperatively commanded her to abstain from -making the very confession that had just passed her lips! It was near -the dinner hour, and the library was the favorite place in which the -mistress of the house and her guests assembled at that time. It was no -matter of doubt; it was an absolute certainty that Lady Janet had only -stopped in the hall on her way into the room. - -The alternative for Mercy lay between instantly leaving the library by -the dining-room door--or remaining where she was, at the risk of being -sooner or later compelled to own that she had deliberately disobeyed -her benefactress. Exhausted by what she had already suffered, she stood -trembling and irresolute, incapable of deciding which alternative she -should choose. - -Lady Janet's voice, clear and resolute, penetrated into the room. She -was reprimanding the servant who had answered the bell. - -"Is it your duty in my house to look after the lamps?" - -"Yes, my lady." - -"And is it my duty to pay you your wages?" - -"If you please, my lady." - -"Why do I find the light in the hall dim, and the wick of that lamp -smoking? I have not failed in my duty to You. Don't let me find you -failing again in your duty to Me." - -(Never had Lady Janet's voice sounded so sternly in Mercy's ear as it -sounded now. If she spoke with that tone of severity to a servant who -had neglected a lamp, what had her adopted daughter to expect when she -discovered that her entreaties and her commands had been alike set at -defiance?) - -Having administered her reprimand, Lady Janet had not done with the -servant yet. She had a question to put to him next. - -"Where is Miss Roseberry?" - -"In the library, my lady." - -Mercy returned to the couch. She could stand no longer; she had not even -resolution enough left to lift her eyes to the door. - -Lady Janet came in more rapidly than usual. She advanced to the couch, -and tapped Mercy playfully on the cheek with two of her fingers. - -"You lazy child! Not dressed for dinner? Oh, fie, fie!" - -Her tone was as playfully affectionate as the action which had -accompanied her words. In speechless astonishment Mercy looked up at -her. - -Always remarkable for the taste and splendor of her dress, Lady Janet -had on this occasion surpassed herself. There she stood revealed in her -grandest velvet, her richest jewelry, her finest lace--with no one to -entertain at the dinner-table but the ordinary members of the circle at -Mablethorpe House. Noticing this as strange to begin with, Mercy further -observed, for the first time in her experience, that Lady Janet's eyes -avoided meeting hers. The old lady took her place companionably on the -couch; she ridiculed her "lazy child's" plain dress, without an ornament -of any sort on it, with her best grace; she affectionately put her arm -round Mercy's waist, and rearranged with her own hand the disordered -locks of Mercy's hair--but the instant Mercy herself looked at her, Lady -Janet's eyes discovered something supremely interesting in the familiar -objects that surrounded her on the library walls. - -How were these changes to be interpreted? To what possible conclusion -did they point? - -Julian's profounder knowledge of human nature, if Julian had been -present, might have found a clew to the mystery. _He_ might have -surmised (incredible as it was) that Mercy's timidity before Lady Janet -was fully reciprocated by Lady Janet's timidity before Mercy. It -was even so. The woman whose immovable composure had conquered Grace -Roseberry's utmost insolence in the hour of her triumph--the woman -who, without once flinching, had faced every other consequence of her -resolution to ignore Mercy's true position in the house--quailed for the -first time when she found herself face to face with the very person for -who m she had suffered and sacrificed so much. She had shrunk from the -meeting with Mercy, as Mercy had shrunk from the meeting with _her_. The -splendor of her dress meant simply that, when other excuses for delaying -the meeting downstairs had all been exhausted, the excuse of a long, -and elaborate toilet had been tried next. Even the moments occupied in -reprimanding the servant had been moments seized on as the pretext for -another delay. The hasty entrance into the room, the nervous assumption -of playfulness in language and manner, the evasive and wandering eyes, -were all referable to the same cause. In the presence of others, Lady -Janet had successfully silenced the protest of her own inbred delicacy -and inbred sense of honor. In the presence of Mercy, whom she loved with -a mother's love--in the presence of Mercy, for whom she had stooped to -deliberate concealment of the truth--all that was high and noble in the -woman's nature rose in her and rebuked her. What will the daughter of -my adoption, the child of my first and last experience of maternal love, -think of me, now that I have made myself an accomplice in the fraud of -which she is ashamed? How can I look her in the face, when I have not -hesitated, out of selfish consideration for my own tranquillity, to -forbid that frank avowal of the truth which her finer sense of duty had -spontaneously bound her to make? Those were the torturing questions in -Lady Janet's mind, while her arm was wound affectionately round Mercy's -waist, while her fingers were busying themselves familiarly with the -arrangement of Mercy's hair. Thence, and thence only, sprang the impulse -which set her talking, with an uneasy affectation of frivolity, of any -topic within the range of conversation, so long as it related to the -future, and completely ignored the present and the past. - -"The winter here is unendurable," Lady Janet began. "I have been -thinking, Grace, about what we had better do next." - -Mercy started. Lady Janet had called her "Grace." Lady Janet was still -deliberately assuming to be innocent of the faintest suspicion of the -truth. - -"No," resumed her ladyship, affecting to misunderstand Mercy's -movement, "you are not to go up now and dress. There is no time, and I -am quite ready to excuse you. You are a foil to me, my dear. You have -reached the perfection of shabbiness. Ah! I remember when I had my whims -and fancies too, and when I looked well in anything I wore, just as you -do. No more of that. As I was saying, I have been thinking and planning -what we are to do. We really can't stay here. Cold one day, and hot the -next--what a climate! As for society, what do we lose if we go away? -There is no such thing as society now. Assemblies of well-dressed mobs -meet at each other's houses, tear each other's clothes, tread on each -other's toes. If you are particularly lucky, you sit on the staircase, -you get a tepid ice, and you hear vapid talk in slang phrases all -round you. There is modern society. If we had a good opera, it would be -something to stay in London for. Look at the programme for the season -on that table--promising as much as possible on paper, and performing -as little as possible on the stage. The same works, sung by the same -singers year after year, to the same stupid people--in short the dullest -musical evenings in Europe. No! the more I think of it, the more plainly -I perceive that there is but one sensible choice before us: we must go -abroad. Set that pretty head to work; choose north or south, east or -west; it's all the same to me. Where shall we go?" - -Mercy looked at her quickly as she put the question. - -Lady Janet, more quickly yet, looked away at the programme of the -opera-house. Still the same melancholy false pretenses! still the same -useless and cruel delay! Incapable of enduring the position now forced -upon her, Mercy put her hand into the pocket of her apron, and drew from -it Lady Janet's letter. - -"Will your ladyship forgive me," she began, in faint, faltering tones, -"if I venture on a painful subject? I hardly dare acknowledge--" In -spite of her resolution to speak out plainly, the memory of past love -and past kindness prevailed with her; the next words died away on her -lips. She could only hold up the letter. - -Lady Janet declined to see the letter. Lady Janet suddenly became -absorbed in the arrangement of her bracelets. - -"I know what you daren't acknowledge, you foolish child!" she exclaimed. -"You daren't acknowledge that you are tired of this dull house. My dear! -I am entirely of your opinion--I am weary of my own magnificence; I long -to be living in one snug little room, with one servant to wait on me. -I'll tell you what we will do. We will go to Paris, in the first place. -My excellent Migliore, prince of couriers, shall be the only person in -attendance. He shall take a lodging for us in one of the unfashionable -quarters of Paris. We will rough it, Grace (to use the slang phrase), -merely for a change. We will lead what they call a 'Bohemian life.' I -know plenty of writers and painters and actors in Paris--the liveliest -society in the world, my dear, until one gets tired of them. We will -dine at the restaurant, and go to the play, and drive about in shabby -little hired carriages. And when it begins to get monotonous (which it -is only too sure to do!) we will spread our wings and fly to Italy, and -cheat the winter in that way. There is a plan for you! Migliore is in -town. I will send to him this evening, and we will start to-morrow." - -Mercy made another effort. - -"I entreat your ladyship to pardon me," she resumed. "I have something -serious to say. I am afraid--" - -"I understand. You are afraid of crossing the Channel, and you don't -like to acknowledge it. Pooh! The passage barely lasts two hours; we -will shut ourselves up in a private cabin. I will send at once--the -courier may be engaged. Ring the bell." - -"Lady Janet, I must submit to my hard lot. I cannot hope to associate -myself again with any future plans of yours--" - -"What! you are afraid of our 'Bohemian life' in Paris? Observe this, -Grace! If there is one thing I hate more than another, it is 'an old -head on young shoulders.' I say no more. Ring the bell." - -"This cannot go on, Lady Janet! No words can say how unworthy I feel of -your kindness, how ashamed I am--" - -"Upon my honor, my dear, I agree with you. You _ought_ to be ashamed, at -your age, of making me get up to ring the bell." - -Her obstinacy was immovable; she attempted to rise from the couch. But -one choice was left to Mercy. She anticipated Lady Janet, and rang the -bell. - -The man-servant came in. He had his little letter-tray in his hand, with -a card on it, and a sheet of paper beside the card, which looked like an -open letter. - -"You know where my courier lives when he is in London?' asked Lady -Janet. - -"Yes, my lady." - -"Send one of the grooms to him on horseback; I am in a hurry. The -courier is to come here without fail to-morrow morning--in time for the -tidal train to Paris. You understand?" - -"Yes, my lady." - -"What have you got there? Anything for me?" - -"For Miss Roseberry, my lady." - -As he answered, the man handed the card and the open letter to Mercy. - -"The lady is waiting in the morning-room, miss. She wished me to say she -has time to spare, and she will wait for you if you are not ready yet." - -Having delivered his message in those terms, he withdrew. - -Mercy read the name on the card. The matron had arrived! She looked at -the letter next. It appeared to be a printed circular, with some lines -in pencil added on the empty page. Printed lines and written lines -swam before her eyes. She felt, rather than saw, Lady Janet's attention -steadily and suspiciously fixed on her. With the matron's arrival the -foredoomed end of the flimsy false pretenses and the cruel delays had -come. - -"A friend of yours, my dear?" - -"Yes, Lady Janet." - -"Am I acquainted with her?" - -"I think not, Lady Janet." - -"You appear to be agitated. Does your visitor bring bad news? Is there -anything that I can do for you?" - -"You can add--immeasurably add, madam--to all your past kindness, if you -will only bear with me and forgive me." - -"Bear with you and forgive you? I don't understand." - -"I will try to explain. Whatever else you may think of me, Lady Janet, -for God's sake don't think me ungrateful!" - -Lady Janet held up her hand for silence. - -"I dislike explanations," she said, sharply. "Nobody ought to know that -better than you. Perhaps the lady's letter will explain for you. Why -have you not looked at it yet?" - -"I am in great trouble, madam, as you noticed just now--" - -"Have you any objection to my knowing who your visitor is?" - -"No, Lady Janet." - -"Let me look at her card, then." - -Mercy gave the matron's card to Lady Janet, as she had given the -matron's telegram to Horace. - -Lady Janet read the name on the card--considered--decided that it was -a name quite unknown to her--and looked next at the address: "Western -District Refuge, Milburn Road." - -"A lady connected with a Refuge?" she said, speaking to herself; "and -calling here by appointment--if I remember the servant's message? A -strange time to choose, if she has come for a subscription!" - -She paused. Her brow contracted; her face hardened. A word from her -would now have brought the interview to its inevitable end, and she -refused to speak the word. To the last moment she persisted in ignoring -the truth! Placing the card on the couch at her side, she pointed with -her long yellow-white forefinger to the printed letter lying side by -side with her own letter on Mercy's lap. - -"Do you mean to read it, or not?" she asked. - -Mercy lifted her eyes, fast filling with tears, to Lady Janet's face. - -"May I beg that your ladyship will read it for me?" she said--and placed -the matron's letter in Lady Janet's hand. - -It was a printed circular announcing a new development in the charitable -work of the Refuge. Subscribers were informed that it had been decided -to extend the shelter and the training of the institution (thus far -devoted to fallen women alone) so as to include destitute and helpless -children found wandering in the streets. The question of the number -of children to be thus rescued and protected was left dependent, as a -matter of course, on the bounty of the friends of the Refuge, the cost -of the maintenance of each child being stated at the lowest -possible rate. A list of influential persons who had increased their -subscriptions so as to cover the cost, and a brief statement of the -progress already made with the new work, completed the appeal, and -brought the circular to its end. - -The lines traced in pencil (in the matron's handwriting) followed on the -blank page. - -"Your letter tells me, my dear, that you would like--remembering your -own childhood--to be employed when you return among us in saving other -poor children left helpless on the world. Our circular will inform you -that I am able to meet your wishes. My first errand this evening in -your neighborhood was to take charge of a poor child--a little girl--who -stands sadly in need of our care. I have ventured to bring her with me, -thinking she might help to reconcile you to the coming change in your -life. You will find us both waiting to go back with you to the old home. -I write this instead of saying it, hearing from the servant that you are -not alone, and being unwilling to intrude myself, as a stranger, on the -lady of the house." - -Lady Janet read the penciled lines, as she had read the printed -sentences, aloud. Without a word of comment she laid the letter where -she had laid the card; and, rising from her seat, stood for a moment -in stern silence, looking at Mercy. The sudden change in her which the -letter had produced--quietly as it had taken place--was terrible to -see. On the frowning brow, in the flashing eyes, on the hardened lips, -outraged love and outraged pride looked down on the lost woman, and -said, as if in words, You have roused us at last. - -"If that letter means anything," she said, "it means you are about to -leave my house. There can be but one reason for your taking such a step -as that." - -"It is the only atonement I can make, madam." - -"I see another letter on your lap. Is it my letter?" - -"Yes." - -"Have you read it?" - -"I have read it." - -"Have you seen Horace Holmcroft?" - -"Yes." - -"Have you told Horace Holmcroft--" - -"Oh, Lady Janet--" - -"Don't interrupt me. Have you told Horace Holmcroft what my letter -positively forbade you to communicate, either to him or to any living -creature? I want no protestations and excuses. Answer me instantly, and -answer in one word--Yes, or No." - -Not even that haughty language, not even those pitiless tones, could -extinguish in Mercy's heart the sacred memories of past kindness and -past love. She fell on her knees--her outstretched hands touched Lady -Janet's dress. Lady Janet sharply drew her dress away, and sternly -repeated her last words. - -"Yes? or No?" - -"Yes." - -She had owned it at last! To this end Lady Janet had submitted to Grace -Roseberry; had offended Horace Holmcroft; had stooped, for the first -time in her life, to concealments and compromises that degraded her. -After all that she had sacrificed and suffered, there Mercy knelt at -her feet, self-convicted of violating her commands, trampling on her -feelings, deserting her house! And who was the woman who had done this? -The same woman who had perpetrated the fraud, and who had persisted in -the fraud until her benefactress had descended to become her accomplice. -Then, and then only, she had suddenly discovered that it was her sacred -duty to tell the truth! - -In proud silence the great lady met the blow that had fallen on her. In -proud silence she turned her back on her adopted daughter and walked to -the door. - -Mercy made her last appeal to the kind friend whom she had offended--to -the second mother whom she had loved. - -"Lady Janet! Lady Janet! Don't leave me without a word. Oh, madam, try -to feel for me a little! I am returning to a life of humiliation--the -shadow of my old disgrace is falling on me once more. We shall never -meet again. Even though I have not deserved it, let my repentance plead -with you! Say you forgive me!" - -Lady Janet turned round on the threshold of the door. - -"I never forgive ingratitude," she said. "Go back to the Refuge." - -The door opened and closed on her. Mercy was alone again in the room. - -Unforgiven by Horace, unforgiven by Lady Janet! She put her hands to her -burning head and tried to think. Oh, for the cool air of the night! -Oh, for the friendly shelter of the Refuge! She could feel those sad -longings in her: it was impossible to think. - -She rang the bell--and shrank back the instant she had done it. Had -_she_ any right to take that liberty? She ought to have thought of it -before she rang. Habit--all habit. How many hundreds of times she had -rung the bell at Mablethorpe House! - -The servant came in. She amazed the man--she spoke to him so timidly: -she even apologized for troubling him! - -"I am sorry to disturb you. Will you be so kind as to say to the lady -that I am ready for her?" - -"Wait to give that message," said a voice behind them, "until you hear -the bell rung again." - -Mercy looked round in amazement. Julian had returned to the library by -the dining-room door. - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. THE LAST TRIAL. - -THE servant left them together. Mercy spoke first. - -"Mr. Gray!" she exclaimed, "why have you delayed my message? If you knew -all, you would know that it is far from being a kindness to me to keep -me in this house." - -He advanced closer to her--surprised by her words, alarmed by her looks. - -"Has any one been here in my absence?" he asked. - -"Lady Janet has been here in your absence. I can't speak of it--my heart -feels crushed--I can bear no more. Let me go!" - -Briefly as she had replied, she had said enough. Julian's knowledge -of Lady Janet's character told him what had happened. His face showed -plainly that he was disappointed as well as distressed. - -"I had hoped to have been with you when you and my aunt met, and to have -prevented this," he said. "Believe me, she will atone for all that she -may have harshly and hastily done when she has had time to think. Try -not to regret it, if she has made your hard sacrifice harder still. She -has only raised you the higher--she has additionally ennobled you and -endeared you in my estimation. Forgive me if I own this in plain words. -I cannot control myself--I feel too strongly." - -At other times Mercy might have heard the coming avowal in his tones, -might have discovered it in his eyes. As it was, her delicate insight -was dulled, her fine perception was blunted. She held out her hand to -him, feeling a vague conviction that he was kinder to her than ever--and -feeling no more. - -"I must thank you for the last time," she said. "As long as life is -left, my gratitude will be a part of my life. Let me go. While I can -still control myself, let me go!" - -She tried to leave him, and ring the bell. He held her hand firmly, and -drew her closer to him. - -"To the Refuge?" he asked. - -"Yes," she said. "Home again!" - -"Don't say that!" he exclaimed. "I can't bear to hear it. Don't call the -Refuge your home!" - -"What else is it? Where else can I go?" - -"I have come here to tell you. I said, if you remember, I had something -to propose." - -She felt the fervent pressure of his hand; she saw the mounting -enthusiasm flashing in his eyes. Her weary mind roused itself a little. -She began to tremble under the electric influence of his touch. - -"Something to propose?" she repeated, "What is there to propose?" - -"Let me ask you a question on my side. What have you done to-day?" - -"You know what I have done: it is your work," she answered, humbly. "Why -return to it now?" - -"I return to it for the last time; I return to it with a purpose which -you will soon understand. You have abandoned your marriage engagement; -you have forfeited Lady Janet's love; you have ruined all your worldly -prospects; you are now returning, self-devoted, to a life which you have -yourself described as a life without hope. And all this you have done -of your own free-will--at a time when you are absolutely secure of your -position in the house--for the sake of speaking the truth. Now tell me, -is a woman who can make that sacrifice a woman who will prove unworthy -of the trust if a man places in her keeping his honor and his name?" - -She understood him at last. She broke away from him with a cry. She -stood with her hands clasped, trembling and looking at him. - -He gave her no time to think. The words poured from his lips without -conscious will or conscious effort of his own. - -"Mercy, from the first moment when I saw you I loved you! You are free; -I may own it; I may ask you to be my wife!" - -She drew back from him further and further, with a wild imploring -gesture of her hand. - -"No! no!" she cried. "Think of what you are saying! think of what you -would sacrifice! It cannot, must not be." - -His face darkened with a sudden dread. His head fell on his breast. His -voice sank so low that she could barely hear it. - -"I had forgotten something," he said. "You've reminded me of it." - -She ventured back a little nearer to him. "Have I offended you?" - -He smiled sadly. "You have enlightened me. I had forgotten that it -doesn't follow, because I love you, that you should love me in return. -Say that it is so, Mercy, and I leave you." - -A faint tinge of color rose on her face--then left it again paler than -ever. Her eyes looked downward timidly under the eager gaze that he -fastened on her. - -"How _can_ I say so?" she answered, simply. "Where is the woman in my -place whose heart could resist you?" - -He eagerly advanced; he held out his arms to her in breathless, -speechless joy. She drew back from him once more with a look that -horrified him--a look of blank despair. - -"Am I fit to be your wife?" she asked. "Must I remind you of what you -owe to your high position, your spotless integrity, your famous name? -Think of all that you have done for me, and then think of the -black ingratitude of it if I ruin you for life by consenting to our -marriage--if I selfishly, cruelly, wickedly, drag you down to the level -of a woman like me!" - -"I raise you to _my_ level when I make you my wife," he answered. -"For Heaven's sake do me justice! Don't refer me to the world and its -opinions. It rests with you, and you alone, to make the misery or the -happiness of my life. The world! Good God! what can the world give me in -exchange for You?" - -She clasped her hands imploringly; the tears flowed fast over her -cheeks. - -"Oh, have pity on my weakness!" she cried. "Kindest, best of men, help -me to do my hard duty toward you! It is so hard, after all that I have -suffered--when my heart is yearning for peace and happiness and love!" -She checked herself, shuddering at the words that had escaped her. -"Remember how Mr. Holmcroft has used me! Remember how Lady Janet has -left me! Remember what I have told you of my life! The scorn of every -creature you know would strike at you through me. No! no! no! Not a word -more. Spare me! pity me! leave me!" - -Her voice failed her; sobs choked her utterance. He sprang to her and -took her in his arms. She was incapable of resisting him; but there -was no yielding in her. Her head lay on his bosom, passive--horribly -passive, like the head of a corpse. - -"Mercy! My darling! We will go away--we will leave England--we will take -refuge among new people in a new world--I will change my name--I will -break with relatives, friends, everybody. Anything, anything, rather -than lose you!" - -She lifted her head slowly and looked at him. - -He suddenly released her; he reeled back like a man staggered by a -blow, and dropped into a chair. Before she had uttered a word he saw -the terrible resolution in her face--Death, rather than yield to her own -weakness and disgrace him. - -She stood with her hands lightly clasped in front of her. Her grand head -was raised; her soft gray eyes shone again undimmed by tears. The storm -of emotion had swept over her and had passed away A sad tranquillity was -in her face; a gentle resignation was in her voice. The calm of a martyr -was the calm that confronted him as she spoke her last words. - -"A woman who has lived my life, a woman who has suffered what I have -suffered, may love you--as _I_ love you--but she must not be your wife. -_That_ place is too high above her. Any other place is too far below her -and below you." She paused, and advancing to the bell, gave the signal -for her departure. That done, she slowly retraced her steps until she -stood at Julian's side. - -Tenderly she lifted his head and laid it for a moment on her bosom. -Silently she stooped and touched his forehead with her lips. All the -gratitude that filled her heart and all the sacrifice that rent it were -in those two actions--so modestly, so tenderly performed! As the last -lingering pressure of her fingers left him, Julian burst into tears. - -The servant answered the bell. At the moment he opened the door a -woman's voice was audible in the hall speaking to him. - -"Let the child go in," the voice said. "I will wait here." - -The child appeared--the same forlorn little creature who had reminded -Mercy of her own early years on the day when she and Horace Holmcroft -had been out for their walk. - -There was no beauty in this child; no halo of romance brightened the -commonplace horror of her story. She came cringing into the room, -staring stupidly at the magnificence all round her--the daughter of the -London streets! the pet creation of the laws of political economy! the -savage and terrible product of a worn-out system of government and of a -civilization rotten to its core! Cleaned for the first time in her life, -fed sufficiently for the first time in her life, dressed in clothes -instead of rags for the first time in her life, Mercy's sister in -adversity crept fearfully over the beautiful carpet, and stopped -wonder-struck before the marbles of an inlaid table--a blot of mud on -the splendor of the room. - -Mercy turned from Julian to meet the child. The woman's heart, hungering -in its horrible isolation for something that it might harmlessly love, -welcomed the rescued waif of the streets as a consolation sent from God. -She caught the stupefied little creature up in her arms. "Kiss me!" she -whispered, in the reckless agony of the moment. "Call me sister!" The -child stared, vacantly. Sister meant nothing to her mind but an older -girl who was strong enough to beat her. - -She put the child down again, and turned for a last look at the man -whose happiness she had wrecked--in pity to _him_. - -He had never moved. His head was down; his face was hidden. She went -back to hi m a few steps. - -"The others have gone from me without one kind word. Can _you_ forgive -me?" - -He held out his hand to her without looking up. Sorely as she had -wounded him, his generous nature understood her. True to her from the -first, _he_ was true to her still. - -"God bless and comfort you," he said, in broken tones. "The earth holds -no nobler woman than you." - -She knelt and kissed the kind hand that pressed hers for the last time. -"It doesn't end with this world," she whispered: "there is a better -world to come!" Then she rose, and went back to the child. Hand in hand -the two citizens of the Government of God--outcasts of the government of -Man--passed slowly down the length of the room. Then out into the hall. -Then out into the night. The heavy clang of the closing door tolled the -knell of their departure. They were gone. - -But the orderly routine of the house--inexorable as death--pursued its -appointed course. As the clock struck the hour the dinner-bell rang. An -interval of a minute passed, and marked the limit of delay. The butler -appeared at the dining-room door. - -"Dinner is served, sir." - -Julian looked up. The empty room met his eyes. Something white lay on -the carpet close by him. It was her handkerchief--wet with her tears. He -took it up and pressed it to his lips. Was that to be the last of her? -Had she left him forever? - -The native energy of the man, arming itself with all the might of his -love, kindled in him again. No! While life was in him, while time was -before him, there was the hope of winning her yet! - -He turned to the servant, reckless of what his face might betray. - -"Where is Lady Janet?" - -"In the dining-room, sir." - -He reflected for a moment. His own influence had failed. Through what -other influence could he now hope to reach her? As the question crossed -his mind the light broke on him. He saw the way back to her--through the -influence of Lady Janet. - -"Her ladyship is waiting, sir." - -Julian entered the dining-room. - - - - -EPILOGUE: - -CONTAINING SELECTIONS FROM THE CORRESPONDENCE OF MISS GRACE ROSEBERRY -AND MR. HORACE HOLMCROFT; TO WHICH ARE ADDED EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF -THE REVEREND JULIAN GRAY. - -I. - -From MR. HORACE HOLMCROFT to MISS GRACE ROSEBERRY. - -"I HASTEN to thank you, dear Miss Roseberry, for your last kind letter, -received by yesterday's mail from Canada. Believe me, I appreciate your -generous readiness to pardon and forget what I so rudely said to you at -a time when the arts of an adventuress had blinded me to the truth. In -the grace which has forgiven me I recognize the inbred sense of justice -of a true lady. Birth and breeding can never fail to assert themselves: -I believe in them, thank God, more firmly than ever. - -"You ask me to keep you informed of the progress of Julian Gray's -infatuation, and of the course of conduct pursued toward him by Mercy -Merrick. - -"If you had not favored me by explaining your object, I might have felt -some surprise at receiving from a lady in your position such a request -as this. But the motives by which you describe yourself as being -actuated are beyond dispute. The existence of Society, as you truly -say, is threatened by the present lamentable prevalence of Liberal -ideas throughout the length and breadth of the land. We can only hope -to protect ourselves against impostors interested in gaining a position -among persons of our rank by becoming in some sort (unpleasant as it may -be) familiar with the arts by which imposture too frequently succeeds. -If we wish to know to what daring lengths cunning can go, to what -pitiable self-delusion credulity can consent, we must watch the -proceedings--even while we shrink from them--of a Mercy Merrick and a -Julian Gray. - -"In taking up my narrative again where my last letter left off, I must -venture to set you right on one point. - -"Certain expressions which have escaped your pen suggest to me that you -blame Julian Gray as the cause of Lady Janet's regrettable visit to the -Refuge the day after Mercy Merrick had left her house. This is not quite -correct. Julian, as you will presently see, has enough to answer for -without being held responsible for errors of judgment in which he has -had no share. Lady Janet (as she herself told me) went to the Refuge of -her own free-will to ask Mercy Merrick's pardon for the language which -she had used on the previous day. 'I passed a night of such misery as -no words can describe'--this, I assure you, is what her ladyship really -said to me--'thinking over what my vile pride and selfishness and -obstinacy had made me say and do. I would have gone down on my knees to -beg her pardon if she would have let me. My first happy moment was when -I won her consent to come and visit me sometimes at Mablethorpe House.' - -"You will, I am sure, agree with me that such extravagance as this is to -be pitied rather than blamed. How sad to see the decay of the faculties -with advancing age! It is a matter of grave anxiety to consider how much -longer poor Lady Janet can be trusted to manage her own affairs. I shall -take an opportunity of touching on the matter delicately when I next see -her lawyer. - -"I am straying from my subject. And--is it not strange?--I am writing to -you as confidentially as if we were old friends. - -"To return to Julian Gray. Innocent of instigating his aunt's first -visit to the Refuge, he is guilty of having induced her to go there for -the second time the day after I had dispatched my last letter to you. -Lady Janet's object on this occasion was neither more nor less than to -plead her nephew's cause as humble suitor for the hand of Mercy Merrick. -Imagine the descent of one of the oldest families in England inviting an -adventuress in a Refuge to honor a clergyman of the Church of England by -becoming his wife! In what times do we live! My dear mother shed tears -of shame when she heard of it. How you would love and admire my mother! - -"I dined at Mablethorpe House, by previous appointment, on the day when -Lady Janet returned from her degrading errand. - -"'Well?' I said, waiting, of course, until the servant was out of the -room. - -"'Well,' Lady Janet answered, 'Julian was quite right.' - -"'Quite right in what?' - -"'In saying that the earth holds no nobler woman than Mercy Merrick.' - -"'Has she refused him again?' - -"'She has refused him again.' - -"'Thank God!' I felt it fervently, and I said it fervently. Lady Janet -laid down her knife and fork, and fixed one of her fierce looks on me. - -"'It may not be your fault, Horace,' she said, 'if your nature is -incapable of comprehending what is great and generous in other natures -higher than yours. But the least you can do is to distrust your -own capacity of appreciation. For the future keep your opinions (on -questions which you don't understand) modestly to yourself. I have a -tenderness for you for your father's sake; and I take the most favorable -view of your conduct toward Mercy Merrick. I humanely consider it the -conduct of a fool.' (Her own words, Miss Roseberry. I assure you -once more, her own words.) 'But don't trespass too far on my -indulgence--don't insinuate again that a woman who is good enough (if -she died this night) to go to heaven, is _not_ good enough to be my -nephew's wife.' - -"I expressed to you my conviction a little way back that it was doubtful -whether poor Lady Janet would be much longer competent to manage her own -affairs. Perhaps you thought me hasty then? What do you think now? - -"It was, of course, useless to reply seriously to the extraordinary -reprimand that I had received. Besides, I was really shocked by a decay -of principle which proceeded but too plainly from decay of the mental -powers. I made a soothing and respectful reply, and I was favored in -return with some account of what had really happened at the Refuge. My -mother and my sisters were disgusted when I repeated the particulars to -them. You will be disgusted too. - -"The interesting penitent (expecting Lady Janet's visit) was, of course, -discovered in a touching domestic position! She had a foundling baby -asleep on her lap; and she was teaching the alphabet to an ugly little -vagabond girl whose acquaintance she had first made in the street. Just -the sort of artful _tableau vivant_ to impose on an old lady--was it -not? - -"You will understand what followed, when Lady Janet opened her -matrimonial negotiation. Having perfected herself in her part, Mercy -Merrick, to do her justice, was not the woman to play it badly. The -most magnanimous sentiments flowed from her lips. She declared that her -future life was devoted to acts of charity, typified, of course, by the -foundling infant and the ugly little girl. However she might personally -suffer, whatever might be the sacrifice of her own feelings--observe how -artfully this was put, to insinuate that she was herself in love with -him!--she could not accept from Mr. Julian Gray an honor of which she -was unworthy. Her gratitude to him and her interest in him alike forbade -her to compromise his brilliant future by consenting to a marriage which -would degrade him in the estimation of all his friends. She thanked him -(with tears); she thanked Lady Janet (with more tears); but she dare -not, in the interests of _his_ honor and _his_ happiness, accept the -hand that he offered to her. God bless and comfort him; and God help her -to bear with her hard lot! - -"The object of this contemptible comedy is plain enough to my mind. She -is simply holding off (Julian, as you know, is a poor man) until the -influence of Lady Janet's persuasion is backed by the opening of Lady -Janet's purse. In one word--Settlements! But for the profanity of the -woman's language, and the really lamentable credulity of the poor old -lady, the whole thing would make a fit subject for a burlesque. - -"But the saddest part of the story is still to come. - -"In due course of time the lady's decision was communicated to Julian -Gray. He took leave of his senses on the spot. Can you believe it?--he -has resigned his curacy! At a time when the church is thronged every -Sunday to hear him preach, this madman shuts the door and walks out of -the pulpit. Even Lady Janet was not far enough gone in folly to abet -him in this. She remonstrated, like the rest of his friends. Perfectly -useless! He had but one answer to everything they could say: 'My career -is closed.' What stuff! - -"You will ask, naturally enough, what this perverse man is going to do -next. I don't scruple to say that he is bent on committing suicide. -Pray do not be alarmed! There is no fear of the pistol, the rope, or the -river. Julian is simply courting death--within the limits of the law. - -"This is strong language, I know. You shall hear what the facts are, and -judge for yourself. - -"Having resigned his curacy, his next proceeding was to offer his -services, as volunteer, to a new missionary enterprise on the West -Coast of Africa. The persons at the head of the mission proved, most -fortunately, to have a proper sense of their duty. Expressing their -conviction of the value of Julian's assistance in the most handsome -terms, they made it nevertheless a condition of entertaining his -proposal that he should submit to examination by a competent medical -man. After some hesitation he consented to this. The doctor's report -was conclusive. In Julian's present state of health the climate of West -Africa would in all probability kill him in three months' time. - -"Foiled in his first attempt, he addressed himself next to a London -Mission. Here it was impossible to raise the question of climate, and -here, I grieve to say, he has succeeded. - -"He is now working--in other words, he is now deliberately risking his -life--in the Mission to Green Anchor Fields. The district known by this -name is situated in a remote part of London, near the Thames. It is -notoriously infested by the most desperate and degraded set of wretches -in the whole metropolitan population, and it is so thickly inhabited -that it is hardly ever completely free from epidemic disease. In -this horrible place, and among these dangerous people, Julian is now -employing himself from morning to night. None of his old friends ever -see him. Since he joined the Mission he has not even called on Lady -Janet Roy. - -"My pledge is redeemed--the facts are before you. Am I wrong in taking -my gloomy view of the prospect? I cannot forget that this unhappy man -was once my friend, and I really see no hope for him in the future. -Deliberately self-exposed to the violence of ruffians and the outbreak -of disease, who is to extricate him from his shocking position? The one -person who can do it is the person whose association with him would be -his ruin--Mercy Merrick. Heaven only knows what disasters it may be my -painful duty to communicate to you in my next letter! - -"You are so kind as to ask me to tell you something about myself and my -plans. - -"I have very little to say on either head. After what I have -suffered--my feelings trampled on, my confidence betrayed--I am as -yet hardly capable of deciding what I shall do. Returning to my old -profession--to the army--is out of the question, in these leveling days, -when any obscure person who can pass an examination may call himself my -brother officer, and may one day, perhaps, command me as my superior in -rank. If I think of any career, it is the career of diplomacy. Birth -and breeding have not quite disappeared as essential qualifications in -_that_ branch of the public service. But I have decided nothing as yet. - -"My mother and sisters, in the event of your returning to England, -desire me to say that it will afford them the greatest pleasure to make -your acquaintance. Sympathizing with me, they do not forget what you too -have suffered. A warm welcome awaits you when you pay your first visit -at our house. Most truly yours, - -"HORACE HOLMCROFT." - - -II. - -From MISS GRACE ROSEBERRY to MR. HORACE HOLMCROFT. - -"DEAR MR. HOLMCROFT--I snatch a few moments from my other avocations to -thank you for your most interesting and delightful letter. How well you -describe, how accurately you judge! If Literature stood a little higher -as a profession, I should almost advise you--but no! if you entered -Literature, how could _you_ associate with the people whom you would be -likely to meet? - -"Between ourselves, I always thought Mr. Julian Gray an overrated man. -I will not say he has justified my opinion. I will only say I pity him. -But, dear Mr. Holmcroft, how can you, with your sound judgment, place -the sad alternatives now before him on the same level? To die in Green -Anchor Fields, or to fall into the clutches of that vile wretch--is -there any comparison between the two? Better a thousand times die at the -post of duty than marry Mercy Merrick. - -"As I have written the creature's name, I may add--so as to have all the -sooner done with the subject--that I shall look with anxiety for your -next letter. Do not suppose that I feel the smallest curiosity about -this degraded and designing woman. My interest in her is purely -religious. To persons of my devout turn of mind she is an awful warning. -When I feel Satan near me--it will be _such_ a means of grace to think -of Mercy Merrick! - -"Poor Lady Janet! I noticed those signs of mental decay to which you -so feelingly allude at the last interview I had with her in Mablethorpe -House. If you can find an opportunity, will you say that I wish her -well, here and hereafter? and will you please add that I do not omit to -remember her in my prayers? - -"There is just a chance of my visiting England toward the close of -the autumn. My fortunes have changed since I wrote last. I have been -received as reader and companion by a lady who is the wife of one of -our high judicial functionaries in this part of the world. I do not take -much interest in _him_; he is what they call a 'self-made man.' His wife -is charming. Besides being a person of highly intellectual tastes, she -is greatly her husband's superior--as you will understand when I tell -you that she is related to the Gommerys of Pommery; _not_ the Pommerys -of Gommery, who (as your knowledge of our old families will inform you) -only claim kindred with the younger branch of that ancient race. - -"In the elegant and improving companionship which I now enjoy I should -feel quite happy but for one drawback. The climate of Canada is not -favorable to my kind patroness, and her medical advisers recommend -her to winter in London. In this event, I am to have t he privilege of -accompanying her. Is it necessary to add that my first visit will be -paid at your house? I feel already united by sympathy to your mother and -your sisters. There is a sort of freemasonry among gentlewomen, is -there not? With best thanks and remembrances, and many delightful -anticipations of your next letter, believe me, dear Mr. Holmcroft, - -"Truly yours, - -"GRACE ROSEBERRY." - - -III. - -From MR. HORACE HOLMCROFT to MISS GRACE ROSEBERRY. - -"MY DEAR MISS ROSEBERRY--Pray excuse my long silence. I have waited for -mail after mail, in the hope of being able to send you some good news -at last. It is useless to wait longer. My worst forebodings have been -realized: my painful duty compels me to write a letter which will -surprise and shock you. - -"Let me describe events in their order as they happened. In this way I -may hope to gradually prepare your mind for what is to come. - -"About three weeks after I wrote to you last, Julian Gray paid the -penalty of his headlong rashness. I do not mean that he suffered any -actual violence at the hands of the people among whom he had cast his -lot. On the contrary, he succeeded, incredible as it may appear, -in producing a favorable impression on the ruffians about him. As I -understand it, they began by respecting his courage in venturing among -them alone; and they ended in discovering that he was really interested -in promoting their welfare. It is to the other peril, indicated in my -last letter, that he has fallen a victim--the peril of disease. Not long -after he began his labors in the district fever broke out. We only heard -that Julian had been struck down by the epidemic when it was too late to -remove him from the lodging that he occupied in the neighborhood. I -made inquiries personally the moment the news reached us. The doctor in -attendance refused to answer for his life. - -"In this alarming state of things poor Lady Janet, impulsive and -unreasonable as usual, insisted on leaving Mablethorpe House and taking -up her residence near her nephew. - -"Finding it impossible to persuade her of the folly of removing from -home and its comforts at her age, I felt it my duty to accompany her. -We found accommodation (such as it was) in a river-side inn, used by -ship-captains and commercial travelers. I took it on myself to provide -the best medical assistance, Lady Janet's insane prejudices against -doctors impelling her to leave this important part of the arrangements -entirely in my hands. - -"It is needless to weary you by entering into details on the subject of -Julian's illness. - -"The fever pursued the ordinary course, and was characterized by the -usual intervals of delirium and exhaustion succeeding each other. -Subsequent events, which it is, unfortunately, necessary to relate to -you, leave me no choice but to dwell (as briefly as possible) on the -painful subject of the delirium. In other cases the wanderings of -fever-stricken people present, I am told, a certain variety of range. In -Julian's case they were limited to one topic. He talked incessantly -of Mercy Merrick. His invariable petition to his medical attendants -entreated them to send for her to nurse him. Day and night that one idea -was in his mind, and that one name on his lips. - -"The doctors naturally made inquiries as to this absent person. I was -obliged (in confidence) to state the circumstances to them plainly. - -"The eminent physician whom I had called in to superintend the treatment -behaved admirably. Though he has risen from the lower order of the -people, he has, strange to say, the instincts of a gentleman. He -thoroughly understood our trying position, and felt all the importance -of preventing such a person as Mercy Merrick from seizing the -opportunity of intruding herself at the bedside. A soothing prescription -(I have his own authority for saying it) was all that was required to -meet the patient's case. The local doctor, on the other hand, a young -man (and evidently a red-hot radical), proved to be obstinate, and, -considering his position, insolent as well. 'I have nothing to do with -the lady's character, and with your opinion of it,' he said to me. 'I -have only, to the best of my judgment, to point out to you the likeliest -means of saving the patient's life. Our art is at the end of its -resources. Send for Mercy Merrick, no matter who she is or what she is. -There is just a chance--especially if she proves to be a sensible person -and a good nurse--that he may astonish you all by recognizing her. In -that case only, his recovery is probable. If you persist in disregarding -his entreaties, if you let the delirium go on for four-and-twenty hours -more, he is a dead man.' - -"Lady Janet was, most unluckily, present when this impudent opinion was -delivered at the bedside. - -"Need I tell you the sequel? Called upon to choose between the course -indicated by a physician who is making his five thousand a year, and who -is certain of the next medical baronetcy, and the advice volunteered by -an obscure general practitioner at the East End of London, who is -not making his five hundred a year--need I stop to inform you of her -ladyship's decision? You know her; and you will only too well understand -that her next proceeding was to pay a third visit to the Refuge. - -"Two hours later--I give you my word of honor I am not -exaggerating--Mercy Merrick was established at Julian's bedside. - -"The excuse, of course, was that it was her duty not to let any private -scruples of her own stand in the way, when a medical authority had -declared that she might save the patient's life. You will not be -surprised to hear that I withdrew from the scene. The physician followed -my example--after having written his soothing prescription, and having -been grossly insulted by the local practitioner's refusing to make use -of it. I went back in the doctor's carriage. He spoke most feelingly and -properly. Without giving any positive opinion, I could see that he -had abandoned all hope of Julian's recovery. 'We are in the hands of -Providence, Mr. Holmcroft;' those were his last words as he set me down -at my mother's door. - -"I have hardly the heart to go on. If I studied my own wishes, I should -feel inclined to stop here. - -"Let me, at least, hasten to the end. In two or three days' time I -received my first intelligence of the patient and his nurse. Lady -Janet informed me that he had recognized her. When I heard this I felt -prepared for what was to come. The next report announced that he was -gaining strength, and the next that he was out of danger. Upon this -Lady Janet returned to Mablethorpe House. I called there a week ago--and -heard that he had been removed to the sea-side. I called yesterday--and -received the latest information from her ladyship's own lips. My pen -almost refuses to write it. Mercy Merrick has consented to marry him! - -"An outrage on Society--that is how my mother and my sisters view -it; that is how _you_ will view it too. My mother has herself struck -Julian's name off her invitation-list. The servants have their orders, -if he presumes to call: 'Not at home.' - -"I am unhappily only too certain that I am correct in writing to you -of this disgraceful marriage as of a settled thing. Lady Janet went the -length of showing me the letters--one from Julian, the other from the -woman herself. Fancy Mercy Merrick in correspondence with Lady Janet -Roy! addressing her as 'My dear Lady Janet,' and signing, 'Yours -affectionately!' - -"I had not the patience to read either of the letters through. Julian's -tone is the tone of a Socialist; in my opinion his bishop ought to be -informed of it. As for _her_ she plays her part just as cleverly with -her pen as she played it with her tongue. 'I cannot disguise from myself -that I am wrong in yielding.... Sad forebodings fill my mind when I -think of the future.... I feel as if the first contemptuous look that -is cast at my husband will destroy _my_ happiness, though it may not -disturb _him_.... As long as I was parted from him I could control my -own weakness, I could accept my hard lot. But how can I resist him after -having watched for weeks at his bedside; after having seen his first -smile, and heard his first grateful words t o me while I was slowly -helping him back to life?' - -"There is the tone which she takes through four closely written pages -of nauseous humility and clap-trap sentiment! It is enough to make one -despise women. Thank God, there is the contrast at hand to remind me of -what is due to the better few among the sex. I feel that my mother and -my sisters are doubly precious to me now. May I add, on the side of -consolation, that I prize with hardly inferior gratitude the privilege -of corresponding with _you?_ - -"Farewell for the present. I am too rudely shaken in my most cherished -convictions, I am too depressed and disheartened, to write more. All -good wishes go with you, dear Miss Roseberry, until we meet. - -"Most truly yours, - -"HORACE HOLMCROFT." - - -IV. - -Extracts from the DIARY of THE REVEREND JULIAN GRAY. - -FIRST EXTRACT. - -...."A month to-day since we were married! I have only one thing to say: -I would cheerfully go through all that I have suffered to live this one -month over again. I never knew what happiness was until now. And better -still, I have persuaded Mercy that it is all her doing. I have scattered -her misgivings to the winds; she is obliged to submit to evidence, and -to own that she can make the happiness of my life. - -"We go back to London to-morrow. She regrets leaving the tranquil -retirement of this remote sea-side place--she dreads change. I care -nothing for it. It is all one to me where I go, so long as my wife is -with me." - -SECOND EXTRACT. - -"The first cloud has risen. I entered the room unexpectedly just now, -and found her in tears. - -"With considerable difficulty I persuaded her to tell me what had -happened. Are there any limits to the mischief that can be done by the -tongue of a foolish woman? The landlady at my lodgings is the woman, in -this case. Having no decided plans for the future as yet, we returned -(most unfortunately, as the event has proved) to the rooms in London -which I inhabited in my bachelor days. They are still mine for six weeks -to come, and Mercy was unwilling to let me incur the expense of taking -her to a hotel. At breakfast this morning I rashly congratulated myself -(in my wife's hearing) on finding that a much smaller collection than -usual of letters and cards had accumulated in my absence. Breakfast -over, I was obliged to go out. Painfully sensitive, poor thing, to -any change in my experience of the little world around me which it is -possible to connect with the event of my marriage, Mercy questioned the -landlady, in my absence, about the diminished number of my visitors and -my correspondents. The woman seized the opportunity of gossiping -about me and my affairs, and my wife's quick perception drew the right -conclusion unerringly. My marriage has decided certain wise heads of -families on discontinuing their social relations with me. The facts, -unfortunately, speak for themselves. People who in former years -habitually called upon me and invited me--or who, in the event of my -absence, habitually wrote to me at this season--have abstained with a -remarkable unanimity from calling, inviting, or writing now. - -"It would have been sheer waste of time--to say nothing of its also -implying a want of confidence in my wife--if I had attempted to set -things right by disputing Mercy's conclusion. I could only satisfy her -that not so much as the shadow of disappointment or mortification rested -on my mind. In this way I have, to some extent, succeeded in composing -my poor darling. But the wound has been inflicted, and the wound is -felt. There is no disguising that result. I must face it boldly. - -"Trifling as this incident is in my estimation, it has decided me on one -point already. In shaping my future course I am now resolved to act on -my own convictions--in preference to taking the well-meant advice of -such friends as are still left to me. - -"All my little success in life has been gained in the pulpit. I am what -is termed a popular preacher--but I have never, in my secret self, felt -any exultation in my own notoriety, or any extraordinary respect for the -means by which it has been won. In the first place, I have a very low -idea of the importance of oratory as an intellectual accomplishment. -There is no other art in which the conditions of success are so easy of -attainment; there is no other art in the practice of which so much that -is purely superficial passes itself off habitually for something that -claims to be profound. Then, again, how poor it is in the results which -it achieves! Take my own case. How often (for example) have I thundered -with all my heart and soul against the wicked extravagance of dress -among women--against their filthy false hair and their nauseous powders -and paints! How often (to take another example) have I denounced the -mercenary and material spirit of the age--the habitual corruptions and -dishonesties of commerce, in high places and in low! What good have I -done? I have delighted the very people whom it was my object to rebuke. -'What a charming sermon!' 'More eloquent than ever!' 'I used to dread -the sermon at the other church--do you know, I quite look forward to it -now.' That is the effect I produce on Sunday. On Monday the women are -off to the milliners to spend more money than ever; the city men are off -to business to make more money than ever--while my grocer, loud in -my praises in his Sunday coat, turns up his week-day sleeves and -adulterates his favorite preacher's sugar as cheerfully as usual! - -"I have often, in past years, felt the objections to pursuing my career -which are here indicated. They were bitterly present to my mind when I -resigned my curacy, and they strongly influence me now. - -"I am weary of my cheaply won success in the pulpit. I am weary of -society as I find it in my time. I felt some respect for myself, and -some heart and hope in my works among the miserable wretches in Green -Anchor Fields. But I can not, and must not, return among them: I have no -right, _now_, to trifle with my health and my life. I must go back to my -preaching, or I must leave England. Among a primitive people, away -from the cities--in the far and fertile West of the great American -continent--I might live happily with my wife, and do good among my -neighbors, secure of providing for our wants out of the modest little -income which is almost useless to me here. In the life which I thus -picture to myself I see love, peace, health, and duties and occupations -that are worthy of a Christian man. What prospect is before me if I -take the advice of my friends and stay here? Work of which I am weary, -because I have long since ceased to respect it; petty malice that -strikes at me through my wife, and mortifies and humiliates her, turn -where she may. If I had only myself to think of, I might defy the worst -that malice can do. But I have Mercy to think of--Mercy, whom I love -better than my own life! Women live, poor things, in the opinions of -others. I have had one warning already of what my wife is likely to -suffer at the hands of my 'friends'--Heaven forgive me for misusing the -word! Shall I deliberately expose her to fresh mortifications?--and this -for the sake of returning to a career the rewards of which I no longer -prize? No! We will both be happy--we will both be free! God is merciful, -Nature is kind, Love is true, in the New World as well as the Old. To -the New World we will go!" - -THIRD EXTRACT. - -"I hardly know whether I have done right or wrong. I mentioned yesterday -to Lady Janet the cold reception of me on my return to London, and the -painful sense of it felt by my wife. - -"My aunt looks at the matter from her own peculiar point of view, -and makes light of it accordingly. 'You never did, and never will, -understand Society, Julian,' said her ladyship. 'These poor stupid -people simply don't know what to do. They are waiting to be told by a -person of distinction whether they are, or are not, to recognize your -marriage. In plain English, they are waiting to be led by Me. Consider -it done. I will lead them.' - -"I thought my aunt was joking. The event of to-day has shown me that she -is terribly in earnest. Lady Janet has issued invitations for one of her -grand balls at Mablethorpe House; and sh e has caused the report to be -circulated everywhere that the object of the festival is 'to celebrate -the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Julian Gray!' - -"I at first refused to be present. To my amazement, however, Mercy sides -with my aunt. She reminds me of all that we both owe to Lady Janet; and -she has persuaded me to alter my mind. We are to go to the ball--at my -wife express request! - -"The meaning of this, as I interpret it, is that my poor love is still -pursued in secret by the dread that my marriage has injured me in the -general estimation. She will suffer anything, risk anything, believe -anything, to be freed from that one haunting doubt. Lady Janet -predicts a social triumph; and my wife's despair--not my wife's -conviction--accepts the prophecy. As for me, I am prepared for the -result. It will end in our going to the New World, and trying Society in -its infancy, among the forests and the plains. I shall quietly prepare -for our departure, and own what I have done at the right time--that is -to say, when the ball is over." - -FOURTH EXTRACT. - -"I have met with the man for my purpose--an old college friend of mine, -now partner in a firm of ship-owners, largely concerned in emigration. - -"One of their vessels sails for America, from the port of London, in -a fortnight, touching at Plymouth. By a fortunate coincidence, Lady -Janet's ball takes place in a fortnight. I see my way. - -"Helped by the kindness of my friend, I have arranged to have a cabin -kept in reserve, on payment of a small deposit. If the ball ends (as I -believe it will) in new mortifications for Mercy--do what they may, I -defy them to mortify _me_--I have only to say the word by telegraph, and -we shall catch the ship at Plymouth. - -"I know the effect it will have when I break the news to her, but I am -prepared with my remedy. The pages of my diary, written in past years, -will show plainly enough that it is not _she_ who is driving me away -from England. She will see the longing in me for other work and other -scenes expressing itself over and over again long before the time when -we first met." - -FIFTH EXTRACT. - -"Mercy's ball dress--a present from kind Lady Janet--is finished. I was -allowed to see the first trial, or preliminary rehearsal, of this work -of art. I don't in the least understand the merits of silk and lace; but -one thing I know--my wife will be the most beautiful woman at the ball. - -"The same day I called on Lady Janet to thank her, and encountered a new -revelation of the wayward and original character of my dear old aunt. - -"She was on the point of tearing up a letter when I went into her room. -Seeing me, she suspended her purpose and handed me the letter. It was in -Mercy's handwriting. Lady Janet pointed to a passage on the last page. -'Tell your wife, with my love,' she said, 'that I am the most obstinate -woman of the two. I positively refuse to read her, as I positively -refuse to listen to her, whenever she attempts to return to that one -subject. Now give me the letter back.' I gave it back, and saw it torn -up before my face. The 'one subject' prohibited to Mercy as sternly as -ever is still the subject of the personation of Grace Roseberry! Nothing -could have been more naturally introduced, or more delicately managed, -than my wife's brief reference to the subject. No matter. The reading -of the first line was enough. Lady Janet shut her eyes and destroyed the -letter--Lady Janet is determined to live and die absolutely ignorant of -the true story of 'Mercy Merrick.' What unanswerable riddles we are! Is -it wonderful if we perpetually fail to understand one another?" - -SIXTH EXTRACT. - -"The morning after the ball. - -"It is done and over. Society has beaten Lady Janet. I have neither -patience nor time to write at length of it. We leave for Plymouth by the -afternoon express. - -"We were rather late in arriving at the ball. The magnificent rooms were -filling fast. Walking through them with my wife, she drew my attention -to a circumstance which I had not noticed at the time. 'Julian,' she -said, 'look round among the lades, and tell me if you see anything -strange.' As I looked round the band began playing a waltz. I observed -that a few people only passed by us to the dancing-room. I noticed next -that of those few fewer still were young. At last it burst upon me. With -certain exceptions (so rare as to prove the rule), there were no -young girls at Lady Janet's ball. I took Mercy at once back to the -reception-room. Lady Janet's face showed that she, too, was aware of -what had happened. The guests were still arriving. We received the -men and their wives, the men and their mothers, the men and their -grandmothers--but, in place of their unmarried daughters, elaborate -excuses, offered with a shameless politeness wonderful to see. Yes! This -was how the matrons in high life had got over the difficulty of meeting -Mrs. Julian Gray at Lady Janet's house. - -"Let me do strict justice to every one. The ladies who _were_ present -showed the needful respect for their hostess. They did their duty--no, -overdid it, is perhaps the better phrase. - -"I really had no adequate idea of the coarseness and rudeness which have -filtered their way through society in these later times until I saw the -reception accorded to my wife. The days of prudery and prejudice are -days gone by. Excessive amiability and excessive liberality are the -two favorite assumptions of the modern generation. To see the women -expressing their liberal forgetfulness of my wifely misfortunes, and the -men their amiable anxiety to encourage her husband; to hear the same set -phrases repeated in every room--'So charmed to make your acquaintance, -Mrs. Gray; so _much_ obliged to dear Lady Janet for giving us this -opportunity!--Julian, old man, what a beautiful creature! I envy you; -upon my honor, I envy you!'--to receive this sort of welcome, emphasized -by obtrusive hand-shakings, sometimes actually by downright kissings of -my wife, and then to look round and see that not one in thirty of these -very people had brought their unmarried daughters to the ball, was, -I honestly believe, to see civilized human nature in its basest -conceivable aspect. The New World may have its disappointments in store -for us, but it cannot possibly show us any spectacle so abject as the -spectacle which we witnessed last night at my aunt's ball. - -"Lady Janet marked her sense of the proceeding adopted by her guests -by leaving them to themselves. Her guests remained and supped heartily -notwithstanding. They all knew by experience that there were no stale -dishes and no cheap wines at Mablethorpe House. They drank to the end of -the bottle, and they ate to the last truffle in the dish. - -"Mercy and I had an interview with my aunt upstairs before we left. I -felt it necessary to state plainly my resolution to leave England. The -scene that followed was so painful that I cannot prevail on myself to -return to it in these pages. My wife is reconciled to our departure; and -Lady Janet accompanies us as far as Plymouth--these are the results. No -words can express my sense of relief, now that it is all settled. The -one sorrow I shall carry away with me from the shores of England will be -the sorrow of parting with dear, warm-hearted Lady Janet. At her age it -is a parting for life. - -"So closes my connection with my own country. While I have Mercy by my -side I face the unknown future, certain of carrying my happiness -with me, go where I may. We shall find five hundred adventurers like -ourselves when we join the emigrant ship, for whom their native land has -no occupation and no home. Gentlemen of the Statistical Department, add -two more to the number of social failures produced by England in the -year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventy-one--Julian Gray and Mercy -Merrick." - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The New Magdalen, by Wilkie Collins - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW MAGDALEN *** - -***** This file should be named 1623.txt or 1623.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/2/1623/ - -Produced by James Rusk - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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