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diff --git a/old/nmgdl10.txt b/old/nmgdl10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 791bbd3..0000000 --- a/old/nmgdl10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12998 +0,0 @@ -*Project Gutenberg Etext of The New Magdalen, by Wilkie Collins* -#12 in our series by Wilkie Collins - - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check -the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! - -Please take a look at the important information in this header. -We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an -electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* - -Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and -further information is included below. 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(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 accompl ished 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 whol e 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 sti ll 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 nephe -w 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 l 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 li ttle 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 afra id 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 h ad 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 fir st -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. C!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 o f -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 co -nservatory) 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 woma n 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 Hous e 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 estima tion 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 -independ ent 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 l ast 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 v oice 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 t hrough?" - -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 HolmcroftÕs claims, in the presence of -Horace HolmcroftÕs 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 inte -rrupted 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 the m, 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 th e 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 openl y. 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 returni ng 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 difused 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 -surpressed 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 endu re 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 o n 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 be 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 fa ith 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 f riend 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 tha t!" 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 hi m 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 frie nd 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 dis dainfully 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 Project Gutenberg Etext of The New Magdalen, by Wilkie Collins* - |