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■"•^Z ^ I. . ( ^'^ V *'■ ^y c^y< ^ ^c..€^
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^/^/ A^ -'Z. ^hiiJ/l^^i/
THE
NEW y^4AGDALEN.
f
THE
/
NEW MAGDALEN.
BY
WILKIE COLLINS,
Author of -The Woman in White," "Man and Wife "
" No Name," •• Poor Miss Finch," etc., etc.
TORONTO :
HUNTER, ROSE AND COMPANY.
1873-
H,,rc!,;r::;v;utiLi.r^^^^^^^
I
HUN'TER, ROSK A Co.,
Printers and Binders, Toronto.
le ThoiM;iii(l Kigbt
[flculture.
CONTENTS.
■ ^
First Scene— The Cottage on the Frontier.
Preamble ^^^^
1
CHAPTER I.
The Two Women
CHAPTER II.
Magdalen— In Modern Time.s q
CHAPTER III.
The German Shell...
lo
CHAPTER IV.
The Temptation
CHAPTER V.
The German Surgeon
Second Scene— Mabtethorpe House.
Preamble ....
38
CHAPTER VI.
Lady Janet's Companion og
CHAPTER VII.
The Man is Coming .-.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Man Appears ^^
DO
i ■
I t
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IX. PAGE.
Nxws FROM Mai^nhkim 68
CHAPTER X.
A Council of Thbbb 78
CHAPTER XI.
Thb Dead Aliyk 83
CHAPTER XII.
Exit Julian »2
CHAPTER XIII.
Enter Julian 101
CHAPTER XIV.
Coming Evbnto Cast thbib Shadows before 108
CHAPTER XV.
A Woman's Remorse 114
CHAPTER XVI.
They Meet Again 126
CHAPTER XVII.
The Guardian Angel 13]
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Search in the Grounds .. 140
CHAPTER XIX.
The Evil Genius 151
CHAPTER XX.
The Policeman in Plain Clothes 159
PAOB.
68
78
83
92
101
108
114
125
13]
140
161
159
CONTENTS. vii
CHAPTER XXI. PAa».
The Footstep in the Corridor I73
CHAPTER XXri.
The Man in the Dininu-Room Ig4
CHAPTER XXIII.
Lady Janet at Bay 19g
CHAPTER XXIV.
I Lady Janet's Letter 211
CHAPTER XXV.
1 The Confession 218
CHAPTER XXVI.
Great Heart and Little Heart 226
CHAPTER XXVII.
Magdalen's Apprenticeship 232
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Sentence is Pronounced on Her 246
CHAPTER XXIX
The Last Trlal 268
Epilogue 264
M
; I
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
First Sceue— The Cottage on the Frontier,
Preamble.
The plncp is France.
Tilt' tune is uiitiiinn, in the year eighteen hundred and sev-
enty—the year of the war between b'rance and Gern^any.
The persons are : Captain Arnault, of the P'rench army ;
Surgeon Sui'ville, of tlie French aml)ulance ; Surgeon Wetzel,
of th(! Gcrtnan army ; Mercy Merrick, attached as nurae to the
French ambuhince ; and Grace lio^eberry, a travelling lady on
her way to England.
CHAPTER I.
THE TWO WOMEN.
ijj T was a dark nicrht. The rain was ponrinpr in torrents.
Lr Late in tlie evening a skirmishing party of the French
and a skirmishing party of the Germans had met, by
accident, near the Httle village of Lagrange, close to the Ger-
man 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, p.nd the
newspapers took little or no notice of it.
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
\ '■
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 desj>atches taken from the Ger-
mans. He had suffered the wood fire, scattered over the large
open grate, to burn low ; the red embers only faintly illumi-
nated 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 round
him were the miller's coloured prints, representing a happy mix-
ture of devotional and domestic subjects. A door of commu-
nication 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 bedchamber
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 reason-
ably insure for himself and for his men a quiet and comfortable
night.
Still absorbed in his perusal of the despatches, and now and
then making notes of what be read by the help of writing ma-
terials 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 1 " said the captain sharply.
" A question to ask," replied the surgeon. ** Are we safe for
the night?"
" Why do you want to know 1 " inquired the captain, sus-
piciously.
The surgeon pointed to the kitchen — now the hospital de-
voted 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
I U
THE TWO WOMEN.
8
side, sat alone
^y the milJer of
?ht of a solitary
1 from the Ger-
over the large
faintly illumi-
liim lay some
^e to him was
alls all round
g a happy niix-
or of commu-
had been torn
unded in the
rtably laid at
surgeon and
;)iece of coarse
onis, in place
bedchamber
er protecting
I. Sentinels,
The French
Jould reason-
1 comfortable
nd now and
writing ma-
errupted by
3on Surville,
screen, and
>erior officer
5 we safe for
iptain, sus-
ospital de-
hours," he
if there is
any reasonable hope of their having one night's rest. What
do you think of the chances V
The captain shrugged his shoulders. The surgeon persisted.
" Surely you ought to know f 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 in-
formation 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 1" asked the surgeon.
" To visit the outposts."
" Do you want this room for a little while 1"
" 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
n. /^^e 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 closer
window-phutter.
" Did you ever know a woman who could resist looking out of
the window?" he asked. " Dark as it is, soon* r 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 head-quarters
to the German scouts. How is the weather 1 Still raining 1 "
" Pouring."
I [ i;
t
4 THE NEW MAGDALEN.
" 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 calbd into t\w
kitchen :
" Miss Merrick, have you time to take a little rest ?"
" Plenty of time," answered a soft voice, with an underlying
melanciioly in it, plainly distinguishable though it had only
spoken three words.
'* Come in then," continued the sui^'eon, " and bring the
English lady with you. Here is a quiet room, all to your-
selves."
He held back the canvas, and the two women appeared.
The nurse led the way — tall, lithe, and graceful — attired in
her uniform dress of neat black stutf, with plain linen collar
and cuffs, and with the scarlet cross of the Geneva Convention
embroidered on her left shoulder. Pale and sad, her expres-
sion and her manner both eloquently suggestive of sn)>pressed
suffering and sorrow, there was an innate nobility in the car-
riage of this woman's head, an innate grandeur in the gaze of
her large grey eyes and in the lines of her finely-^jroportioned
face, which made her irresistibly striking and beautiful, seen
under any circumstances and clad in any dress. Her companion,
darker in complexion and smalier in stature, possessed attrac-
tions which were quite marked enongh to account for the sur-
geon'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 grey 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 suH'er-
ing 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 our-
selves as comfortable here as we can. Compose yourself, dear
THE TWO WOMEN.
alhd into th^
madam, and rely on the protection of a Frenchman who is de-
voted to you ! " He gallantly emphasised his last words by
raisin<» the hand of the English lady to his lips. At the mo-
ment when he kissed it the canvas screen was again drawn
aside. A person in the service of the ambulance appeared ; an-
nouncing 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 cor-
dially. " 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 1 Was there some unhappy
celebrity attached to her own name? Miss Roseberry did not
wait to ask herself those 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. W^hat a situation you found me in
when the French soldiers had driven the Germans away ! My
travelling carriage stopped ; the horses seized ; I myself in a
strange country at nightfall, robbed of my money and my lug-
gage, and drenched to the skin by the pouring rain ! I am in-
debted to you for shelter in this place — I am wearing your clothes,
— 1 should have died of the friglrt 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 im-
I- i
!t
6
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
patiently. " 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. " Can-
dles and wood are scarce things here," she answered. " We
must be patient, even if we axe left in the dark. Tell me," she
went on, raising her quiet voice a little, " how came you to risk
crossing the frontier in war time? "
Grace's voice dropped when she answered the question.
Grace's momentary gaiety 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 pro-
tector — 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 posi-
tion on the chest. She had started as the last word passod
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 1"
" I once lived within a few miles of Port Logan 1 "
"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 pnused, and took a leather
letter-case from the pocket of the large grey 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
<ieepening obscurity of the room. " Have you got money in
i^- 1 " she asked.
L.
THE TWO WOMEN.
b we make the
Call for more
"Can-
"We
head.
wered.
Tell me," she
ne you to risk
the question,
ft her.
; to England."
one to protect
my only pro-
it Rome," she
, in Canada."
iged its posi-
word pasfc>?d
n, short as it
rcy Merrick
id. " Your
u," she said.
You can
We went
to try the
has left me
►k a leather
which the
le resumed,
ne treasure
ler things."
it up in the
D money in
" 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 1 have never seen. The lady has con-
sented to receive me as her companion and reader. If I don't
return to England soon some other person may get the place."
"Have vou 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 gover-
ness. 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 unaffect-
edly as she had begun it. " Mine is a sad story, is it not 1 " 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 es-
tablished honourably 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, ap-
proached the nurse. "Is there some romance in your life i"
she asked. " Why have you sacrificed yourself to the terrible
duties which I find you performing here 1 You interest me in-
describably. 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 notr'
The nurse was dumb. Gr .<ie called to mind the hesitation
that she had shown when snt 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 1 "
1
' w.
8 THE NEW MAGDALEN.
Mercy laughed to herself — low and bitterly. "la 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 1 " 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 con-
fidence 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 vnll have it 1" 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 momen-
tary silence. A faint flash of light leapt up from the expiring
candle, and showed Mercy crouching on the chest, v»'ith her
elbows on her knees, and her face hidden in her hands. The
next instant the room was buried in obscurity. As the dark-
ness fell on the two women the nurse spoke.
MAGDALEN — JN MODEllN TIMES.
9
It
I a great
8 sake, let us
ho persisted.
IS be friends."
y's shoulder,
in the action
Oman living.
h "you are
sternly than
iold you my
empt me to
placed con-
I to lay me
r confidence
1 shall have
ken its beat
She drew
i^as sitting,
tance from
3. " Wait
a momen-
expiring
with her
ids. The
the dark-
CHAPTER II.
MAGDALEN— IN MODERN TIMES.
TMii^7"IlEN your mother was alive were you ever out with
V T h^r after night fall in the streets of a great city 1 "
'^ In those extraordinary terms Mercy Merrick
opened the confidential interview which Grace ltos«iberry iiad
forced on her. Grace answered simply, " I don't understand
you."
"I will put it in another way," said the nurse. Its unnatu-
ral 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 tlie 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 Eefuges established to
protect and reclaim them 1 "
The wonder in Grace's mind passed away, and a vague sus-
picion of something painful to come took its place. " These
are extraordinary questions," she said nervously. " What do you
mean 1 "
" Answer me," the nurse insisted. " Have you heard of the
Refuges 1 Have you heard of the Women 1 "
" Yes."
" Move your chair a little larther awayfrom me." She paused.
Her voice, without losing its steadiness, fell to its lowest tones.
** / was once of those v^omen," she said quietly.
Grace sprang to her uet with a faint cry. She stood petri-
fied — incapable of uttering a word.
" /have been in a Re.age," pursued the sweet sad voice of
the other woman. " / have been in a Prison. Do you still
r.--ni
10
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
m
wish to be my friend 1 Do you still insist on sitting close by
me and taking my hand? " She waited for a reply, and no re-
plj 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 comfusedly.
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 to-
wards 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 pro-
nounced 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 — pa-
tiently, 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 com-
fort her from the other woman's lips 1 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 j " 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 ex-
perience 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 un-
derstand the trials md the struggles that I have passed through.
ittmg close by
^v> and no re-
ent on gently,
ien I told you
>te. "I don't
faintest note
stand in the
'self if it was
f no duties to-
the street
Jedle for want
timeasitpro-
nd recovered
ow," she said
—but Society
of trust^pa-
Bsn't matter I
^t I was. For
an can do I
isfc story be
idest people
onie to com-
' ^oseberry
I am very ^
»s patiently
3iace is not ||
she cried, -^
tantly, the
at my ex-
tte story
>od her.
rink from
1 not un-
'■ througli.
MAGDALEN — IN MODERN TIMES.
11
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
Kefuge ; I shall lose every servant in the house ; you must go.'
I went back to the matron — another kind woman. She re-
ceived me like a mother. * We will try again, Mercy ; don't
be oast down.' I tol you I had been in Canada 1 "
Grace began to feel interested in spite of herself. She an-
swered 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 : gen-
tlefolks who had emigrated. More kindness ; and, this time, a
pleasant peaceful life for me. I said to myself, *Is the lost place
regained 1 Have I got back 1 ' My mistress died. New peo-
ple came into our neighbourhood. 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 I ' 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 1 "
" Our nearest neighbours were French Canadians. I learnt
to speak the French language."
" Did you return to London ? "
" Where else could I go, without a character 1 " 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 ap-
peared again. The old story ! I began to be weary of saying
i i
ll i
1
si
> SI
12
THE NEW .MAGDALEN.
to myself, ' T can't get back ! I can't j^ot back ! * Despair got
hold of mo, the despair that hardens the heart. I miglit have
committed suicide ; 1 miglit even have drifted back into my
old life — but for one man."
At tli().se last words, her voice — quiet and even through the
earlier parts of her sad story — began to falter once more. She
stopj)ed ; folk)wing silently the memories and associations
roused in her by what she hud just said. Ha<l she forgotten
the j)resence of another ])erson in the room ? Gr.ace'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 1 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 yoang 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 hap-
pier 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 t "
" Afraid of making ray hard life harder still."
A woman who could have sympathized with her would per-
MAGDALEN — IN MODERN TIMES.
13
haps have guessed what tliose words meant. Grace was simply
eniliarrassed 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 sisjjhed, and said the words. " I was afiaid
I mi'jrlit interest him in my sorro\k'S, 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.
" YomI" she exclaime<l, in a tone of blank astonishment.
The nurse ro.-^e slowly to her feet. Grace's expression of sur-
prise told her ]>laiuly — 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 1 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 I liave nothing
more to tell you. You insisted on hearing my story — you
have heard it."
" T have not heard how yon 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 ho6[)itals. 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 com-
fort 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 hu-
manity 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.
\":
14
THE NKW MAGDALEN.
;t
\t\
;
** If there is anything I can do for you " , she began.
The sentence, halting tiiere, was never finished. Miss Rose
berry was just merciful enough towards 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 to-
wards the canvas screen to return to her duties. " Miss Hose-
berry might have taken my hand !" she thought to herself, bit-
terly. No ! Miss liosebeiry stood there at a distance, at a
loss what to say next. *' What can you do for mel" Mercy
asked, stung by tlie cold courtesy of her companion into a mo-
mentary outbreak of contempt. "Can you change my identity ]
Can you give me the name and the place of an innocent wo-
man 1 If I only had your chance ! If I only had your reputa-
tion 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 '^, 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.
ItU.
TUK GERMAN SU£LL.
td
CHAPTER III.
T
THE GERMAN SHELL.
THIRD rifle shot rang through the night air, close to
the cottage. Grace atarted and approached the win-
dow in alarm.
" What does that firing mean 1 " 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 can-
vas screen, and looked into the room as Miss Roseberry spoke.
" The Germans are advancing on us," he said. " Their van-
guard 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 out-numbered as usual — ten to one."
The shrill roll of the French drums was heard outside.
" There is the retreat sounded 1 " 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
f •
\
t1
f:
! 11
f '1!
vk
I f^^
' f «
IG
THE NEW MAGDALEN,
he had asserted himself; he looked round invitingly at Mercj.
She, too, was an attractive woman. The Frenchman had an-
other shoulder at her service. Unhappily, the room was dark
— the look was lost on Mercy. She was thinking of the help-
less 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. " Tlie others must be left here. Fear nothing for your-
self, dear lady. There will be a place for you in the baggage-
waggon.
** 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 sivsceptible 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 T return for you,"
he whispered. *' Fear nothing, my charming friend. Say to
yourself, " Surville is the soul of honour ! Suiville is devoted
to me !" He struck his breast ; he again foi'got the obscurity
in the room, and 'cast one look of unutterable homage at his
charming friend. " A hieniot /" 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 out-
side, 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 GERMAN SHELL.
17
^ly at Mercy,
man had an-
)om was dark
; of the help-
• recalled the
" she asked,
shoulder that
r with US," he
liiug for your-
the baggage-
young lady's
;e is with the
you risk," she
swered; "the
)le surgeon to
iiiice, without
lir, and placed
;ile her to the
Ituvn for you,"
liend. Say to
He is devoted
the obscurity
lomage at his
ised his hand
[report of the
)y the roar of
le garden out-
)r. Mercy —
the window,
" The moon has risen," she said. " The Germans are shell
ing the village."
Grace rose, and ran to her for protection.
" Take me away !" she cried. " We shall be killed if we
vstay 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. " W^/ should I be afraid of losing my
life f 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 1"
fcbc cru'd, " Where can I hide myself?"
'' How can I tell where the next shell will fall ]" Mercy
answered quietly.
The atoady composure of the one woman seemed to madden
the other. Releasing the nurse, Grace looked wildly round for
Id way of escape from the cottage. Making first for the kitchen,
Uhe was driven back by the clamour and confusion attending the
{removal of those among the wounded who were strong enough
to be placed in the waggon. A second look round showed her
[the door leading into the yard. She rushed to it, with a cry
lof relief. She had just laid her hand on the lock when the
[third report ol cannon burst over the place.
Starting baoK a step, Grace lifted her hands mechanically to
ler eai's. At the same moment, the third shell burst thi-ough
the roof of the cottage, and exploded in the room, just inside
jllie door. Mercy sprang forward, unhurt, from her place at
the window. The burning fragments of the shell were already
iring the dry wooden floor, and in the midst of them, dimly
Seen through the smoke, lay the insensible body of her com-
)anion in the rooxu. Even at that dreadful moment the nurse's
)resence of mind did not fail her. Hurrying back to the place
that she had jubl left, near which she had already noticed the
;(
18
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
miller's empty sacks lying in a heap, she seized two of them,
and, throwing thum on the smouldering floor, trampled out tlif
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 beatiiii.'
of the pulse. Surgeon Surville (alarmed for the ladies) hurritd
in to inquire if any harm had been done.
Mercy called 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 expressod
itself briefly in an oath, with a prodigious emphasis laid on oiu'
of the letters in it — the letter II. " Take oft her cloak," lit
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 sain
impatiently; "they will give you one in the kitchen." Ih
tried to feel the pulse : his hand trembled, the noise anJ
confusion in the kitchen bewildered him. "Just heaven !" lu
exclaimed. " My emotions overpower me !" Mercy ap])roacliti:
him with the candle. The light disclosed the frightful injniv
which a fragment of the shell had inflicted on the English
woman's head. Surgeon Surville's manner altered on tlu
instant. The expression of anxiety left his face ; it's prolcsv
ional composure covered it suddenly like a mask. What wa;
the object of his admiration now 'i An inert burden in Li
arms — nothing more.
The change in his face was not lost on Mercy. Her lare
grey eyes watched him attentively. " Is the lady seriou^l;
wounded ?" she asked.
" Don't trouble yourself to hold the light any longer," wa;
the cool reply. " It's all over — I can do nothing for her."
"Deadr
Surgeon Surville nodded, and shook his fist in the directior
of the outposts. "Accursed Germans!" he cried, and hiokn
down at the dead face on his arm, and shrugged his shouhhi
resignedly. " The fortune of war!" he said, as he lifted tlh
THE GERMAN SHELL.
19
I candle," he saiii
le frightful iiijui}
body and placed it on the oed in one corner of the room.
" Next time, nur' o, it may be you or me. Who knows 1 Bah !
the problem of h.iman destiny disgusts me." He turned from
the bed, and illustrated his disgust by spitting on the fragments
of the exploded shell. *'\Ve 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-
waggon, starting on its journey, was heard outside, and the
shrill roll of the drums was renewed in the distance. The re-
treat 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 ann.
"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 galhuitry — 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 waggon-
whe Is died away in the distance. No renewal of firing from
the position occupied by the enemy disturbed the silence that
followed. The Gernuins knew that the French were in retreat.
A few minutes more and they would take j)ossesfeion of the
abandoned village : the tumult of their approach wouM 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 coniusion of the first skir-
mish at the close of twilight. Sei;)araLed, 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
4
'•rr
' A
^
20
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
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 afterwards. The forehead was unusually low and
broad ; the eyes unusually far apart ; the mouth and chin
remarkably small. With tender hands Mercy smoothed the
dishevelled 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. " 1
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 pcissed 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 winr^ow, 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 1
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
It
T?'E GERMAN SHELL.
21
no promise of
nt had roused
le caudle, and
been literally
silence of the
I death) not to
isually low and
outh and chin
^ smoothed the
ss. "Not five
nglng to change
ith a sigh. " 1
ed slowly to tho
3h she had lent
s she pcissed it,
1 it, and laid it
ick on the table,
t sounds of the
id through some
laught her ears.
elf at the table,
e that Christian
iher service that
e the Germans
Ised between her
rry had spoken
lad mentioned a
ras personally a
.ne one capable
Iher death ought
It •? There was
strophe now left
she had placed
lase which Grace
I 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 further.
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
^ould hardly trouble themselves to write to England. Which
jwere the fittest eyes to inspect the papers of the deceased
lady — the eyes of men and foreigners, or the eyes of her own
jountrywoman ? Mercy's hesitation left "ler. She emptied the
Don tents of the case on the table.
That trifling action decided the whole future course of her life.
n
■^st
22
IRE HKVi MAUDAL£N.
CHAPTER IV.
I
THE TEMPTATION.
OME letters, tied together with a ribbon, attracted Mercy'«
attention first. The ink in which tlie addresses were
written had faded with age. The letters, directed alter-
nately to Colonel Rosebevry and to the Honourable Mrs. Rose-
berry, 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 f^q lin,
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 enve-
lope — which was unclosed — bore this address : " Lady Janet
Roy, Mablethorpe House, Kensington, London." Mercy took
the enclosure from the open envelope. The lirst line she read
informed her that she had found the Colonel's letter of intro-
duction, presenting his daughter to her protectress on her
arrival in England.
Mercy read the letter through. It was described oy the
writer as the last effort 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 char
acter of a poor man. Fervent expressions of gratitude followed,
addressed to Lady Janet. " I owe it to you," the letter con
eluded, "that I am dying with my mind at ease about the
future of my darling girl. To your generous protection I com
mit the one treasure I have left to me on earth. Through
THE TEMPTATION.
28
ttracted Mercy's
addresses were
, directed alter-
rable Mrs. Rose-
le Imsband and
ties had obliged
letters up p^.'iin,
order under her
ther, and headed
llome." A brief
[ written by Miss
;o a record of the
spondence in the
itter. The enve-
s : " Lady Janet
n." Mercy took
irst line she read
3 letter of intro-
otectress on her
lescribed oy the
Colonel Roseberry
md regretfully of
to the pecuniary
inada in the char
ratitude followed,
," the letter con
,t ease about the
protection I com
earth. Through
yonr long lifetime you have n{d)ly 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 tiie last hours of an old soldier by opening your
[heait and yonr 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 fatlier'b mind had been easy about the daugh-
ter (»n his death-bed— and tl;ere the daugliter lay, beyond the
reach of Lady Janet's kindness, beyond the need of Lady
Janet's help !
Tlie French captain's writing materials were left on the table.
Mercy turned tiie 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 expression she should use, when the
sound of complaining voices from the next room caught her
ear. Tiie wounded men left behind were moaning for help —
tlie deserted soldiers were losing their foititude at last.
She entered the kitchen. A cry of delight welcomed her ap-
]iearance — the mere sight of her composed the men. From
one straw bed to another sii;^ passed with comforting words
that gave them hope, with skillevi and tender hands that soothed
their pain. Th
her tlieir
among them, and bent over their hard pillows her gentle com-
passionate 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 succouring the afflicted, what
Christian judgment would have hesitated to declare that there
v/as 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 1 Where was her home 1
She returned to the letter. Listead, however, of seating
herself to write, she stood by the table, absently looki-g down
at the morsel of paper.
J kissed the her.i of her black dress, they called
guardian angel, as the beautiful creature moved
T"
24
THE NEW MAODALEN.
r
A strange fancy had sprung to lifo in her mind on re-enter-
ing 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 1 She had met with Miss Roseberry
under critical circumstances, and she had done for her all that
one woman could to help another. There was in this circum-
stance 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 1 She would write back and say, " Send me refer-
ences 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 pa}^ \ That fancy
of hers was not to be dismissed at will. Her mind was per-
versely 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 ! wh",t k
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 impa-
tiently CO 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 re-
flection 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 1 The experience
of the past delineated with pitiless fidelity the dreary scene.
Go where she might, do what she might, it would end always
in the same way. Curiosity and admiration excited by her
beauty ; enquiries made about her ; the story of the past dis-
covered J 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
.m
THE TEMPTATK^N.
26
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 bed-side ; 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 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
tlie chance wasted ! There were the enviable prospects thrown
away I 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 hei*, " Oh ! " she said longingly, " If
you could be Mercy Merrick, and I could be Grace Roseberry
vow ? "
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 now develop-
ment in her mind. In one breathless moment the conviction
struck her like an electric shock. She might he Grace Rose-
berry 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
I 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 question relating
I to the visit to Rome and to Colonel Roseberry's death. She
[had no accomplished lady to personate : Grace had spoken
herself — her father's letter spoke also in the plainest terms —
of her neglected education. Everything, literally everything,
XI
'w
26
THE NEW MAUDALEN.
li
1 II
' :;
I
was in the lost woman's favour. The jx-ople with whom rhe
had been connected in the anibuhmce had gone, to return no
more. Her own chjthes were on Miss lloseberry at that mo-
ment — marked with her own name. Miss Uosel)erry's ch)thes,
mari<ed with her name, were drying, a^ Mercy's disposal, in tlie
next room. The way of escape from clie unenchirable humiU-
ation of her present life lay open before her at last. What a
prospect it was ! A new identity, which she might own any-
where ! a new name, which was beyond reproach ! a new past
life, into which all the world might search, and be welcome !
Her colour rose, her eyes sparkled ; she had never \wv.n so irre-
sisliblv 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 <loing
to a woman who was dead 1 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 spheie honour-
ably, 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 o» 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 favour ; 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 ?
THE TKMFTATIUN.
27
She thoufiht once — and hesitated. Before she could think
twice, the distant tramp of niarchin<^ footsteps and the distant
clatter of horses* iioofs were watted to h«'r on tlu^ night air.
The Germans were entering the village ! In a few minutes
more they would appear in the cottage ; they would summon
her to ^'ive an account of htTself. There was no tinn^ tor
waiting until she was composed again. \\'hich should it he— •
the n(!W 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 resoluce
nature, forced to a choice on the instant, chose the daring
alternative. She decided on taking (trace's phice.
The tramping footstej)s of the Germans came nearer and
nearer. The voices of the otlicers 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 ai)peared. 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 asso-
ciated her with a public position ; it might lead to inquiries at
a later time, and those inquiries might betray her.
She looked round. The grey 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 *' .ust open, and voices speaking in a strange tongue,
and anus ground in the room behind her. Should she wait
to be discovered 1 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 con-
fronted her in the open doorway.
lUK NEW MAUDALEN.
i
[i'i
I
■^t:
CHAPTER V.
THE GERMAN SURGEON.
[HE youngest of the three strangers — ^judging by features
complexion, and manner — was apparently an English-
man. He wore a military cap and military boots ; but
was otherwise dressed as a civilian. Next to him stood an offi-
cer in Prussian uniform, ana 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 s».yord 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 br^ike 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, lor
setting a guard here 1 "
" 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 di-
rection of the bedside. The young Englishman, whose eyes
had remained riveted in admiration on Mercy, drew the canvas
screen .. »^er the doorway, and respectfully addressed her in the
French language.
" May I ask if I am speaking to a French lady V 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 voice. Mercy took an
THE GERMAN BURGEON
29
instantaneous dislike to this hobhlinc: ugly old man, staring at
her rudely through his great tortoise shell spectacles.
" You can be of no use, Sir," she said shortly. ** The lady
was kiUed when your troops shelled this cottage."
The Englishman started and looked compassionately towards
the bed. The German refreshed himself with a piuch of snuff
and put another question.
" Has the body been examined by a medical man 1 " 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.
" VVho has examined the body," he inquired next.
Mercy answered, '* The doctor attached to the French ambu-
lance."
The German grunted a contemptous disapproval of all French-
men and all French mstitutions. The Englishman seized the
first opportunity of addressing himself to Mercy once more.
" Is the lady a country-woman 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 sergeon.
Mercy's resolution was hardly equal yet to giving her own
name openly as the name of Grace. She took refuge in a 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 conceal-
ing the interest that he felt in the beautiful woman who stood
betore 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 disturbance in the kitchen relieved
Mercy from any immediate necessity tor answering him. She
yw
30
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
)l
< ll
j'l
,^f
1:1
heard the voices of the wounded men mised in feeble remons-
trance, and tlie 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 be-
trayed herself or not as nurse in the French ambulance, she in-
stantl}'' 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 up-
braiding 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 yourr. They are our
prisoners, and they are being moved to oui- ambulance. I am
Ignatius Wetzel, chief of the medical staff — and I tell you this
— Hold your tongue." He turned to the sentinel, and added
in Gernan, "Draw the curtain again ; and if the woman per-
sists, put her back into this room with your own hand."
Mercy attempted to remonstrate. The Englishman respect-
full/ took her arm, and diew 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 ad-
mirably administered. I can 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, eyeing Mercy sternly through
his spectacles. " A.re you satisfied 1 And will you hold your
tongue 'I
She yielded : it was plainly useless to persist. But for the
surgeon's resistance, her devotion to tlie wounded men might \
have stopped her on the downward way that she was goi
If she could only have been absorbed again, mind and bo»iy,
THE GEitMAK SUEGEON.
81
in hor good work as a nurse, the temptation might even yet have
found her strong enough to resist it. Tlie fatal severity of the
German disciphne )iad snapped asunder the last tie that
bound her to her better self. Her face hardened as she turned
her back proudly on Surgeon Wetzel, and took a chair.
The Englishman followed her, and reverted le 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 Frenciimen, 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 otRcer in the
English army — my name is Horace Holmcoft. I shall be de-
lighted to be of use to you, and I can be of use, if you will let
nie. May I ask if you are travelling ? "
Mercy gathered tlie cloak which concealed her nurse's dress
more closely round her, and committed herself silently to the
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: ha was unmistakably a gentleman. Did he
really meaa what he had just said?
" You can pass me through the German lines 1 " slie re-
peated. " 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
— tlie influence of the Press. I am serving here as war corres-
pondent of one of our great English newspapers. If I ask
him, the commanding officer will grant you a pass. He is close
to tliis cottage. What do you say ? "
She summoned her resolution — not without difficulty, even
now — and took him at his word.
" 1 grateuilly accept your offer, Sir."
He advanced a step towards the kitchen, and 8to[)ped.
82
IHE NEW MAGDALEN.
W
*' It may be well to make the application as privat^^ly 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 appar-
ently absorbed in examining the wound which had been inflicted
by the shell. Mercy's instinctive aversion to the old man in-
creased tenfold now that she was left alone with him. She
withdrew uneasily to the window, and looked out at the moon-
light.
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. Avaich 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 t« 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 1 Of whom was she now thinking,
in that strange place, and at that crisis in her lift 1 Of the
man whose words had found their way to her he;in, whose in-
fluence had strengthened and comforted her, in '' < rhapel of
the Refuge. One of the finest passages in his sernnj, ; LA been
especially devoted by Julian Gray to warning the congregation
whom he addressed against the degrading influences ot false-
hood and deceit. The terms in which he had appealed to the
miserable women round him — terms of sympathy and en-
couragement 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 purposed and planned, " what have I done 1 what have
I done r^
[H
I
THK (JEKMAN SLRGKON.
33
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 hau'lkerchief — the handkerchief which she had lent to
Grace — held up in his hand.
" I have found this in her pocket," he said. " Here is he;
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 whieli 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 M'-ere 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. Hor-
ace 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 iier. She supported herself
against the foot of the bed. Her whole future existence de-
pended on her answer. She was incapable of uttering a
word.
Ignatius Wetzel stood her friend for once. His croaking
voice tilled the empty gap in the silence exactly at the right
time. He doggedly held the handkerchief under hei eyes.
He obstinately repeated, " Mercy Merrick is an English name
is it not so?""
o
"W
34
THJ: new MAGDALEN.
I 1:^
I'i
rii
i
i
i
Ki
^w
i'i'll
Horace looked up from the table. "Mercy Merrick 1"K*
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 allu-
sion to Mercy with a tone which was almost a tone of suspic-
ion, and a look which was almost a look of contempt. Her
quick temper resented the discourtesy of which she had been
the object. The irritation of the moment — so often do the
most trifling motives determine the most serious human ac-
tions — decided her on the course 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 pressi* g the question," he said. "You
know what the German discipline is by this time. What is
your name V
She answered him recklessly, defiantly, without fairly real-
izing 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 every thing she possessed in the world to recall
them.
" Miss 1 " asked Horace smiling.
She could only answer him by bowing her head.
He wrote, " Miss Grace Roseberry" — reflected for a moment
— and then he added, interrogatively, "Returning to her friends
in England '? " Her friends in England ? Mercy's heart swell-
ed : she silently replied by another sign. He wrote the words
after the name, and shook the sand-box 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 towards the front-door of the building. " In
a shed outside the cottage," she answered. " It is not much ;
I can do every thing myself if the sentinel will let me pass
through the kitchen."
Horace pointed to the paper in her hand. " You can go where
I
-7
4E
I
THE GERMAN SURGEON.
36
ckr'K4
he said.
k for the
cing allu-
»f suspic-
pt. Her
had been
n do the
uman ac-
ue. She
X left him
woman's
form.
I. '< You
What is
fairly real-
she would
d to recall
a moment
«er friends
leart swell-
thc words
le wet ink.
lig the pass
Ind arrange
luggage f'
ing. " In
Inot much ;
let me pass
In go where
you like now," he said. Shall I wait for you here or outside 1"
Mercy glanced distrusfully 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 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 Rose-
berry'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 «.";ttage wall. At the front-door she encountered
another sentinel, ai i showed her pass for the second time.
She spoke to this man, asking him if he understood French.
K\: answered that he understood a little. Mercy gave him a
piece of money, and said, '* lam going to pack my luggage in
the shed. Be kind enough to see that no one disturbs me."
The sentinel saluted, in token that he understood. Mercy dis-
appeared in the da^k interior of the shi 1.
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.
"Any thing remarkable," he asked, "in the manner of that
poor creature's death 1 "
" Nothing to put in a newspaper," retorted the cynic, pur-
suing his investigations as attentively as evox
" Interesting to a doctor — eh] " said Horace.
" Yes. Interesting to a doctor," was the gruff reply.
Horace good-humouredly 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 l)y himself, Ignatius Wetzel, afte^' a first cautious look
all around him, opened the upper part of Grace's dress, and
laid his left hand on her heart. Taking a little steel instru-
ment from his waistcoat pocket with the other hand, he applied
it carefullv 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 gaiety the senseless creo-
1j
36
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
.!
'A
^' \.
vtK
ture under his hands. " The Frenchman says you are dead,
my dear — does he 1 The Frenchman is a quack ! The French-
man 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 cheer-
fully, and shook himself like a dog. '' Now I am quite h.'ippy,"
croaked the terrible old man, with his eyes leering sidelong at
the bed. " My dear dead P]nglish woman, I would not have
missed this meeting with you for all the money I have in the
world. Ha ! you infernal French Quock you call it death, do
you.1 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 two 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 opperated 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 nou satisfied with the result of that operation at Sol-
ferino," he said ; " I have wanted to try again ever since. It's
true that I saved the man's life, but I failed ^,o give him back
liis reason along with
it. It miii'ht 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 Geiman which permitted Mercy to take the first step on her
journey to England :
" Pass the English lady ! "
**i.-.
THE GERMAN SURGEON,
are dead,
he French-
lie kitchen,
a dresser's
md waited
d Ignatius
mds cheer-
Lte h.'ippy,"
sidelong at
, not have
lave in the
b death, do
the brain."
bright and
s boys," he
3ssed little
'* Do you
Austrian
37
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 hi« 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
v-l , i' n^ ^^""H' *^^ ^^^•^^ «^ *^« 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 ! "
THE END OF THE FIRST SCENE.
evidently
mdle."
ion at Sol-
ince. It's
! him back
ing wrong
wrong in
a.d. Now
n the bed.
; Solferino
good boy ;
ig to try if
operation.
le voice of
the word
tep on her
•ii
38
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
J
Second Scene — MaUetlwrpe 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.
Git
TT is a glorious winter's day. The sky is clear, the frost is
If hard, the ice bears for skating.
The dining room of the ancient mansion, called Mable-
thorpe 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 varied and briglitened 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 mono
tony of the pannelled 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 tlie house.
A corresponding door on the left hand gives access to the bil-
liard-room, to the smoking-room next to it, and to a smaller
hall commanding one of the secondary entrances to the build-
ing. On the left side also is the ample fire-place, surmounted
by its marble mantel-piece, carved in the profusely and con-
fusedly ornate style of eighty years ^ince. To the educated
eye the dining-room, with its modern furniture and conserva-
Mmffi.
LADY JANET'S COMPANION.
39
tory, its ancient walls and doors, and its lofty mantel-piece
(neither very old nor very new) presents a startling];, almost a
rovolutionary, mixture of the decorative workmanship of widely-
ditVering scliools. To the ignorant eye the one result produced
is ail 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 al-
ready appeared in these pages under the name of Horace Holm-
croft — 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 ]
Wiio has not admired her commanding figure, her beautifully-
dressed white hair, her wonderful black eyes which still pre-
serve their youthful brightness, after first opening on the world
seventy years since l Who has not felt the charm of her frank
easily-flowing talk, her inexhaustible spirits, her good-humoured
gracious sociability of manner 1 Where is the modern hermit
who IS not familiarly acquainted, by hearsay at least, with the
fantastic novelty and humour of her opinions ; with her gene-
rous 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? Every-
body has heard of the popular old lady — the childless widow
of a long-forgotten lord. E ^erybody knows Lady Janet Roy.
But who knows the handsome young woman sitting on her
rigiit hand, playing with her luncheon instead of eating it 1
Nobody really knows her.
She is prettily diessed in grey poplin, trimmed with grey
velvet, and set off by a ribbon of deep red tied in a bow at the
throat, oiie is nearly as tall as Lady Janet herself, and posses-
ses a grace and beauty of figure not always seen in women who
rise above the medium height. Judging by a certain innate
jonsorva-
m
it
it
K)
THK NKW MA(iDALKN.
;iiiii(lonr in tho carriai^'o of her hoiid aiui in the exprossior ••
lici' Ijlijjjc nu'landioly }j;i'oy eyes, believers in blooil ami breeding
will be apt to gness that this is another noble lady. Alas ! she
ifi notliiiifj; bnt Lady Janet's eonipanion and r(>ad«'r. Her head,
crowned with its lovely light brown hair, bends with a gentle
respect when Lady Janet speaks. Iler fine firm hand is easily
and i. Kcssantly watchful to su[)ply Fiady Janet's slightest wants.
The ok! la<ly — afletionat<'ly familiar with her — speaks to her as
she migl:*^ speak to an adopted child. But the gratitude of the
the beautiful companion lias always the same restraint in its
acknowledgment of kindness ; the smile of the beautiful com-
panion has always the same underlying sadness when it resjjonds
to Lady Janet's hearty Laugh. Is there sonuithing wrong here,
und(;r tlie surface ? Is she suffering in mind, or suffering in
body ] What is tho matter with her 1
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 tlare, and to be-
come 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 marvellously easy of accomplishment the act of persona-
tion had been ! At first sight Lady Janet had yielded to the
fascination of the noble and interesting face. No need to pre-
sent the stolen letter ; no need to repeat the ready made story.
The old lady had put the letter aside unopened, and had stop-
ped the story at the first words. '* Your face is your introduc-
tion, my dear ; your father can say nothing for you which you
1
LADY JANETS COMPANION.
41
have not aln'jvdy said for yonrsolf." There was the welcome
which t'stiihlisht'd licr firmly in her false identity at the outset.
'j'liankH to her own exjuuicince, and thanks to tlie "Journal" of
events at llome, qiicHlions about her life in Canada, and aues-
tioius about Colonel lvo.seb(!rry's ilhuiss, found her ready witn an-
swers which (even if suspicion had existed) would have disarmed
suspicion on the spot. AVhile 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, .ud hai>pened to rouse in her the
faintest suspicion that Gra<-t! Koseberry was other than a dead,
and buried, woman. So far as she now knew — so far as any-
one now knew — she might iive out her life in perfect security
(if her conscience wouhl let her), respecte<l, 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 V* she asked.
** Certainly, my dear."
She bent her head to her protectress — looked for a moment,
with a steady compassionate attention, at Horace Holincroft —
and, slowly crossing the j'oora, 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 disaj)proval remained. The face of the young man con-
tracted 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 yr.u."
*' Some more chicken, then 1 "
" No more chicken."
" Will nothing tempt you 1 "
" I will take some more wine, if you will allcv me."
He tilled his glass (for the fifth or sixth tinu') with claret,
nid emptied it sullenly at a draught. Lady Janet's bright eyes
42
THE NKW MAGDALEN.
II
watched him with sardonic attention ; Lady Janet's ready
tongue si)oke out as freely as usual what was passing in her
mind at tlio 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 till your glass and empty your cigar-case. Those
are bad signs in a young man. When you first came hero, 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 newsi)aper. I sui)]>ose tastes dif-
fer. Are you ill 1 Does your wound still plague you 1 "
"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 em-
braced every human offence, except a breach of good manners.
She snatched up the nearest weapon of correction at hand — a
table spoon — and rapped her young friei ^ smartly with it on
the arm that was nearest to her.
" My table is not the club table," saia ...^ old lady. " Hold
up your head. Don't look at your fork — look at me. I al-
low nobody to be out of spirits in My house. I consider it to
be a reflection on Me. If cur quiet life here doesn't suit you,
say so plainly, and find something else to do. There is employ-
ment to be had, I suppose — if you choose to apply for it 1 You
needn't smile. I don't want to see your teeth — I want an an-
swer."
Horace admitted, with all needful gravity, that there was
employment to be had. The war between France and Ger-
many, 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 I won't allow
the newspapers to enter this house. I lay the whole blame of
the blood shed betwee:? Trance 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 1 "
;;ii!i
LADY JANET'S COMPANION.
43
" Entirely rpaponsiblo," ftiiswered Lady Jnnet. " Wljy, you
don't undei-stand the age you live in ! Does anybody do any-
tliinj^ nowadays (tiijliting included), without wisliing to see it in
the newspapers ? / subscribe to a charity ; thou art presented
with a testimonial ; lie pi'eaches a sermon ; ire suffer a gric^vancr ;
ymi make a discovery ; tliey go to church and get nuirried. And
I, thou, he ; we, you, they, all want one and tlu! sanu! thing —
we want to see it in the papers. Are kings, soldiers, and dip-
lomatists exceptions to the general rule of humanity ? Not
they ! 1 tell you seriously, if the newspapers of Euroj)e had one
and all de ided not to take the smallest notice in ]»iint 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
Bince. Let the pen cease to advertise the sword, and I, for one,
can see the result. No report — no fighting."
** Your views have the nierit of perfect novelty, ma'am," said
Horace. " Would you object to see them in the newspapers V*
Lady Janet worsted lier young friend with his own weapons.
"Don't I live in tlu; latter part of the nineteenth century?"
she asked. " In the newspapers, did you say 1 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 tii-ed of my pleasant life at Ma-
blethorpe House. I am not in the least tired. Lady Janet."
He looked towards 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 1 "
" 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 Mercv was not vile enough to marrv him
under her false character and 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 tim.e
44
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
1
: \
ft.
; i
i
of his convalescence from morning to night in Mercy's so-
ciety — the impression originally produced on him in the 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 ques-
tion 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 Hoi'ace Holin-
croft's suit came to an end. Try as he might, he fiiiled to per-
suade 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 sistei-s were ready to receive her with all
the honours due to a new member of the family. No i)ecun-
iary considerations made it necessary, in this case, to wait for a
favourable time. Horace was an only son ; and he had suc-
ceeded 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 settle-
ments could be drawn. And yet, to all ap])earance, 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 1 " asked Lady Janet.
Her manner changed as she put the question. She looked and
spc>ke like a person who was perplexed and annoyed.
*' I hardly like to own it, Horace answered, " but I cm
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 1 " she asked.
" I have once or twice caught her in tears. Every now and
then — sometimes when she is talking quite gaily — she suddenly
changes colour, 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 1 "
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 mean-
ing is plain enough. Grace has been out of health for somo
I
LADY JANF.T'S COMPANIOS.
46
jrcy's so-
le French
)nth was
d that he
ly a ques- .,
liis point.
tly on the
ce Holin-
ed to per-
gp. There
ons of her
marriage,
r with all
^o pecun-
wait for a
had suc-
iupport it.
o prevent
the settle-
lere was a
than the
,dy Janet.
)oked and
but I em
ige, which
now and
suddenly
Just now,
ked at me
ne. What
anxiety,
ih she bad
the mean-
for Bom9
time past. The doctor rocoiumends change of air. I shall take
hei away with me."
• it vvould be more to the purpose," Horace rejoined, " if /
took hijr away with me. Slio might consent, if you would only
use your influence. Is it asking too much to ask y)U to jku'-
sua(le he.- i My mother and my sisters have written to her,
and have ])roduced no eff<!ct. Do me the greatest of all kind-
nesses-speak to her to-day ! " H(; paused ; and, possessing him-
self of Laay Janet's hand, jjressed it entreatingly. " You liavo
always been so good to me," he said softly, and pressed it again.
The old lauy looked at him. It was impossible to dispute
ihat there >*<^re attractions in Itorace Holmcroft's face which
made it well worth looking at. Many a woman might have en-
vied him his clear complexion, his bright blue eyes, and the
warm amber tiut in his light Saxon hair. Men — egpecially
men skilled in unserving physiognomy — might have noticed in
the shape of his forehead, and in the line of his upper lip, the
signs inilicative ot a moial nature deficient in largeness and
Veadth — of a ihlna easily accessible to sti'ong prejudices, and
ohstinate in mainiaining those prejudices in the face of convic-
tion itself. To tho observation of women, these remote defects
were too far below tue sui-face to be visible. He charmed the
sex in general by his rare personal advantages, and by the grace-
ful deference of his iuanner. To Lady Janet he was endeared,
not by his own meriiw only, but by old associations that were
connected with him. iiis father had been one of her many ad-
mirers in her young days. Circumstances had parted tluim.
Her marriage to another man had been a childless marriage.
In past times, rt^hen the boy Hoi-ace had come to her from
scliool, she had cherished a secret fancy (too absurd to be com-
municated to any living creature) that he ought to have been
har son, and might have oeen her son, if she had married his
father ! She smileii charmingly, old as she was — she yielded as
his mother might have yieiaed — when the young man took her
hand, and entreated lier to interest herself in his marriage.
"Must I i-eally speak to Grace f she asked, with a gentleness
of tone and manner far froui characteristic, on ordinary occa-
sions, of the lady of Mablethorpe House. Horace saw that he
had gained his point. He spiang to his feet ; his eyes turned
eagerly in the dii'ection of the conservatory ; hip handsome
I
'^1
46
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
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 to-
wards the door. " Awav with vou, and cultivate the favourite
7ice of the nineteenth century." Horace attempted to express
his gratitude. 'Go and smoke!" was all she said, pushing
him out. " Go ai. 1 smoke ! "
Left by herself, Lady Janet took a turn in the room, and con-
sidered 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 with-
out giving offence. " I don't understand the 3'oung women of
the present generation," thought Lady Janet. " In my timo,
when we were fond of a man, we were read}' 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, a . ..his inevitable
conclusion, she decided to try what her influence could accom-
plish, and to trust to the inspiration of the moment for exerting
it in the right way. " Grace!" slui called out, approaching the
conser, atory door.
The tall lithe figure in its grey dress glided into view, and
stood relieved against the green background of the winter-
garden.
" Did your ladyship call me 1 "
" Yes ; I want to speak to you. Come and sit down by mel"
With those words. Lady Janet led the way to a sofa, and
placed her companioD- by her side.
THE MAN IS COMING.
47
full of
ght of
ush to-
vourite
express
)ushing
md con-
is really
Vhether
)ack, or
low her
distinct
1 of the
Bct with-
omen of
[uy timo,
him at a
ey ought
levitable
accom-
exerting
king the
iew, and
winter-
by mef
sofa, and
CHAPTER VII.
THE MAN IS COMING.
'OU 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 [)atted her kindly on the shoulder. " We must
try what a change will do for you. Which shall it be? the
Continent, or the seaside f
" Your Ladyship is too kind to me."
" It is impossible to be too kind to you."
Mercy started. The colour flowed charmingly over her pale
face. " Oh! " she exclaimed impulsively. " Say that again ! "
" Say it again 1 " repeated Lady Janet, with a look of sur-
prise.
" Yes ! Don't think me presuming ; only think me vain.
I can't hear you say too often that you have learnt to like me.
Is it really a pleasure to you to have me in the house 1 Have
I always behaved well since I have been with you 1 "
(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 extra-
ordinary earnestness of the appeal that had been made to her.
" Have you behaved well 1 " \e 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
\w
48
THE NEW MAGDALI:N.
the matter with you 1 " she asked, in her abrupt, downright
iiiauiier.
" 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 cau-
tion 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 Jauet
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 interupt 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 fahly reduced her to silence. After all that had
passed, there sat her young compiinion, innocent of the faintest
suspicion of the subject that was to be discussed between them !
THE MAN IS COMING.
49
nright
L"
he face
J I said
in the
) say a
I view,
ful cau-
' that it
change
lat shall
adopted
traces of
e asked,
Mercy's
Jauet
lu]" she
ou have
h, Mercy
(net," she
There
IYou had
But that
that had
faintest
len 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 Llie difficulties ot the position.
The silence was fast threatening to bring the interview to a
sudden and untimely end — when the door from t!ie 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 1 " she asked,
sharply. " I never I'ang 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 recognised the hand-writing on the address with
a look of surprise. •' Excuse me, my dear," she said, pausing,
with her oldl'ashioned courtesy, before she opened the euA'elope.
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 al-
ready !" 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 preacheu .a the chapel of the
Refuge : —
"Dear Aunt,
" I am back again in London, before my time. My iriend
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 atfectionate
nephew,
"Julian Gray.
50
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
Vt
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
favourite sister whom she had lost. lie 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 clergjonan had achieved as a writer and a preacher.
Thanks to these mitigating circumstances, and to Julian's inex-
haustible good humour, the aunt and the nephew generally met
on friendly terms. Apart from what she called "his drtestable
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 1 Was his
choice already made 1 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 omniously 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 laayship never
told me you had "- 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 favourite 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
THE MAN TS COMING.
51
son of a
e held no
lilt — who
strongest
mother,
it was by
vhich the
preacher,
an's inex-
' rally mc^
K'testable
Julian to
ti(med in
Was his
to be a
'ight face
question,
laugei'ous
she rose
I have a
ty of the
ip never
ip of my
But we
he truth,
ersation.
iples, my
pinion of
[ return ;
jain, and
rV ? No.
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 L.'.rely 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 hei- 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 — hones^'tly
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 1 In the name of heaven, what was to be done ?
(\)ald she let the man who loved her — the man whom she
loved — drift blindfold into marriage with such a woman as she
had been 1 No ! it was her duty to warn him. How 1 Could
she break his heart, could she lay his life waste, by speaking
the cruel words which might part them forever 1 "1 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 I " She thought. " Anoth .
52
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
I
ii
i: ii
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, anJ founa refuge — where she had
often found refuge before — in the helpless resign at it m of de-
spair. "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 favour, until he could wait no longer.
He looked in crutiously ; 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 oetrothed 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 v, ish 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 tons 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 un
wisely pressed her with another questio„.
" Has Lady Janet said anything to you ?"
She turned on him angrily before he could finish the sen-
tence. " You have tried to make her hurry me into marrying
you," she burst. " I c^e it in your face !"
:Mi
THE MAN IS COMING.
58
Plain as the warning was this time, Horace still failed to
interpret it in the right way. "Don't be angry!" he said,
Sood-humouredly. *' Is it so very inexcusable to ask Lady
anet to intercede for me 1 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
floor 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 offence, on his side,
and rose from the sofa. His mother and sisters were high
authorities in hio 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 haliit 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 I id 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 never have been tempted ! Where
is the merit of living reputably when your life is one course
of prosperity and enjoyment ] Has his mother known starva-
tion ? 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 inipatiert 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 re«
pelled 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
64
THK SEW MAGDAr.KN".
I'- Vi
the woman who loves him. Violence she can endure. Words
she is always ready to meet by words on her side. Silence
conquers her. At'ter a moment's hesitation, Mercy left the
sofa, and advanced submissively towards tlie table. She had
offended him — and she alone was in fault. How should he
know it, poor fellow, when he innocently mortified her 1 Step
by step, she drew closer and closer. He never looked round ;
he never moved. She laid her hand timidly on his shoiiMer.
" Forgive me, Horace," she whispered in his ear. ** I am suffer-
ing this morning ; I am not myself. T didn't mean what I
said. Pray forgive me." There was no resisting tlie 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 1 " she
asked.
**Oh,my darling," he said."if you only knew how I loved you !"
" I do knov. 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 conspicous 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 j "I am not well to-
day."
He rose, and looked at her anxiously. " May I speak about
it to-morrow V
" Yes, to-morrow." She returned to the sofa, and ^hanged
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 que,' "-ion of
Lai^iy Jauet's prolonged absence, " What made hej leave
THE MAN IS COM I NO.
56
re. Worda
le. Silence
rcy left the
e. She had
w should he
her 1 Step
ked round ;
is shoulder.
I am suffer-
E-an what I
lie caressing
/hose words.
5r him, and
iven 1 " she
loved you !"
hair round
re his hand
they must,
t the other
er nephew,
plead the
jw was her
f! "lam
noiselessly
ves.
[uestion of
spoke she
>t well to-
leak about
d '^hanged
she said.
uef'-ion of
lej leave
you 1 " he asked, standing at the back of the sofa and leaning
over iier.
♦* She went into the library to write a note to her nephew.
By the-by, wlio is her nephe\v J "
^ Is it possible you don't know 1 "
" Iiidccd 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 tliat lay over her shouhler, and
pressed it to his lips. *' Lady Janet's nephew," he resumed,
" is Julian Gray."
She started otf her seat, and looked rornd at him in blank,
be^^ ildered 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 slowly j "and I only know
it now ' "
Horace's perplexity increased. " My darling, now you do
know it, what is there to alarm you 1 " 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 ptnsonation of Grace Roseberry had suddenly assumed
a new aspect ; the aspect of a fatality. It had led her blind-
fold 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 ot reckoning coming with liim 1)
" 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 (bar 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
56
THE NEW MAdOALKN.
ri
111
11 ! ' '
I
i 1
hanil over his month. ** AKsunl ! " slw ^n'ul lightly. " As if
Mr. Juiijin Gniv had anytliiii^' to<h)\\illi iiiv lonka ! lam
better ah-eady. See for yourself! " Slic looked round at him
again witli a gliastly gaiety ; and returned, with a cU^spciate
assumption of inditftirenee to tlie subject of Lady danet's
nephew. "Of course 1 liave iieard of liini," slie said. "Do
you know that he is ex])ected here to-day 1 Don't stand
there behind me — it's so liard to Udk to you. Come and sit
down."
He obeyed — but she liad not quite satisfied liim yet. His
face had not hist its expression of aiixirty and sui'prise. She
persisted in playing her part ; determined to set at rest in him
any possible suspicion that she had reasons of her own for be-
ing 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 aciion 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 clergy
men," he said. "Julian is a lost sheep among the parsons.
and a thorn in the side of his bishop. Preuches, 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 thr Archdeacon of the afflicted, the Dean of the
hungry, and the i3ishop of the poor. A\'ith 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 colour. " What do you mean "i " she asked
sharply.
" Julian is famous for his powers of persuasion," said Horace
smiling. " If he spoke to you, Grace, he would prevail on yoL
to fix the day. Suppose I ask J ulian to plead for me 1 "
He made the proposal in jest. Mercy's unquiet mind ac-
cepted 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 was but one chance for her. The only certain
THE MAN is COMING.
57
vray to prevent Horace from appealing to his friend, was to
j^'iant what Horace wished for bcfon; his friend entered tho
iiouse. She hiid her hand on his shouith'r; she hid the terrible
anxieties tliat were devouring lier, under an assumption of
coquetry painful and pitiable to see.
"Don't talk nonsense !" she said, gaily. "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 I
It was som«'thing you said before that."
" Her eyes complettd what her words had left unsaid.
Horace's arm stoli; lound her waist.
" I was saving that 1 loved you," he answered, in a whisper.
" Only that 1 "
"Are you tired of hearing it?''
She smiled charmingly. " Arc you so very much in earnest
about — about 1 " She stopped, and looked away from
him.
" About our marriage ?"
"Yes."
" It is the one dearest wish ot my life.
" Really 1 "
"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 trifl-
ing with me 1 "
" What makes you think I am trifling with you V
Horace was innocent enough to answer her seriously. "Yo^
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
in
\'.
i
i!
ii'i
4
ijii
58
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
Horace, with devout sincerity. " Do you really leave me no
decider'
"If you insist on it."
'•Horace considered for a moment — the subject being tho
law of marriage. " We may be married by license in a fui t-
night," he said. " I fix this day fortnight."
Hhe held up her hands in protest.
** Why not ? My lawyer is ready. There are no prepara-
tions to make. You said when you accepted me that it was
to be a private marriage."
Mercy was obliged to own that slie 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 wa?a pause. The mask of coquetry — badly worn from
the first — dropped from her. Her sad grey eyes reste<l com
passionately on his eager face. " Don't look so serious ! " \u
said. "Only one little word, Grace! Only Yes."
She sighed, and said it. He kissed her passionately. It was
only by a resolute eflFort 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 IIikI
Lady Janet," he said ; " I long to show the dear old lady tliat
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 1"
" I will wait here," said Mt^rcy.
Satisfied with that reply, he left the room.
Her hands dropped in her lap ; her head sank back wearily
or? the cushions at the head of the sofa. There was a dazed
leiisation in her ; her mind felt stunned. She wondered va-
;antly whether she was awake or dreaming. Had slie really
aid the word which pledged her to marry Horace Holmcroft
in a fortnight? A fortnight! Something might happen in
t time to prevent it : she might find her way in a fortnight
Outof the terrible position in which she stood. Anyway come
what might «f 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 inter-
view — dismissed for the last few minutes — possessed itself again
li
I
f.,, ! -11
THE MAN IS COMING.
59
y leave me to
ct being the
use in a foit-
e no prepara-
le that it was
nly said that.
Id only It't us.
closer to him.
ly worn from
s rested com-
) serious !" h(i
itely. It was
lelf. " Leave
elf ! "
fvas trembling
"I will find
old lady that
He turned
Y 1 You will
back wearily
was a dazed
wondered va-
ad slie really
ice Holrncroft
it happen in
n a fortnight
Anyway come
alternative to
I herself from
of the inter-
}d 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, loi^king her
searchingly in the face : seeing her shameful secret in her eyes;
hearing it in her voice; feeling it in her treml)ling 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 sire
(meeting him only on the most distant terms) of not betnoing
herself? She could not feel sure. Something in her shud-
dere<l and shrank .1 the bare idea of tinding herself in the
same room with him. She felt it, she knew it : her guilty
conscience owned and feared its master, 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 slum-
ber; slumber so light that she started when a morsel of coal
fell into the grate, or when the birds chirped and twitered
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 emi)ty again.
They had stolen out softly, and left her to repose. Hor eyes
closed once more. She dropped back into slumber, and from
slumber, in the favouring warmth and quiet of the place, into
deep and dreamless sleep.
()0
THE NKW ^lAtiPALKN.
CHArTi:!! Vllt.
i^ii!
■I .1
liii
!' 1
THE MAN ATPKAUvS.
t^vN ^'^^^ '^'^ iutiM'val of rost. INfoiov was nrouscil by t\\o.
•t'a^ sluittiii!;' ot" i\ ulass doov ;\1 llii' Imv ciul of tlu^ coiisrrva
. o^'^v tory. i'his doov. Icailiu^ into the jianUMi. was iiscil
only l>y tho ininatos of tlio lious(>. ov by old frionds pri\il<\iit>(l
to ontor tln> looopt ion-rooms by tbat way. Assnniiny that tMthor
11
oraoo or I iiu
dani'l were r(>luniin«; to the tiiiims;-roon»,
«li
MiMvy raisod iu'rs(>lf a liltlo on tlu> sofa and listrnod.
Tho voioo of oni» of the nuMi-s(M'vants caught hor oar. It
was answorod by another Yoiot\ which instantly sot hor trom-
blins;- in ovory limb.
Siio started np. and listtMUMi ai:::ain in s]>oooliloss t(Tror.
Yos ! thoro was no niistakinu it. 'riu> voii'o tliat was answor-
inij tho servant was tho unforiiotten voice which she had heard
at the Ket'ngo. Tho visitor wlio had come in by the glass door
was — rlnlian C^ray !
His rapid t\>otst(^ps advanced n(\u>M' and nc^arorto tin* dining-
room. She recov(M't>d herself sntlicii>ntly to hnrry to tho
library doov. lb>r hand shook so that she failed at iirst to open
it. She Iiad jnst sucooodod when she hoard him again— speak-
ing to her.
" Pray don't rnn away ! 1 am nothing very formidable.
Only Lady danet's nephew — .Tnlian Ciray."
She tnri.od slowly. spoU-bonnd by his voice, and confronted
him in silence.
He was standing, hat in hand, at tho entrance to the conserva-
torv. dressed in black, and wearinij a white cravat — but with
a studious avoidance i»f anything specially clerical in tiio make
and form of his clothes. Young as ho was, there wore marks
of care already on his face, and the hair was prematurely thin
and scant v over his forohrad. His slight active tiyrure was of no
more than tho middle height. His complexion was pale. The
lower part of his face, without board or whiskers, was in no
TllK MAN APrEAUa.
61
8(hI by tlu!
coiisfiva
, wa8 used
s nrivil<\m>(l
;• I hilt. »Mtl\(>r
iiiing-room,
1.
iiT oar. Ifc
t lior troiu-
loss torror.
k^fts answer-
» h;ul lieanl
i glass door
tlic (lining-
ry to the
st to 0|)(M1
111 — spcuk-
ormiilablo.
•onfronted
oonsorva-
— but with
u' make
(Tc marks
urrly thin
was of no
talo. Tlie
was in no
way rfmarkablft. An av<M'nj:;(^ obsorvor would hav(» passed him
by without notico— i»iit lor his cyow. Thcsr alone made a
markiMJ man ol" him. The imnsnal si/,(^ oI'IIk^ orhilH in which
tiiey were set was enonirh of itself to atlnx^t attention ; it gave
a grandeur to his head, which th(> head, broad and liiin as it
was, did not. possess. As to the <>veH themselves, the soft, his-
tioUH brightness of thein d< hed analysis. No two persons
could agree about tluMr colour ; divi<led opinion declaring al-
ternately that they W(>re darU grey or black. Painters had
trietl to repr(Mluc(> them, and had given up the elfort, in d(>spaii'
otvseizing any one expression in the l)ewil(lering variety of «'.x-
pressions which they presentecl to view. 'I'hey were ey«'.s that
' uld charm at (me moment, and ten ify at another ; eyos that
could set ])eople laughing or crying almost at will. In action
and repos(> they were irresistible aliUe. When th(\y first de-
8«ru'd Mei'cy rnnuitig to the door they brightened gaily with
the moiiiment of a child. When she turned and ficed him,
they changed instantly, softeidng and glowing as they nmti^ly
owned the interest and the admiral i(Ui which the first sight of
her had aroused in him. His tou(^ and manner allei-ed at the
same time. He addressed her with the greatt!st r'.'spt'ct when
he spoke his next words.
" Let mo entreat you to favour me by resuming your seat,"
l.e said. " And let mo ask your pardon il" 1 have thoughtlessly
intruded on you."
He paused, waititig for lier re])ly before ho advanced into
tho room. Still spell bound by his voice, she recovered self-
control enough to bow to him and to resunu! her [dace on the
sola. It was impossible to leave him now. Al'tei' looking at
her for a loinent, Ik^ entered tlu^ room without s[>eaking to her
again. She was beginning to ])erplex as wtdl as to intc^rest
him. " No c >nnnon sorrow," lu; thought, " has set its mark on
that woman's face ; no common heart beats in that woman's
breast. Wlu) can she be?"
Mercy rallied her courage, and forced herself to speak
to him.
" Ijady Janet is in the library, T believe," she said, tinndly.
" Shall i tell her you are Iumo 'I "
"Don't disturb Lady -laiiet. and don't dist,\n-b yourself,"
with tlukt answer ho approached the luncheon table, delicately
OHBP
E! .
62
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
(I iri!
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 pre-
sent/' he said, smiling, as he turned towards 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 otfer you any-
thing 1 "
Mer^y 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.
Ht 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 dif-
ferent dishes left on it. One dish especially attracted his at-
tention. ** What is this V he went on. " A French pie I It
seems grossly unfair to taste French wine, and to pass over
French pie without notice." He took up a knife and fork, anc^
enjoyed the pie as critically as he had enjoyed the wine,
" Worthy of the Great Nation!" he exclaimed with enthu
siasm. " Vive la Franca !"
Mercy listened and looked, in inexpressible ast'^nishment
He was utterly unlike the picture which her fancy iiad drawu.
of him in every-day life. Take off his white cravat, and no-
body would have discovered that this famous preacher was a
clergyman !
He helped himself to another plateful of pie, a:id spoke
more dircetly to Mercy, alternately eating and talking as com-
posedly 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 Hat, ugly, barren
agricultural district. You can't think how pleasant I found
the picture presented by the Gardens, as a contrast. The la-
dies 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
THF MAN APPEARS.
63
always to whistle when they were m good spirits, and I have
nut got over the habit yet.) Who do you think 1 met when 1
was in full song?"
As well as her amazement would let her, Mercy excused her-
self 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 gaily than ever, without appearing to no-
tice the effect that he had prr duced 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
Lordsliip 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 liv-
ing whistlers ) was by Verdi — * La Donna e Mobile ' — familiar, '
ro 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 isliould 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
exam[)le ; they were wiser and better than we are. I venture
to say, tliat one of the worst obstacles in the way of our doing
good among our fellow creatures is raised by the mere assump-
tion 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 Cliristia!! man who does what good he can." He glanced
brightly at Mercy, looking at him in helpless perplexity. The
spirit f fun took possession of him again. " Are you a Rad-
ical 1 " 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, en-
nobled her 1 Was this the man whose sermon had drawn
tears from women about her whom she knew to be shamelesss
and hardened in crime 1 Yes ! The eyes that now rested on
64
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
her humorously were the beautiful eyes which had once looked
into her soul. The voice that had just addressed i jesting
question to her, was the deep and mellow voice which had once
thrilled her to the heart. In the pulpit, lie 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 notic
ing her confusion. " Public opinion has called me by harder
names than the name of ' Radical.' I have been spending mj
time lately — as 1 toll you just now — in an agricultural district.
My business there was to perform the duty for the rector ot
the place, who wanted a holiday. How do you think the ex-
periment 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 honour of speaking to you in the character of a banished
man who has made a respectable neighbourhood 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 offence was. Do you understand Political Economy
and the Laws of Supply and Demand V
Mercy owned that she did not understand them.
" No more do I — in a Christian country," he said. " That
was my oflFence. You shall hear my confession (just as ray
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-labourer 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 re and me 1 — 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
THF. MAN APPEARS,
6;.
ince looked
() 1 jesting
ih had once
an angel of
■ora school
'edly notic
by harder
ending mj
•al district.
J rector ot
nk the ex-
calls me a
diary ; my
have now
a banished
too hot to
), and took
' to know
. Economy
" That
1st as my
ittle while
ooking at
on which
recalled
life of a
until I
seen such
>efore had
I found
and die.
martyrs
)nth after
live, and
rt^ork and
i:
■prison to
look to as the end, when hunger and labour have done tluii
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 ex-
pected to see. Unconsciously, she sat listening, with her eyes
fixed on his face, with her 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," lie 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 1 Because the labourer was obliged to accept them !
I determined, as far as one man could do it, that the labourer
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 neighbourhood
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 labour scarce in that agricul-
tural district ; and pitiless Political Economy shall spend a few
extra shillings on the poor, as certainly as I am that Radical,
Coiimunist, and Incendiary — Julian Gray !"
He rose — making a little gesture of apology for the warmth
with which he had spoken — and took a turn in the room.
Fired by his enthusiasm, Mercy followed him. Her purse was
in her hand, when he turned and faced her.
" Pray let me offer my little tribute — such as it is ! " she
said, eagerly.
A momentary flush spread over his pale cheeks as he looked
at the beautiful compassionate face pleading with him.
" No ! no! " he said, smiling, " though I am a parson, I don't
carry the begging-box everywhere," Mercy attempted to press
£
I
i '
'': ;!
I 1
ir.
•i
i !|
66
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
the purse on him. The quaint humour 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 listl"
Mercy's eyes looked confusedly away from him. " No name,"
she said in a low voice. " I^v 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 tba cheek. " Your ladyship is look-
ing 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 1 "
" Are you very much interested in her ? " asked Lady Janet,
in her gravely ironical way.
Julian answered in one expressive word. " Indescribably V*
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 sud-
denly 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 him-
self to Horace, with an absent look in his face, as if his
THE MAN APPEARS.
tf7
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 1" Julian accepted the invitation
-still with the air of a man whose mind was preoccupied. In-
Btead 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 1 "
" Your adopted daughter ?" Julian repeated — looking at his
aunt this time, and looking very earnestly.
" Certainly ! As Colonel Roseberry's daughter, she is con-
nected 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 ? .n 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 ia the mys-
terious * lady' whom you wish to present to me % "
Julian started, and changed colour,
" I can't tell you now," he said, in a whisper
"Why not r
To Lady Janet's unutterable astonishment, instead of reply-
ing, 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 grav'jly
" while Miss Roseberry is in the room."
68
THE NEW MAODALKN
i'
CHAPTER IX.
NEWS FROM MANNHEIM.
iT^ADY JANET'S curiosity was L/ this time thorontilil}
i\\^j 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 exjjlain what
her adopted daughter had got to do with it, he had declared
that he could not answer while Miss Rosebrrry was in the room.
What did he mean t Lady Janet determined to find out.
" I hate all mysteries," she said to Julian. " And as for se-
crets, I consider them to be one of the forms of ill-breeding.
People in our ra of life ought to be above whispering in cor-
ners. If y' ,a mud have your mystery, I can offer you a cor-
ner in the library. Come with me."
Julian followed his aunt very reluctantly. Whatever the
mystery might be, he was plainly <'rabarras^ed by being called
upon to reveal it at a moment's notice. Lady Janet settled
herself in her cbair, 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 neighbours had called by appointment to take her
to the meeting of a certain committee which assembled that day.
The servant announced that the neighV)our~an elderly lady —
was then waiting in her carriage at the door.
Lady Janet's ready invention set the obstacle aside with-
out a moment's delay. She directed tii 3 servant to show her
visitor into the drawing-room and to say that she was unexpect-
edly engaged, but that Miss Roseberry would see the lady
immediately. She then turned to Julian, and said with her
most satirical emphasis of tore and manner, " Would it be an
additional convenience if Miss Rr-^berry was not only out of
the room, before you disclose your ret, but out of the house 1 "
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
1! l!^
NEWS FROM MANNHEIM.
69
rou a cor-
" ATy dear Grace," she said, "you looked flushed and fever-
ish 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
friendhas called to take me to the committee meeting. I have
sent to tell lior that I im engai,'ed — and I shall be much
obliged if you will go in my |thice."
Mercy looked a little alarmed. " Does your ladyship mean
the committee meeting of the Samaritan Convalescent Home?
The members, as I undei stand it, are to decid<' to-day which of
the plans for the new building tluy are to adopt. I cannot
surely presume to vote in your place V
" You can vote, my dear child, just as well as 1 an," 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 1 -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 opei, the door for Mercy.
" How long shall you be a. /ay 1 "he whispered confidentially.
" I had a thousand things to say to you, and they have inter-
rupted us."
" I shall be back in an hour "
** We shall have the room tu 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 back
ground, still, to all appearance, as unwilling as ever to enlighten
his aunt.
" VVeirr' she said. "What is tying your tongue nowl
Grace is out ot the room ; why don't you begin 1 Is Horace
in the way 1 "
" Not in the least. I am only a little un*»asy "
" Uneasy about what ? "
" I am afraid you have put that charming creature to some
inconvenience in sending her away just at this time."
Horace looked up suddenly with a flush on his face.
'* When you say ' that charming creature,' '' lie asked sharply,
" I suppose you mean Mitis Roseberry 1 "
" Certainly," answered Julian. " Why not ? "
;' 1
; i I V'V
h
I !!
I
l!i' I
i';i
l!
ill
! !■
I i' m;
70
THE NEW MAGDALtiN.
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 bo high time," Horace added haughtily,
" that I should present her next in the character of my engager*
wife."
Julian looked at Horace as if he could hardly credit the evi-
dence 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 mar-
ried in a fortnight. May I ask," he added, with angry hu-
mility, " if you disapprove of the marriage ]"
Lady Janet interposed oi'ce 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 vail, my
reverend nephew, which hides her from mortal eyes ! Blush,
if you like — and can. Is she the future Mrs. Julian Gray 1 "
" She is a perfect stranger to me," Julian answered, quietly.
" A perfect stranger ! You wrote me word you were inter-
ested in her."
"I am interested in her. And what is more, you are inter-
ested 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 t " 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.
I
NEWS FllOM MAiNNIJKlM.
n
" You have often heard me speak," he began, " of my old
friend and schoolfellow, John Crosshigham 1 "
" Yes. The English consul at Mannheim 1"
" The same. Wlien 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 cred-
ibly 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 t " 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 favour me by listening attentively to what J. am about to
read."
With these 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 in-
flicted by a fragment of a German shell.' "
Horace — thus far leaning back carelessly in his chair — sud-
denly raised himself and exclaimed, " Good heavens ! can this
be the woman I saw laid out for dead in the French cot-
tage ? "
" It is impossible for me to say," replied Julian. " Listen to
li !• '!
!'■
I I
■Ji
■^i'
1 ■
lii I'i
^i.i'!
I'
Hi ^
1! I
IS
n
': il
Ml
ill
!!
ill, I
! I'l:
7f>
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
the rest of it. The consul's letter may answer 3'our 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 tiie 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
douDt, from Grace herself?"
" She hes a horror of referring to that part of her journey
home," replied Lady Janet. She mentioned her having been
sto^.^ ed 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 asroid speaking of it while she was in the room. I
understand it all now. Grace, I suppose, mentioned my name
to her fellow-traveller. The woman is, no doubt, in want of as-
sistance, and she applies to me th'^ 3ugh you. 1 will lielp her ;
but she must not come here until I have prepared Grace for
seeing her again, a living wouian. For the present, there is no
reason w hy they should meet. "
" I am not sure about that," said Julian in low tones, with-
out looking up at his aunt.
" What do you mean ! Ip the mysterj 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 sus-
pended animation had (in the huiry 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.
!li ; III \y
^JUA
NEWS FROM MAAWHEIM.
73
question.
and had
vhen the
)n. She
German
etter.
re really
w I first
since, no
'journey
ing been
ntally in
anger to
shocked
lan shell
ly relish
e right,
oom. I
ly name
nt of as-
Ip her ;
race for
re is no
s, with-
yet 1 "
end the
:om the
I)se, the
of sus-
it) been
nterest
le test.
He operated on the patient with complete success. After per-
forming the operation he kept her for some days under his
own care, and then transferred her to the nearest hospital —
the hospital at Mannheim. Ho was obliged to return to his
duties ciS army surgeon and he left his patient in the condition
in which I saw her, insensible on the bed. Neither he nor
the hosp ital authorities knew anything whatever abou'^ the
woman. No papers were found on her. All the doctors could
do, when I asked them for information with a view to commu-
nicating with her friends, was to show me her linen marked
with her name. I left the hospital after taking down the
na.ne 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 re-
ceiving any communication from the doctors. On calling to
make enquiries I was informed that fever had set in, and that
the poor creature's condition now alternated between exhaus-
tion 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 :
11
r:
^:il
i. 1
■ 1 ii
^:i
' If
'f
t
fl
^
1' 'i'
I :-:
!i|''
B
ill ' 1
s
'1:1:!
rii'
iri
■|;'
lifii'l
I ill
if ^fi
: ; >-F.
liiF :V
: h'!:
»l"
i J;i
ill
74
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
" * At last I received a message from the hoypital 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 num-
ber) 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 never-
theless of the opinion that she is suffering under a species ot
insane delusion. Bear in mind ihe caution which I have given
you — and no wgo and judge for yourself. ' I obeyed, in some per-
plexity 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 man-
ner were unquestionably the tone and manner of a lady.
After briefly introducing myself, I assured her that I should be
glad, both officially nnd personally, :f I could be of any assist-
ance 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 that 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 tluit she might
command my services if she required tbciu. 'Why do you
want to know what my plans are 1 ' sne asked suspiciously.
I reminded her in reply that T held the position of English
consul, and that my object -,vas, if possible, to be of some as-
I
NEWS FROM MANNHEIM.
in
informing
it she was
■ questions
w reaching
to pay my
' I think
ou see the
md not to
,ny doubts
e differ in
5 the num-
jompanied
iincing her
are never-
species ot
lave given
1 some per-
ached her
>uld judge,
i and rnan-
f a lady.
' should be
any assist-
ppened to
er clothes.
ips a wild
exclaimed
b's not my
me Mercy
)w me the
that they
De friends
to me, I
ling bcx.
I merely
ihe might
do you
piciously.
f English
some as-
1
sistance to her. ' You can be of the greatest assistance to me,'
she said eagerly. * Find Mercy Merrick ! ' I saw the vindic-
tive look come back into her eyes, and an angry flush rising on
her white cheeks. Abstaining from showiiiis any surprise, I
asked her who Mercy Merrick was "i ' A v ile woman by her
own confession,' was the quick reply. ' How im I to find her ]'
I inquired next. * Look for a womau in a black dress, with a
Ked 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 co^ld have taken them — tliat's how I
know it. Do you believe me or not 1 ' She was 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 exist-
ence of the absent person described as a nurse. However, it was
possible to make enquiries, by applying to the surgeon, Ignatius
Wetzel, whose whereabouts was known to his friends in Mann-
heim. I wrote to him, and received his answer in due time.
After the night attack of the Germans had made them mas-
ters of the French position, he had entered the cottage occupied
by the French ambulance. He had found the wounded French-
men left behind, but had seen no such person in a,tlendance on
them as the nurse in the black «lrGss, with the red crosy on her
shoulder. The only living woman in the place was a young
English lady, in a grey travelling 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 under-
stand 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 hospitr.l myself I communi-
ated by letter the failure of my attempt to discover the misS'
npap
mu
•i'<. •
i ' lil
76
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
ing nurso. For some little time afterwards 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 anrounced 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 hers'lf at large, in consequence of the difference of opinion
among the doctors on t\w. case. All that could be done was to
give me due notice, and leave the matter in my hands. On
seeing her for the second time, I found her sullen and reserved.
She onenly attributed my inabillity 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 travelling expenses. Her
reply informed me that the chaplain of the hospit.d had men-
tioned 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 enquiries as to how she
came to know your aunt, whether your aunt expected her, and
so on. My questions evidently offended her , they were re-
ceived in sulky silence. Under these circumstances, well know-
ing that I can trust implicitly to your humane sympathy for
misfortunes, I have decided (after careful reflection) to ensure
the poor creature's safety when she arrives in London by giv-
ing iier 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 sud-
den movement on the part of his aunt. Lady Janet had risen
•
.^^:r.
n
NEWS FROM MANNHEIM.
77
1 no more
rrick. It
IS to visit
3overed to
tention of
m, feeling
impossible
be trusted
(f opinion
)ne was to
mds. On
reserved,
e to want
Y side, no
e whether
ses. Her
had men-
3 English
ble her to
3, I asked
ne friend,'
Qet Roy.'
found it
how she
her, and
were re-
sell know-
)athy for
)0 ensure
by giv^
ays ; and
ither she
word of
L I shall
new with
ating her
is second
n
softly from her chair and had passed behind him with the pur-
pose 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 thM, for 1 " 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 proposed in these termc.
" ' 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 in-
stantly, My name is ' "
Julic^n removed his hand from the page. Lady Janet looked
at the next two words and started back with a loud cry of as-
tonishment, which brought Horace instantly to his feet.
" Tell me, one of youl " he cried. " What name did she
give 'I "
Julian told him :
"Grace Boseberry.
of a sud-
lad risen
79
THE NEW . \GDALEN.
CHAPTER X.
t
t
1
[« I
A COUNCIL OF THREE.
ft^OR 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 humour 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 Rosebeny, and when she left Mannheim she travelled
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 Rose-
berry'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 car. ^e no doubt," Horace agreed, " that Grace must
be kept in the dark, in her present state oi health. The ser-
vants had better be warned beforehand, in case of this adven-
turess or mad-woman, 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
A COTTNC'IL OF THRRE.
79
Dicing in
vords, as
•essed to
for one
: consul's
le writes
he name
travelled
erself to
saw me
ss Rose-
y." He
I me say
interest
!^ow you
ut it is
ars of it.
least, a
,ce must
The ser-
adven-
)ting to
" What
hat you
erest in
" I am more iuterestod than evor," hosai<i, " now I iiud that
Miss Roseberry herself is your guest at Mabl<'t!iorpe 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 tellyour servants to close the door on this friendless creature.'
Lady Janet cast a look at her nephew whicli plainly expressed
that she thought he had taken a liberty with her.
•' You don't expect me to see the woman 1 " she asked, in a
tone of cold surprise.
" I hope you will not refuse to see lier," Julian answered
quietly. " I was out when she called. I must bear what she
lias 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 brig^it black eyes in mute expostu-
lation to the carved cupids and wreaths on the dining-room
ceiling.
" When am I to have the honour 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
agam
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 pa-
tience has its limits. I refuse to see lier ! "
The servant was still waiting — not like a human being who
took an interest in the proceedings — but (as became a perfectly
bred footma:)) like an articlo of furniture artfully constructed
to come and go at the word of command. Julian gave the
^'
.p.
80
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
^i!
i' '
word of command, addressing tlie admirably const i acted au-
tomaton by the name of "James."
" Where is the lady, now 1 " 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 noise-
lessly out of the room. Julian turned to his aunt.
" Forgive me," he said, " for venturing to give the mnn his
orders in your presence. I am very anxious that you should
not decide hastily. Surely we ought to hear what thietlady
has to say 1 "
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 reso-
lutely 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 mat-
ter 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 num-
ber — believe that the recovery of her mind has not accompanied
the recovery of her body."
" In other words," Lady Janet remarked, " a mad-woman is
in my house, and I am expected to receive her ! "
*' Don't let us exaggerate," ^aid 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 1 *'
Lady Janet's inbred sense of justice admitted — not over wil-
lingly — the reasonableness as well as the humanity of the view
A COUNCIL OF THREE.
81
cted au-
e within
im noise-
mnn his
u should
thip lady
" It's an
b she has
; think so
,uds reso-
resuming
the inat-
ng to his
tliorities
t's case.
le num-
)mpanied
^oman is
« It can
;aggerate
of the
If she is
eature is
36 placed
ear aunt,
s forlorn
^ first?"
over wil-
the view
expressed in those words. '' There is some tiiith in that, Julian,"
she said, shifting her position uneasily in her chair, and look-
ing 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 ohstinacy 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 llDract'. "At any rate," he resumed, with
undiminished good tom[)er, '* we are all three equally interested
in setting this matter \\ rest. I put it to you, Lady Janet, if
we are not favoured, at this lucky moment, with the very op-
portunity that we want? iMiss K'"soberry 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 head-
long with her cufc :omary 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 V
he respectfully inquired of his aunt.
" Give him anything you like, and have donewith 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 1 " exclaimed Lady Janet.
'* I see no use in my remaining here," said Horace, not very
graciously.
" In that case," retorted Lady Janet, " remain here because I
wish it."
" Certainly — if you wish it. Only remember," he added,
more obstinately than ever, "that I differ entirely from Julian's
view. In my opinion the woman has no claim on us."
A passing movement of irritation escaped Julian for the
first time. " Don't be hard, Horace," he said, sharply. " All
women have a claim ou us."
I'hey had unconsciously gathered together, in the heat of
the little debate, turning their backs on the library door. At
i
(
1
i,
! '■ ■ :•
1
I
i
I,
82
THE NEW MAGF:)ALEN.
the last words of the reproof arlministered by Julian to Horace
tlieir 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.
i
-.A
I
Horace
slight
■. With
ion from
10
TUL DkJil) iULIVE
83
CHAPTER XI.
THE DEAD ALIVE.
^UST inside the door there appeared the figure of a small
*' woman dressed in })l;iin 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 re-
markably small and delicfvte. In health (ns the consul at Mann
heim had remarked,) this woman must have possessed, if not
absuiute beauty, at least rare attractions pc^ciiliarly her own.
As it was now, suffering — sullen, silent, self-contained suffer
ing — 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, scood 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 ai'oused in
their minds a suspicion of the woman who had stolen iier
name, and taken her place in the house 1
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 court(\sy and their habi-
tual presence of mind. It was as practically impossible for any
oiT^ of tliiee to doubt the identity of the adopted daughter of
liji
^,
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)
A
^o
1.0
I.I
no ■^~
2.2
S 'Si '
IL25 III 1.4
I
1.6
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Hiotographic
Sdences
Coiporation
33 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. 14S80
(716) S73-4503
.<i^
'4-
■■■
84
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
;.
I
t
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 Morcy behind the strongest
of all natural rights — the right of first possession. Circum-
stances 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's breadth was the position of the
false Grace Roseberry shaken by the first appearance of the
true Grace Roseberiy within the doors of Mablethorpe House.
Lady Janet felt suddenly repelled, without knowing why.
Julian and Horace felfc 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 5ome
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 tick-
ing 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 1 " 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 better from the consul. Pray take a chair."
By way of petting the example, Lady Janet seated herself at
some little distance, with Horace in attendance standing near.
She bowed to the stranger witli studious politeness, but with,
out 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 ha-ids 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 heai" his first words
oi welcome to her.
THE DEAD ALIVE.
85
;o doubt
e in the
trongest
Circum-
natural
IS habit.
11 of the
e of the
3 House,
ng why.
knowing
tnoment,
uld have
of some
hrance of
it spoke,
ihe tick-
oom.
was the
ely from
his self-
, " when
a chair."
erself at
ng near.
»ut with,
air. " I
>ld lady.
Julian's
iget me.
, Lady
for the
ing that
5L wurda
At this fipcond a]>|»oal she ^poko to him. " Ts that Tiady
fanet Roy ?" she asked, with her eyes fixed on the mistress of
ihe 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 pei-fect self-possession of manner. Her whole
demeanour, from the moment when she had ap])eared at the
door, had expressed — at once plainly and becomingly — confi-
dence in the reception that awaited her.
" Almost the last words my i>.+her said to me on his death-
bed," she began, ' were words, nadam, 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 exas-
perating silence to hear mere.
Grace Roseberry drew back a step — not intimidated — only
mortified and surprised. " Was my father wrong V 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 V she asked, coldly.
Grace Roseberry answered the question in a tone of stern
surprise.
" Has the ^lervant not given you my card 1" she said. " Don't
you knov/ my name ?"
" Which of your names 1" 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 isl 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 t"
86
THE NEW MAODALEN.
w-
'i
lil
f '
:•
if
Somethinjc^ of the girlish iu'sitation and timidity which had
marked her demeanour at her interview with Mercy in the
French cottage, reappeared 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, wire now ( for the moment ) effaced.
All that was left of the better and 8imi)ler side of her charac-
ter 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 oi rt^hat you said to him," he
answered kindly. " But, if you will take my advice, I recom-
mend 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 uie 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 per-
formed on me."
Lady Janet listened to perfection — and did no more. She
turned confidentially to Hora je and said to him, in her grace-
fully ironical way, *' She is ready with her explanation."
Horace answered in the same tone, " A great deal too ready."
Grace looked from one of them to the other. A faint flush
of colour showed itself in her face for the first time.
" Am I to understand ]" she asked with proud composure,
" that you don't believe me 1 "
Lady Janet maintained her policy of silence. She waved
one hand courteously towards Julian, as if to say, " Address
your inquiries to the gentleman who introduces you." Julian,
noticing the gesture and observing the rising colour 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."
THE DEAD ALTV^E.
S7
hich had
y in the
r as she
for the
1 she had
) effticed.
;r charac-
She had
assioiiate
iim," he
I recom-
1 words."
ctance to
were the
vheii the
posed for
le clothes
> me by
yiiig- I
led away
)een per-
:e. She
ler grace-
n."
to ready."
iiut flush
mposure,
e waved
' Address
Julian,
tt Grace's
he said ;
Lady .Tanet looked indignantly at Horace. '*Il«'r a.sRuranre
amazes me ! " she exclaimed.
Julian interposed before his aunt could add a word more.
" Pray let us hear her," he said in atone of entreaty which had
something of the imperative in it this time. He turned to
Grace. " Have you any proofs to produce," he added in a
gentler voice, " which will satisfy us that you are Colonel
lio.seberry's daughter 1 "
Grace looked at him indignantly. " Proof ! " she repeated.
" Is my word not enough ? "
Julian kept ^^!3 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 sank 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 si.id, in the first tones of en-
treaty which had escaped her yet.
Lady Janet hesitated. It wat not in her generous nature
to resist the appeal that had just been made to her. The sym-
pathies 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 ex-
claimed, 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, endeavouring to help her through her difficulty
in a new way. " Never mind explaining yourself for the mo-
ment," he said. " In the absence of your letters, have you any
one in London who can speak to your identity V
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
88
TUK NEW MA(!F)ALEN.
m
f
I" -
r
over without notice. " No tViciuls 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 objec-
tion 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 ^
hearing for the stranger who had been confided to his care.
"A little patience, Lady Janet," he pleaded. " A little con.
sideration for a friendless woman."
" Thank you, sir," said Grace. " It it 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.
" / 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 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 V'
" The consul took no pains to find her," Grace answered an-
grily. " He was, like everybody else, in a conspiracy to neglect
and misjudge me."
THE DKAD ALIVE.
89
Lady Janet and Homcc »xt'lian<,M'd looks. This linio it was
impossible for Julian to blame them. The fai1h(;r the stranger's
narrative advanced, the less worthy of serious attention he felt
it to be. The longer she spoke, the more disadvantagcously she
challenged comparison with the a])sent 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 1"
" What use 1 " 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, intro-
ducing 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 1 " she
asked, advancing a step towards him defiantly.
Julian checked her. He too — though he had only once seen
Mercy — felt an angry sense of the insult ofi*ered to the beau-
tiful 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 off'ending — Lady Jantt.
You are talking worse than absurdly — you are talking offen-
sively — 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 with a look which was almost a look of fury.
" Are you a clergyman 1 Are you an educated man ?" she
asked. " Have you never read of cases of false personation,
in newspapers and books 1 I blindly confided in Mercy Mor-
1;
I
wm
90
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
I:' II
rick before I found out what her character really was, Slie 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 ciivurastances 1 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 des-
perate effort of resolution, Grace sprang 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 1"
Lady Janet looked — as only a great lady can look, when a
Eerson of inferior rank has presumed to fail in respect towards
er.
** You are surely not aware," she said, with icy composure,
" that these questions are an insult to Me 1"
" And wo.rse than an insult," Horace added warmly, " to
Grace !"
The little resolute black figure (still barring the Avay to the
conservatory) was suddenly shaken from head to foot. The
woman's eyes travelled backwards and forwards between Lady
Janet and Horace with the light of anew suspicion in them.
" Grace ! " she exclaimed. " What Grace? That's my name.
Lady Janet, you have got the letter I The woman is here V
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."
ttii
THE DEAD ALIVE.
91
Julian advanced, and took her firmly 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
stoi^ped Lady Janet on the threshold of the conservatory door.
" Justice ! " she cried, shaking her clenched hand with hys-
terical frenzy in the air. *' I claim my right to meet that
woman face to face ! Where is she 1 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 mo-
ment, 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 in-
furiated woman by the arm, 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 towards the library door. "Ah I" she cried,
with r- 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.
una
92
TUB NKW MAiJOAI.tN.
1
!:1
ClIAl'TKIt Xll.
E.l'it JUIJAN.
vTjTplJIiTAN lian|ion«>(l to !»«' stimdin^ nonrest to Mercy. H«
• J\ WHS (ln> fiiHt i\\ her side wImmi she f«»II,
'^-^ III theory of iiliinn whicli ImrHt tVom liiin, ashoraisod
hor for t\ tnoincnt in Iiis arins.niul the oxprrHsion of his vyvn wlieii
ho U)oko«l at her dcath-Iikt' faco, thoro cHcapc*! tho phiin — Igi)
|>hiiu — confcsHion of the iiiterost which ho felt in hoi-, of
tho aWiuiratit)!! which Hh(^ had arotJS('<l in him. Iforaa)
dctt'otoil it. Thoro was thi' (juick suspicion of joalouHy in
tho movoinont l>y which ho joinod Julian ; there was tho
ready resent nient of jeiih>tisy in the tone iti which ho j)ronoun-
ced tho words, "Ijcave her to tne." Juliaii resi^ntul her in
siU'nc*'. A faint Hush appeared on his paU' face as ho <h*ew back
while Horace carried lun- to the sofa. His eyes sank to the
ground ; lu^ seenu'd to l)e nieditatin;L? self-reproach ("idly on tho
tone in wliicli his friend had spoken to liiiu. After havinj^ Ix'en
the first to take an active part in UMHiting the calamity that had
happened, he was now to all api)earance iusuusiblo to everything
tliat was passing in the room.
A touch on his shoulder roused him.
He turned and looked round. Tho woman who had done the
mischief — the stranixer in the poor black gai-ments — was 8tan<l-
ing behind him. She pointed to the prostrate figure on tlio
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
'ury.
" Take that wretch away ! " he said. " Instantly ! or I won't
answer for whuu I may do."
These words recalled Julian to himself. He looked round
the room. Lady Janet and the housekeeper were together, in
attendance on the iwoonin<j; woman. The startled servants
JUIJAN.
93
aroy. Ho
^ ho misod
cyvH wluui
)lain — Uii)
II hor, of
IToraw)
[ilouHy ill
! WHH tlio
pronoun-
i<I licr ill
hew back
\k to the
y on tho
vin<5 IxH'ii
that]ia<l
''eryUung
(lone the
as stand-
B on the
it is ! "
d joined
ippressed
r I won't
d round
Bther, in
servants
I
wer© conpfrejjnted in the lihiaiy <h>orwny. One of them oflTerod
t(» run Ut the iinireHt doctor ; another ahked if he Mhould leteh
the |ioliei>. Jillinii Hih-necd thriii \>y u ^eHture, und turned to
lloraeu. '* (\»in|»oHe youi-Melt,'' he naid. " liitave ineto remove
lier (luietiv from the house, llr t<M»k (iiuce hv the iiund hh h»
H|»oke. Sh(! heHJtated and tried to i< lease hciHrlf. Julian
pointtHi to tho|.M'oup at the sofi* and to the Hervants h)okin^ on.
'* You !iavo much* an enemy (»f every one in this room," he said,
"und you have not a fVimd in London. Do you wish to make
an enemy of //*« ?" Her ht;a<l (hooped: she ma<h- no reply;
she wait(Hl, (himltly oltedient to the firmer will than her own.
iJuliiin ordered th(! servants crowdinj,' to;,'etlier in tin; doorway
to witlnlraw. Jle followed tlusiii into the liluaiy, l«;adin^ (jlnice
after him l)y th<5 han<l. liffore closing tin; door he paused, and
looked hack into the dininj^-room.
" Is she recovering]" he asked, after a moment's hesitation.
lja<ly Janet's voice answert d him. " Not yet."
"Shall I s(^nd for the nearest doctor ?"
Horace int(*rposed. \\v <le«liiit'd to let Julian aHSociato him-
solf, even in that indin^^t manner, with Mercy's recovery.
" If the doutor is wanted," he said, " I will go lor lain ray-
self."
Julian closed tho lihrary door, lie ahsently released Grace;
he mechanically pointed to a chair. She sat down in silent sur-
prise, following him with her eyes as he walked slowly to and
fro in the room.
For the moment his minil was far away from her, and from
all that had happ(med since her app(.'arance in the house. It
was impossible that a man of his lineness of perception could
mistake the meaning of Horace's conduct towards him. He
was questioning his own heart, on the subject of Mercy, steinly
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 morel" He stopfted irrital)ly in his
walk. As a man devoted to a serious calling in life, there was
8(juiething that wounded his self-respect in tli(! bare susj)icion
that he could he guilty of the purely sentimental extra vagan»;e
called " love at first bii^ht."
9i
TFIK NKW MACDALEN.
¥
' ;'■
(ill
He had pauHod exactly opposite to the chair in which Grace
was soatod. Wwiry of tlie bilence, she tteized the opportunity
of speaking to him.
*' 1 have coiiio hero with you as you wished," she said.
" Are you going to help me ] Am I to count on you aa my
frion.l 1 "
He looked at her vacantly. It cost him an effort before he
could give her the attention that who had claimed.
" You have been hard on mo," (irace went on. " But you
8how(5d 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 impos-
tor who has taken my place 1 Can there be any plainer confes-
sion that she is Mcicy Merrick than the confession she has
made 1 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 fori" she
asked sharply.
" For you and for me," Julian replied. " I am going to take
you back to your lodginj^s."
" 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 1 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.
" So far as I understand," he said, " you appear to take it
for granted that no innocent woman would have fainted on first
seeing you. I have something to tell you wh^ch will alter your
opinion. On her arrival in England this lady informed my
aunt that she had met with you accidentally on the Fj-ench fron-
tier, and /hat she had seen you (so far as she knew) struck dead
at her sid) by a shell. Remember that, and recall what hap-
pened just now. Without a word to warn her of your restora-
tion to life, she finds herself suddenly face to face with you, a
living A. (WKUi- and this at a tirao when it is prrv )r any one
JULIAN.
Hd
hich Grace
>PI>ortunity
she ttaid.
you jw my
before he
" But you
make them
you doubt
I an iinpos-
ner confes-
n she has
le sight of
f her — and
he man to
fori" she
ng to take
thor Lady
ked was to
she came
i her eyes
;hat if you
t.
to take it
eel on first
alter your
brmed my
•ench fron-
ruck dead
ivhat hap-
ir restora-
ith you, a
>r any one
who Ifioks at her to see that she is in delicate health. What it
there wonderful, what is there unaccountable, in her fainting
under Huch eircuinstaiiceH as these 1"
The (pH'Htion was pluitily 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 (iruce, and of
the accident which had followed, had served Mercy's purpose
but too well. It was simply impossible for persons acquainted
with that stateuient to attach a guilty meaning to the swoon.
The false Grace Roseberry was still as far beyonil tlui leach of
suspicion as ever, and the true Grace was quick en< mgh to see
it. She sank into the chair from which she had risen ; hor
hands fell in hopeless despair on her lap.
" Everything is against me," she said. *• The truth itself
turns liar, and takes /ler side." SIh; paused and rallied hei' sink-
ing courage. "No," she cried resolutely, " I won't submit to
have my name and my place taken from me by a vile adventu-
ress ! Say what you like, I insist on exposing her ; I won't
leave the liouse ! "
The servant entered the room, and aimounced that the cab
was at the door.
Grace turned to Julian with a defiant wave of her hand.
" Don't let mo 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 comer
of the room.
" Do you know if the doctor has been sent for 1 " 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 1 " and then gave the note to the man, with direc-
tions to take it to Lady Janet.
"Did you hear what I said ?" Grace inquired, while the mes-
senger was absent in the dining-room.
" I will answer you directly," said Julian.
The 8(U'vant appeared again as he spoke, with some lines in
pencil written by Lady Janet on tlm back of Julian's note.
" Thank God we have revived her. In a few moments we hope
to be able to take her to her room."
^# '''[
::
i
96
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
The nearest way to Mercy's room was through the library
Grace's immediate removal had now become a necessity whicV
was not to be trifled with. Julian addressed himself to meet
ing the difficulty the instant he was left alone with Grace.
" Listen to me," he said. " The cab is waiting, and I have
my last v^ords to nay to you. You are now (thanks to the con-
sul'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 lav^'yer. He will be a titter person to advise
you than I am. Nothing will induce me 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 wiii.
hear what the lawyer thinks, if you come with me. If you re-
fuse, 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 whicli course
you like ; I will give you a minute to decide in. And remem-
ber this, if I appear to express myself harshly, it is your con-
duct which forces me to speak out. I mean kindly towards
you ; I am advising you honestly for your good."
He took out his watch to count the mmute.
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 oppor-
tunities would offer themselvies of retuining secretly to the
house. She determined to yield — and deceive him.
" I am ready to go," she said, rising with dogged submis-
sion. " Your turn now," she muttered to herself, as she tui'ned
to the looking-glass to arrange her shawl. "Mv tui'u will come."
Jvilian advanced towards her. as if to oiFer her his arm, and
checked himself. Firmly persuaded as he was that lier mind
was deranged — readily as he admitted that sht: claimeci, in \ij-
tue of her aflliction, every induJgenof> that he could extend to
JTTLTAN.
97
hor, there was something ropeUant to him at that moment iu
the bare idea of touching her. The image of the beautiful crea-
ture who was the object of her monstrous accusation — the image
of Mercy as she lay helpless for a moment in his arras — 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 i;d-
dressed 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 invita-
tion, Julian had forgotten his engagement to stay at Mable-
thorpe House. Could he return, knowmg his own heart as he
now knew it'? Could he honourably remain, perhaps for weeks
together, in Mercy's society, conscious as he now was of the im-
pression which she had produced on him 1 No. The one hon-
ourable 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 apol-
ogies." The cab drove off. The wondering servant waited on
the door-step, looking after it. "I wouldn't stand in Mr.
Julian's shoes for something," he thought, with his mind run-
ning on the difficulties of the young clergyman's position.
" There she is, .'^ong with him in the cab. What is he going to
do with her after thatl"
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.
Her 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 war^ assured that the stranger's frantic as-
sertions 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 shrank when La<ly
o
i
98
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
I
r I 'I!
1 m
iiii., ,'
Janet approached the bedside. She shuddered when Lady Ja-
net 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 bed-
clothes and murmured to herself piteously, " Oh ! what shall
I do 1 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 chanj^e 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, indica-
ted a serious shock to the nervous system. He wrote a seda-
tive prescription ; and he gave (with a happy choice of lan-
guage) some sound and safe advice. It amounted briefly to
this : " Take her away, and try the seaside." Lady Janet's
customary energy acted on the advice without a moment's need-
less delay. She gave the necessary directions for packing the
tranks over night, and decided on leaving Mablethorpe House
with Mercy the next morning.
Shortly after the doctor had taken his departure, a letter
from Julian, addressed to Lady Janet, was delivered by pri
vate messenger.
Beginning with the necessary apologies for the writer's ab-
aence, the letter proceeded in these terms :
" Before I permitted my companion to accompany me to the
lawyer's office, 1 felt the necessity of consulting him as to my
present position towards her.
" 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 tha^
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 con-
firm my view
" Finding me obstinate on this point, the lawyer undertook
to consult r physician accustomed to the treatment of the in-
sane, on w ■ behalf.
"After ending a message, and receiving the answer, he said.
■:| i
, /
ab-
JULIAN.
99
■'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 oc-
casion, 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 unmistakeably symptoms of mental ab-
beration. 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 enquiries of the consul at Mann-
heim are far from being conclusive. Furnish me with satisfac-
tory 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 Conti-
nent, and renewing the search for Mercy Merrick.
*' My friend the lawyer wonders jocosely whether / 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 1 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
mstrumental in restoring her to herself — perhaps, also, in re-
storing her to her friends.
f
100
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
T:
'I ]
'H
" I stavfc by tho mail train to night. My plan is, to go first to
Mannheim, and consult with the consul and hospital doctors ;
then to find my way to tho 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 reap-
pearance of this unhappy woman at your house. She is fully
occupied in writing (at my suggestion) to her friends in Cana-
da ; and she is under tho 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 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 fiiiliiig, 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 bis 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 ingen-
uity failing to answer it, her one resource left was to wait pa-
tiently for Julian's return, and, in her own favourite 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 bo allowed to accompany them) being sentenced to remain
in London by Mercy's express desire. Why — nobody could
-Cuess ; and Mer.^y refused to say.
jll you
JULIAN
101
CHAPTER XIII.
Enter Julian.
WEEX has pjissed. 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
^an be offered to him. The musical monotony of his purring
falls soothingly on her ladyship's ear. She stops in the mid-
dle of a leading article and looks with a careworn face at the
happy cat. " Upon my honour," 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 apostro-
phe, 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 !
•* Vou — or your ghosu V she exclaims.
Sh^ has noticed already that Julian is paler than usual, and
that t \ere is something in his manner at once uneasy and sub-
dued — 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 r jfuses 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 (deter-
mining to " have it out of him," at the first opportunity) waits
to hear what he has to say for himself. Julian has no alterna-
tive but to break the silence, and tell his story as he best may.
I ,(1
;;)
ij
!i'
102
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
" 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 1 How is Miss Roseberry 1
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 ijou, J ulian V
" Perhaps I am a little tired after my journey. Never mind
me. Is Miss Rosoberry still suffering from the shock V
" What else should she be suffering from 1 I will never for-
give 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 seaside a week since, by medical advice."
" Has the change of air done her no good T
" 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 be-
lieving what that wretch said of her. In one word (and be-
tween 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 be-
yond my finding."
" Can the doctor do nothing V
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
JULIAN.
103
morning. He is at tho head of his profession ; he is said to be
making ten thousand a year — and ho 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 1
My dear boy, they all got 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 V
" Oh, I got your letter. It was long enough, in all consci-
ence — and, long as it was, it did'nt 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 sus-
pected Julian of concealing from her.
" I want to know," she said, " why you troubled yourself to
make your inquiries on tl\e Continent in person? You know
where my old courier is to be found. You have yourself pro-
nounced him to be the most intelligent and trustworthy of
men. Answer me honestly — could you not have sent him in
your place T
" I might have sent him," Julian admitted — a little reluc-
tantly.
" You might have sent the courier — and you were under an
engagement to stay here as my gnest. Answer me honestly
once more. Why did you go away 't*
Julian hesitated. Lady Janet paused for his reply, with the
air of a woman 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.
'irsr
L. i
.11
104
THK NEW MACJUALEM.
" Yes V 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 ? Tiiank you —
that will do — I am sufficiently answered. No wonder — as a
cler'^yman — 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 1"
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 neces-
sary) until the middle of next week.
Julian took refuge in an answer worthy of the most com-
monplace man on the face of the civilised 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 tailing her at
last.
" Mighty civil, I am sure," she said. " Make it complete.
Say, Mr. Julian Gray presents his complimenls to Lady Janet
Roy, and regrets that a previous engagement — Julian !" ex-
claimed the old lady, suddenly pushing the cat off her lap, and
flinging her last pretence of good temper to the winds — " Ju-
lian, I am not to be trifled with ! There is but one explana-
tion of your conduct — you are evidently avoiding my house. Is
there somebody you dislike in it 1 Is it Me T
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 honoured the rug
by taking a seat on it.)
Lady Janet persisted. " Is it Grace Roseberry 1" 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 Uo«cl)erry."
n
JULIAN.
105
lecessary)
ather not
>h? And
Ilk you —
ler — as a
i perhaps
confused.
)f course,
i himself
it to say.
[if neces-
lost corn-
excuses,"
►king the
Lady
her at
omplete.
dy Janet
m !" ex-
lap, and
s— "Ju-
explana-
)use. Is
luestiou
:, waved
the rug
le asked
g. His
louder.
l)erry."
" 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 colour 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. K(;ep 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 u' tered itself in his aunt's next
words.
*' You don't mean to tell me you are in love with Grace 1"
Julian sprang restlessly to his feet, and disturbed the cat at
the tireplace. (The cat left the room.)
" I don't know what to tell you," he said, " I can't realise 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 forgeting her I broke my engagement here ; I pur-
posely seized the opportunity of making those enquiries 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 ^r-self a part of my-seU. 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 Mable-
thorpe 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 1 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."
lOfi
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
i'
I:
I
,;i
^1
'■'A'
'■I'
Ah sho said those words she noticed witli a certain fond prido
the brilliant colour mounting in his cheeks — the tlashing
brightness which lent an added lustre to his eyes. He had
never, to her mind, looked so handsome before. She took liis
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 Jtilian.
Worse still, she was privately conscious that he had, somehow
or other, risen, rather than fallen, in her estimation within the
last minute or two. Who could deny that her adopted daugh-
ter was a charming creature 1 Who could wonder if a man of
refined tastes admired her? Upon the whole, her ladyship
humanely decided that her nephew was rather to bo pitied than
blamed. What daughter of Eve (no matter whether she was
seventeen or seventy, could have honestly arrived at any other
conclusion 1 Do what a man may — let him commit anything
he likes, from an eiTor to a crime — so long as there is a woman
at the bottom of ic, 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 1 "
" It refers to the hateful woman who frightened Miss Rose-
berry. 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 (piite harndebs, poor thing."
JULIAN.
107
fonrl prido
tiiishing
Ho had
9 took his
; left. It
10 look on
than tho
>8) doubly
t for tho
10 Julian,
somehow
dthin the
d daiigh-
a man of
ladyship
tied than
she was
my other
anything
a woman
firdon for
id Lady
in that
lous man
s in her
ihed him
only for
m Rose-
'^ent on.
l really
; wretch
" • Poor thing !' " repeated Lndy Janet. "Did you say 'poor
thing'?"
'' Yes."
** Is it possible that you pity herl "
" From tho 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 woidd
have pitied Nero himself."
Julian coi'dially agreed with her. " I believe I should "
he said quietly. 'All sinners, my dear aunt, are more or
less miserable sinnei-s. Nero must have been one of tho
wretchedest of mankind."
" Wretched !" exclaimed Lady Janet. " Nero wretched 1
A man who committed robbery, arson and murder, to his own
violin accompaniment — only wretched ! What next, I wonder 1
When modern philanthropy begins to apologise for Nero,
modem 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 ; y*)u 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 1"
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.
1U8
Tin; NKW MAliUALKN.
CHAPTER XIV.
COMINO EVENTS CAST THEIR SIIADOWa REFORB.
r
<»-
WENT first to Mannhoini, Lady Janot, as I told yon I
should in my letter ; and I heard all that the consul
and the hospital doctors coulil tell me. No new fact
of the slightest imj)ortance turned up. I got my directions for
finding the German surgeon, and I set forth to try what I
could next make of the man who had [)ei*l'ormed the opemtion.
On the question of his patient's identity ho had (as a perfect
strangor to her) nothing to tell me. On the question of her men-
tal condition, however, he made a very important sttitement.
He owned to me that he had 0})erated 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. Get on to the end. Did you
lay your hand on Mercy Merrick 1"
"No."
" Did you hear anything of her?"
" Nothing. Difiiculties beset me on every side. The French
ambulance had shared in the disasters of France — it was broken
up. The wounded Frenchmen were 'risoners, somewhere
in
Germany, nobody knew where. The French surgeon had been
ki' led in action. His assistants were scattered — most likely in
hiding. I began to despair of making any discovery, when acci-
dent threw in my way two Prussian soldiers who had been in the
Fi'-^nch cottage. They confiiined what the German surgeon
told the consul, and what Horace himself told mCy namely that
no nurse in a black dress was to be seen in the place. If there
COMING FA'ENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 109
B.
iold yon I
le consul
> new fact
jctions for
y what I
operation,
a perfect
' her men-
ttitenient.
'11 injured
)rino, and
ed — mad.
3nough to
to people
)ing mad.
yourself,
Did you
e French
43 broken
w^here in
lad been
likely in
hen acci-
Bn in the
surgeon
lely that
If there
liiul bi'(!n such a porHon, sho would certainly (tho Pr\iHHiiiiis
informed me) iiave been found in attendance on tlxi injiiicd
Frenchmen. Tho cross of t\w Geneva Convention would have
been amply sufficient to protect her : no woman wearing tluit
badge of honour would havt! diHgrace«l lu rH«(lf by abando ning
the wounded men, before the (j|«'iinanH entered the place."
*' In short," inter[)Osed Lady Janet, '* there is no such peruon
as Mercy Merrick 1"
" 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 tho woman herself is Mercy
Merrick."
Lady Janet held up her hand, as a sign that she had an ob-
jection to make here.
" You and tho 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 per-
son of my average intelligence. Can your clever friend, the
doctor, account for them 1"
" Shall I tell you what he said, when I saw him this morn-
ing 1"
" Will it take long 1"
" It will take about a minute."
" You agreeably surprise me. Go on."
" You want to know how she gained a 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 f
Lady Janet began to feel interested for the first time.
" Perfectly," she said. " I have no doubt Grace rashly talked
H I
n
110
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
¥
iii
|i
tlil'
of matters whicli an older ami wiser [)erson would have kej)t 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 ha[)i)ens after that ! The wounded woman is
brought to life by an operation, and she becomes delirious in
the hospital at Mannheim. During lier 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 i)ersists in reversing the two
identities. She sayt, she is Miss Roseberry, and declares Miss
Roseberry to be Mercy Merrick. There is the doctor's explan-
ation. What do you think of it 1"
" Very ingenious, I dare say. The doctor doesn't quite sat-
isfy 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 1" inquired Julian.
' Hold your tongue !" cried the old lady. " If you say a
word more I shall lose it
" Lose what, aunt V
" 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 ! 1
have had enough of him !) Where is she — your pitiable lady^
wy crazy wretch — where is she now 1 Still in London V
"Yes."
" And still at large r
" 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 i How am I to protect Grace, how am I
to piotect myself, if she comes here again T*
" Is that really what you wished to speak to me about 1
" That, and nothing else."
They were both too deeply interested in the subject of their
oonversation to look towards the conservatory, and to notice
again.
m
■ 11
COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. Ill
kept to
in the
;ht have
identity
jnough ]
)man is
rious in
idea of
assumes
ns. As
the two
res Miss
explan-
uite sat-
:pressed.
, for the
)u say a
; it back
jctor ! I
le lady,
r
prevent
steal her
)W am I
)Ut1
of their
» notice
the !ip[)caranco at that moment of a distant gentleman among
the plants and flowers, who had made his way in from the gar-
den 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 ho 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 movemeiLi 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 tho 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 ofiered him tho opportunity of putting Julian in the
wrong.)
" Good heavens, Horace ! " exclaimed Lady Janet. " Where
do you come from ? And what do you mean 1 "
" 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 pro-
ceeded, "has been here again already- in Lady Janet's ab-
sence."
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
If
■ l
•in]
i
.riit
't
' ) ,
II
112
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
for her ladyship's address at the seaside. Of course he refused
to give it."
" You hear that, Julian 1 " 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 Rose-
berry again, I have it in my power to stop her instantly."
" How 1 " 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 in-
dicate, 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 account-
able 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 aii I 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 ac-
tually adopted. Lady Janet insisted on an explanation.
" Why do I hear of this now for the first time V 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 acknow-
ledge 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 en-
quiries abroad — unsatisfactory as it may have been in other
COMINU EVIi^TS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 113
3 refused
m. The
ession of
it, in his
iss Rose-
bly."
in charge
candal."
" Julian
mg more
[led here
ite of the
lie police-
ced man,
that I in-
trate will
nine the
■j account-
ill report
inder the
lazement.
I take the
I had ac-
Lon.
he asked.
ecautions
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 precauticns as the lawyer and doctor
ohought necessary. I have dv>ne 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 1"
" 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 1" (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 honour 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 Rose-
berry as possible. Shall I find you in this room when I come
back?"
« Yes."
" Alone V*
He laid a stror g 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 V
Julian laid one hand on his aunt's arm, and pointed witli
the other to Horace — standing with his back to them, warm-
ing his feet on the fender.
♦' Well r 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 these words he left the room.
u
i'wf
asaa
■■
114
THE NEW iVlAGJ)ALEN.
CHAPTER XV.
i I
1 1
A WOMAN'S REMORSE.
AVING wanned his feet to his own entire aatisfaction,
Horace turned round from the fireplace, and discovered
that he and Lady Janet were alone.
" Can I see Grace V 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 1 Which was the Man of the
two?
'* Nobody can see her," answered Lady Janet. " Not even
you 1"
The tone of the reply was sharp — with a dash of irony in
it. But where is the modern young man — possessed of health
and an independent income — who is capable of understanding
that irony can be presumptuous enough to addr'jss itself to him /
Horace (with perfect politeness) declined to consider himself
answered.
*' Does your Ladyship mean that Miss Roseberry is in bed V
he asked.
" I mean that Miss Roseberry is in her room. I mean thiat
I have twice tried to persuade Miss Roseberry to dress and
come down stairs — 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
tisfnction,
liscovered
;one, as it
Y Janet at
nd herself
idvantage.
leage ; he
,he strong
Ian of the
Not even
irony in
of health
irstanding
!lf to him 1
r himself
in bed T
naean thiat
dress and
vhat Miss
do for
let might
At her
through
Iwords on
[ng sound
A woman's remorse.
115
(travelling nearer and nearer over the library carpet) of a
silken dress.
(In the interv?»] while a coming event remains in a state of
uncertainty, what is it the inevitable tendency of every English-
man 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 propos. " ; her attention
remained fixed on the library door. The rustling sound stop-
ped for a moment. The door was softly pushed open. The
false Grace Roseberry enter d 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 i)lease 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 «p ; she stood submissive, her eyes fixed
on a little basket of coloured wools which hung on her arm.
" Thank you, Lady Janet," she said faintly. " Thank you,
Horace."
m
If
g'i
i-
i J
110
TIIK NKW MA(}I)AM;N.
IToraco j>liico(l her arm in \m, nml led hor to tho sofa, Slio
shivtMHMl as sho took li(>r H«>ivt, and lookod round lior. It was tlui
first tinio sho had scon tlio dininsjj-room sinci^ tho day whon sho
had found horsolf faoo to taiM? with tlio (h»ad-alivo.
"Why do yon conio \wn\ my hnol" iislcod Tiady Janot.
"Tho <h*a wing-room would havo boon warmor and a pleasantor
phico for you."
" 1 saw a oarrinjjjo at tho front door. T was afraid of mooting
with vinitors in tlio-(h*!iwinjj;-room."
As sIjo maiU^ that roply, tho sorvant can»o in and announced
tho v^isitors' namos. Lady Jaiu^t Highod wc^arily. " I mtist go
and g(»t rid of thom," vsho said, resigning liorsolf to circumstan-
ces. " What will j/ou <lo, (TriU'(\"
" I will stay hero, if yon ploaso."
"I will koop horcom[)any." added Iloraro.
I^atiy Janet hesitated. She had promisivl to see luir nephew
in the dining-room on his return to the housf^ — and to see him
alone. Would there be time enough to get rid of tho visitors
and to establish her adopti>d daughter in tho empty drawing-
room before Julian appeared 1 It was a ten miinites' walk to
tho lodge, and he bad to make tho gatekec^pei- understand liis
instructions. Lady Janet decided that she liad time enough
at hor dis[)osal. She nodded kindly to Mercy, and left her
alone with her lover.
Horace seated himself in the vacant place on the sofa. So
far ab it was in bis nature to devote himself to any one he was
devoted to Mercy. "I am grieved to see how you havo
suffered," he said, with honest distress in his face as he looked
at her. " Try to forget what has happi^ned."
"I am trying to forge<. 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 1 " she asked suddenly.
;es.
** What does he say about it 1 " She looked at Horace for
the first time, steadily scrutinising his face. Horace took refuge
in prevarication.
" I really haven't asked Julian's opinion," he said.
She looked down again with a sigh, at the basket in her lap
— considered a little-— and tried him once more.
I
fa. Slio
b WJIH iliO
irhon who
y Jimot.
leasiuitor
; moctiug
riTiounced
nuiHt go
•cuuistan-
r nephew
o see liim
e visitors
(Irawiiig-
' wiilk to
stand his
enough
Mi her
?ofa. So
le he was
roil have
le looked
>f."
d fingers
lenly.
orace for
ok refuge
her hip
A WOMAN S IIKMOIISK,
117
"Why has Mr. .Iiilian (Jray not l)een licre for awholeweekl"
she wtiiit on. " Tlie s(!rvaiit,s say he has he(!U abroad, is
tlmttrue?"
It was usehvss to deny it. Horace admitted that the ser-
vants were right.
Ilea' fingers siuhh'uly stopp(,d at tlieir restless work among
the wools: Iwr hreatli ((uickeiKMl [xtrceptibly. What lia<l Jul-
ian Gray ])een doing abroad? Had lie been making in(iuiries'(
Did he aloiH% of all the jteojde who saw that terril)le meeting
suspect her? Yes! His was the finer intelligence ; his was
a clergyman's (a London clergyman's) (sxperience of frauds and
decei)ti()ns, and the v/omen who were guilty of them. Not a
doubt of it now ! Julian suspected her.
" When does he come back t " she asked, in tones so low
that Horace could barely Imar her.
" He has come l.)ack already. Ho returned last night."
A faint shade of colour stole slowly over the pallor of her
face. She suddenly i)ut 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 vume here and frightened
me?"
Horace hastened to reassure 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 quiie a stranger, the a, to Mr. Julian Gray — be-
fore that ?"
" Quite a stranger," Horace replied. " No mere 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
1 ';,
IIH
Tllli NKW MAOPVMiN
IP
1\-
V
■ ^ f
\wu\ H',\\\\{ with n. liclplcKH woiiiiiH'HH nu lin hrcint, lluriM!»»
rose in iiljuin.
" \'<Mi int> cold yiMi .*in' I'.iinl !" ho H.-iid. " Lcl. \\\r get, you
II glass (>r wiiu>! let nic mciid th«' lin^ I"
'riu' dcrrtnlcrH wvw still (Ui tin* Imichron tahhv llonico in-
sistod on her diii\king Honio port. wine. Slic l>;iroly look half
thiM'onli'iits of the wineglass. I'lv(>n llial lilllo told on licr
sonsilivc orgainsation ; it, ronscd h(>r sinking cncigics ol" hotly
and mind. After watching her Huxionsly, wilhont alfrarting
luM" notice, Horace left her again to attend to the lir(> at the
otluM- »»ntl of the room. Her cvch followed him slowly with a
hard and t»N\rl(>ss despair. " Kally yonr spiiits," she lejtcatcd
to h«>rself in a whispiM-. " My spirits! Oh, (Jod!" She look«>d
ronnil at the luxury and hc^aiity of the room, as those look who
take their leave of familiar sctMU's. The moment al't(*r, her e'Mm
sank, and rested t)n the ricli dress that she wore a gift, fro.
Lady danet. She thought of the past; she thought of tho
future. Wjks the time m»ar when sho would he hack again in
the Kefuge, or hack again in tlu> strc^ets T - she who had l)eofi
Livdy .lamp's adopted daughter, and Horace Hohucroft's ho-
trothotl wife ! A sudih'n frenzy of reckh>Hsiu!S8 seized on Ium'
as she thought of tho coming (Mid. Horace was right ! Why
not rally her spirits 1 Why not make tho most of her time?
Tho last hoiirs of hev life in that house were at haiul. Why
not onjoy her stolen tositiiui while she could I " Adventuress!"
whispered the mocking spirit within her, " l)e trut^ to your
charactor. Away with your remorse ! K'emorse is the luxury
of an honest woman." She caught up her hasket of wools, in-
spired by a new idea. " King tho boll 1" alio criod out to
Horace at tho li replace.
Uo 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. *' T have left my work up-
stairs. 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.
" Gro up stairs, and ask my maid for my work," she said
sharply. Eveu the man was taken by surprise ; it was her
^
A W(»MAN H KKlVfnKHK.
II!)
Iltiran'
got you
oi'Hco in
ook hull'
I on Ik r
of body
itnu'liiig
•t> at tlio
ly with it
i(> IooU<mI
look who
, Ihm" »'"<m
fill. tVo.
it ol' thu
tigain ii)
wul Ihhmi
voIVh 1)(v
(I on Ikm'
bl Why
lor tinid 1
d. Why
'uturcHH !"
to your
w hixury
ivools, lu-
ll out to
v^oico was
lUst have
work up-
havo my
lically to
she said
was her
liahit to Hpcjik to thd H(*rv!intH with a /^onth'iM'ss and coiiHidrra-
tion which hnd loiif^ Hincr won all tlicii' Imarts. " i>o you ln-ar
ni(" T hIm! ankcd inn»!i,tii'ntly, TIm' H«Tvant ltovv«'(l, and wmb
out on liiH errand. Sim turnetl to Horace with IliiMJiing eycH
and IcvrirtI (jlinkH.
"What a coird'ort it Ih," hIu^ Huid, "to Im-Iou;,' to the u[»p(!r
olnnseH ! A poor woman han no ni.'iid to drcHH her, and no foot-
man to Hend up Htairs. Ih life worth having, Iloraci!, on U'HH
than live thousand a year V
Tim .servant returned with a Htrip of emhroidi^ry. Hhe took
it with an iuHohnit grace, ami told him to hring her a footHtooI,
The man ol)eyed. »Sh(5 to.sHcd the (irrdu'oidery away from her
on the Hofa. "On Herond tlioiightn J don't care. a))out my
work, Hhe Kaid. "Take it ui>«tairH again." Tin; [tcrWuMy
trained Hervant, marvelling jtrivately, olieycd once more.
Iloiace, in .silent aHtoniMhment, advanccsd to tlie sofa to ohaerve
her more ne.tily. "How grave you look !" she excl.iimed, with
an air of lli|»p.'int iniconcein. " You dcju't a[)prove of my sit
ting idle, perhap.s 1 Anything to ph-ase you ! / haven't got to
go up an<l down stair-s. King the bell again."
" Aly dear (jl race," Horace remonntrated gravely, " you are
(piite mi.staken. I nev(!r even thought of your work."
" Never min«l, it's inconsistent to send for my work, and
then send it aw.ay again. King the bell."
lIorac(! looked at her without moving. " Grace !" he said,
" what has come to you 1"
"How should I know?" she retorted carelessly. "Didn't
you tell mo to rally my spirits ] Will you ring the bell ? or
must 1 ?"
Horace su})mitted. 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 sympa-
thy 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. " 1
have a remark to make, Horace," she went on, when the door
I
120
TUE NEW MAODALEN.
! !
Ii
ill ■!'
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 would
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 aeen 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 t She is not offended with me 1 "
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 emboidery — so close that Horace could not see her face.
" Do you know what the present is 1" she asked in lowered
tones ; speaking absently.
" No. I only know it is waiting for you. Shall I go and
get it to-day 1
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 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
our's."
" Almost 1" she repeated. '* Only almost ?"
The momentary levity of expression vanished from Horace's
face. The family-question was fjir too serious a question to be
our rank
Nothinc
ly would
i^ondered
returned
aciously ;
3en your
up and
nough to
8 mother
f-esteera.
My dear
I, she has
jlose over
her face.
lowered
I go and
went on
can go
" Your
is afraid,
lough to
|e gently
knnected
rood as
lorace g
lu to be
A woman's rkmorse.
121
lightly treated. A becoming shadow of solemnity stolo over
his manner. He looked as if it wjis 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 tver have thought of marrying me ? "
" My love ! what is the use of asking 1 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 vm '.^ have respected the girl, without ceasing
to respect herself," he said. " My mother would have remem-
bered what was due to the family name."
" And she would have said. No 1 "
" She would have said. No."
"Ah!"
There was an undertone of angry contempt in the exclama-
tion which made Horace start. *' What is the matter ? " he
asked.
" Nothing," she answered, and took up her embroidery again.
r
j
i
J
r
'1
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I ; ' ' ■■
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1 !, ■
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( ,"
I
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i
y^m
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122
THK NKW MA(JnALr,N.
Thoro he aat at hor side, anxiously looking at hor — his hojx^ in
the fiituro centred in his marriage ! In a week inon;, it slie
chose, she might enter that ancient family of which he had
spoken so proudly, as his wife. " Oh I" she thought, " if I
didn't love him ! if I had only his mercilesa mother to think
of !"
Uneasily conscious of some estrangement between them,
Horace spoke again. "Surely,! have not oftendedyou?" he
said.
She turned towards him once more. The work dropped un-
heeded on her lap. Her grand eyes softened into tenderness.
A smile tremlded 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. ''"he 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 answer-
ing ; 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 V 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 the heaven above us !"
She drank in those '^ew commonplace words with a greedy
delight. She forced him to repeat them in a new form.
*' No matter who I might have been 1 For myself alone ?"
" For yourself alone. "
She threw both arms round him, and laid her head passion-
ately on his breast. " I love you ! I love you ! ! I love you ! 1 1"
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 towards him revealed
itself in all its horror as the confession of her love escaped her
I
A WOMAN S UKMOKSR.
12a
i \n)\w in
'i',, it" sh»!
h he hiul
It, " if I
to think
>ii thera,
your he
pped un-
lulerness.
one hand
Toice lent
1 woman's
Duld only
)pping to
rsisted in
it answer-
mind,
he would
him. He
ider any
3B on his.
a greedy
m.
alone 1"
I passion-
you ! I 1"
etition of
rage and
revealed
japed her
)
iljH. Hor arms dropped from him ; she flung herself Imck on
\ e «ofa cushioufi, hiding her face in her hands. *' Uh, leave
mei" she moauo<i, faintly. "Go ! go !"
i Horace tried to wind his arm round her, and raise hor. She
started to h«r teet, and waved him i)ack from her with a wild
action 01 her hands, as if she was frightened of him. " The
wedding-prbSHiit !" she cried, seiaiug the first pretext that oc-
curred to hei. " You offered to bring me y(jur mother's pre-
sent. I am (lying 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 clenched hand on her
bosom. " I am not well. Talking excites me — I am hyste-
rical ; I shall be better alone. Get mo the present. Go I"
" Shall I send Lady Janet 1 Shall I ring for your maid 1"
*' 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 J"
" Yes ! yes I"
There was no alternative but to obey hei. Cu willingly 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 ionger — she
felt it, she knew it — her head would have given way ; she
would have burst out before him with the teriible truth.
" Oh I" 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 wer«
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 mo-
ment 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 dis-
covered Mercy sitting alone at the farther end of the room.
Inch by inch she opened the door more widely, took one «»1i<)j»
S^B^^USSKSM
Tm.
^' M
1' ' r
''■£ .ii'
124
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
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 1 and what would they do next 1 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, witk her ear at the keyhole, Grace
Koseberry waited the event.
f Ih ^j i > .
m i 1
-'' ■ ■'? m
,)
I
at the far
istaken —
tly closed
he sound
n's voices
cd tones,
t1 They
drawing-
16 garden.
)le, Grace
THHY MEET AGAIN.
126
CHAPTER XVI.
THEY MEET AGAIN.
BSORBED in herself, Mercy failed to notice the open-
ing door or to hear the murmur of voices in the con-
servatory.
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 shiink-
ing 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 backagain
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 fon-ler of her. How could she confess
to Lady Janet ] how could she own to He, race, that she had im-
posed upon him 1 "I can't do it. They are so good to me — I
(•■ 'tdoit!" In that hopeless way it had ended during the
JJ}
126
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
i ' ' «a
i.i
'W
seven days *;hat 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 plaee, unconscious of the events thai
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 ad-
vantage, 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 own.
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 Koseberry 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 don*
to her? She had lost the salary of Lady Janet's " companioTi
and reader." Say that she wanted money, Mercy had her
savings from the generous allowance made to her by Lady
Jane+. ; Mercy could offer money. Or say that she wanted
employment, Mercy's interest with Lady Janet could offer em-
ployment, 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 tlie empty room. She, who but a few minutes
since, had shuddered at the thought of their meeting again, was
it ended
id of the
,ed again
rents thai
stress laid
w train of
question
)n to have
personated
I, what ad-
jrry derive
1 really her
ive-,1 ^o the
^o ! all the
to the false
cy had won
lercy's own.
>t the heart
servedly) a
tnowledged
inevitable
sionof the
rrong dont
companio?!
ly had her
jrby Lady
she wanted
^d offer em-
for, if she
jdly, weary
3W minutes
again, was
THEY MEET AGAIN,
127
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 around 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 1 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 in-
tently. The sound — if she had really heard it — was no longer
audible. She advanced towards the billiard-room to set her
first doubt at rest. She stretched out her hand to open the door
— when the voices (recognisable now as the voices of two men)
caught her ear once more.
This time, she was able to distinguish ths 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 Jar.et is
not here." She turned, as she spoke, towards 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
' 9
^t
I ■'
128
rtlK NKW MAlJDAJ.LiN.
nr
'.i'.>
first mooting wore now exactly ropoaUvl, with tho ono diffi^r-
ince, that tho impiiUo to withdraw, tliis timo appeared to bo
on tho man's side and not on the woman's. T^ was Mercy who
spoko first.
" Did you expect to find Lady Janet here? " she asked con-
strainedly.
Uo answered, on his part, more constrainedly still.
" It doesn't mutter," ho said, "another time will do."
He drew back as he made the reply. She advanced desper-
ately, with the deliberate intention of detaining him by speak-
ing again.
Tho attempt which he had made to withdraw, the constraint
in his manner whtMi ho had answered, had instantly confirmed
her in the false conviction that he, and ho alone, had guessed
the truth ! If she was right — if he had secretly made dis-
coveries 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 st< jd 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."
Tlie eff'ort of hiding her agitation from him had brought
a passing colour into her cheeks. Worn and wasted as she
was, tho sp*»ll of her beauty was strong enough to hold hirn
against his own will. All that he had to tell Lady J anet was
that ho had met one of the gardeners in tho conservatory , and had
cautioned him as well as tlie 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 himswlf for doing it, he allowed himself
to look at her. Their eyes met. Julian stepped into the din-
ing-room.
** If I am not in the way," he said confusedly, " I will wait,
as you kindly propose."
I{i^:
TKKY MK.K/r A (J A IN.
1 1'9
no (li(Tt»r-
rod to ho
ercy who
.wkod con-
do."
n\ despor-
by speak-
conatmint
coutiriinnl
sid guessed
made dis-
lercy — the
n with her,
)st interest
tiniation of
id her cohl
, and spoke
((
If you
id brought
ted as she
hold him
anet was
ry, and had
have been
>n quitting
d, for the
make the
her as he
empt, and
ed himself
to the din-
will wait,
She noHeod liis «'!nl)iirrassiTient ; slio saw that he was stron^dy
restraining hiiiiscif from looking at li<^r again. Ilcr own v.yoH
(lr()j)i)ed to tlie ground as slin niadn the discovery. Her speech
failed Ikt ; hvv heart throbbed faster and fasten.
" If Hook at him again" (was tins tlionglit in he}' mind) " I
sliall fall at liis feet and t<!ll him all that I have done I "
"If 1 look at her again" (was the thought in his mind) " I
shall fall at her foot and own that I am in love with her ! "
With downcast eyes he placed a chair for her. With down-
cast eyes she bowed to him and tf)ok it. A dead silence fol-
lowed. Never was any human misunderstanding more intri-
cately complete? than the misunderstanding which had now eata-
blished itself between tiiose two.
Mercy's work-basket was near her. She took it, and gained
time for composing herself \yy pretending to arrange the co-
loured wools. He stood behind her cliair, looking at the
graceful turn of her head, looking at the rich masses of her
hair. He reviled himself as the weakest of m(?n, as the
falsest of friends, for still remaining near her and yet ha
remained.
The silence continued. The billiard-room door opened again
noiselessly. The face of the listening woman appeared stealth-
ily behind it.
At the same moment Mercy roused herself and spoke :
"W(m'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 cliair — turned so quickly that ne saw the
billiard room door move, as Grace lioseberry closed it again.
" Is there any one in that room ] " he asked, addressing
Mercy.
" 1 don't know," she answered. " I thought 1 saw the door
open and shut ngain 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 stoi)pe I to pick
it up for her — then threw o|)'jn the door and looked into the
billiard-room. It was empty.
Had some person been listening, and had that person re-
treated 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
VM)
Till'; NI.W MAonAi.KN.
« 1 ;
1
Hi
1
■r
L
'«i
grouinls. Julian closeO and locktMl it, ami rcUiiiied to tli<i
diiiinji; room.
" lean only supposo," ho said to Morcy, *' that thr billiard-
room door wa.s not properly shut, and that the draught of aii'
from the hall must have moved it."
She accepted the explanation in silcnice. ITe was, to all ap-
pearance, not <iuite satisfied with it him.self. For a moment or
two he looked about him uneasily. Then the old fascinivtion
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 couragi^ that
faded 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.
" 1 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 bask'^t. The various speci-
mens 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 1 "
•* Let me help you," said Julian.
" You ! "
" Why not 1 " he asked, with a momentary return of the
quaint humour 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 stretclicd 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 he)'
fear of him. She began to roll the wool oflF 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.
THK (UlAKIilAN ANGEL.
131
kmI to the
10 billiiinl-
uglit of iiif
I, to all uv
moniont or
faHciuivtion
)kwl at tlx'
hair. The
lat Hi\o hiul
;oara|?e that
■ work — too
The sih'uce
ommonplacc
xicty I have
I •' To-day
^ir.g to *lo a
rariou8 speci-
rtly in hn)He
Here is sad
ile. "How
eturn of the
l"\ou forget
:e themselves
Inravel one of
1 stretched on
i-cy to wind,
the homely
quieted her
hands into a
Anch were to
Ions, if he did
CIIArTEU XVII.
THE (!UAUI»rAN ANOFJ..
OU were here when T fainted, were you not ?" Mer(;y
began. " You must think me a sad coward, even for
a woman."
Ilo ahook his heail. " 1 am far from tldnking tliat," lie re-
plied. '* No courage coidd have 8ustaifie<l 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 unexpi^cted Hyrnpathy mean ? Was he laying a trap
for her ! Urged by that serious doubt, she questioned him
more boMly.
" Horace tells me you have been abroad," she said. " Did
you enjoy your holiday 1 "
" It was no holiday. I went abroad because I thought it
right to make certain inquiries " He stopped there, un-
willing to return to a subject that was painfid to her.
Her voice sank, her fingers trendded round tlie ball of wool —
but she managed to go on,
" Did you arrive at any results 1 " 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 you ■ 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 'i '
" Do you think her an adventuress 1 "
(As she said those words the branches of a shrub in the con-
servatory were noiselessly parted by a hand in a black glove.
The face of Grace Roseberry appeared dimly behind the leaves.
V
!\i
i
.:i
>.„:
132
THE NEW MAODALKN.
Undiscovered, she had escaped from tlie billiard-room, and had
stolen her way into the conservatory as the safer hiding place of
the two. Behind the shrub she couhl see as well as listen.
Behind the shrub she waited as patiently as ever.)
" I take a more merciful view," Julian answered. " I be-
lieve she is acting under a delusion. I don't blame her : I pity
her."
" You pity her 1 " As Mercy repeated the words, she tore
off Julian's hands the last few lengths of wool left, and throw
the imperfectly-wound skein back into the basket. " Does that
mean," she resumed abruptly, ** that you believe her 1 "
Julian rose from his seat, and looked at Mercy in astonish-
ment.
" Good heavens. Miss Roseberry ! what put such an idea as
that into your head 1 "
"I am little better than a stranger to you," she rejoined,
with an effort to assume a jesting tone. " You met that per-
son 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 1 "
" 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 ?;/ 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 kindnefss."
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL.
133
I, and had
g place of
as listen.
. "I be-
er : I pity
, she tore
md throw
Does that
I astonish-
Ein idea as
e rejoined,
)t that per-
Dm pitying
you might
I
how yon
ire idea of
who trusts
edly, than
lose words
confidence
with her
ged Grace
le deceive
,nly accept
she feit
mned her
ng as the
le turned
is eye. He
ion on it.
nded her 1
me," she
enly I feel
,d
She checked herself abruptly. Hor fine tact warned her
that she was speaking too warmly — that tlie 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 1 " she asked in her quieter
tones. " I don't feel able to work just now."
His ])ack 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 proof 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 1 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 Lime 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 1 "
"Yes?"
" Suppose you believed that she was wickedly bent on de-
ceiving others for a purpose of her own — would you not shrink
from such a woman in horror and disgust 1 "
" 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 psrsisted, " and still feel for her 1 "
"With all my heart.''
" Oh, how good you are i "
He held up his hand in warning. The tones of his voice
deepened ; the lustre 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 neighbour as myself Who but a Pharisee can believe he
is better than another 1 The best among us to-day may, but for
the mercy of God, be the worst among us to-morrow. The
isei
i!
Mi5
i
.'f 1
■ ■ i
«i
!, !
I.'i4
TIIK NKW MAC 1 HAL EN.
trno Cliriatian virtno ia tlio virtuo which ncvor drapRirs of a
fellow-crcjituro. Thn iruo (lliristian t'jiitli iM'licvca in Man as
woll as in (»o(l. Frail and falh'n aH wo are, we can riso on thii
wini^'s of repentance from (>arth to heav«'tj. Humanity is sacred.
Humanity has its ininiorlal. destiny. Who shall dare to say to
man or woman, ' Then; is no hope in you 1 ' Who shall dare
say the work is all vile, when that work hears on it the stamp
ol'the Creator's hand 1 "
lie turned away for a moment, struggling with the emotion
M'hich she had roused in him.
Her eyes, as they followed him, lighted with a momentary
enthusiasm — then sank wearily ifi the vain regret which comes
too late. Ah ! if lio couhl have hecn her friend and her adviser
on the fatal day when she first turne(l her st(^ps towards Mahle-
thorpe House ! She sighed deeply as the hopeless asi)iration
wrung her heart. He heard the sigh ; and turning again, looked
at her with a new interest in his face.
" Miss Koseherry," he said.
She was still absorbed in the bitter memories of the past : she
failed to hear him.
" Miss Koseberry," he repeated, approaching her.
She looked at him with a start.
" May 1 venture to ask you something 1 "
She shrank at the question.
" Don't sup]>ose 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 1 "
" Tt has just struck mo 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 sus
pieion that she had been speaking of herself : his tone and
manner both nnswenul for it that his belief in her was as
strong as ever. Still those last words made her tremble 3 she
could not trucit her.solf Lo reply to tliem.
riiK (ir Mi 1)1 AN AN(ji';i..
135
ipRirs of a
in Man as
rise on i\w
y 18 sacred.
•0 to say to
shall tlarc
the stanip
he emotion
momentary
^hich comes
i her adviser
arda Mable-
i aspiration
gain, looked
he past : she
iriosity," he
can answer
jeen placed
)nco do you
more than a
ne a moment
speaking of
itened you,
low?"
inly no sus
lis tone and
I her was as
eiuble ; she
He M.vcpted tlie hendiiifr of jier liead as a rejdy.
" Ale you intfirested in her ?" lie asked luixt.
She fnntly answenul this time. •' Yv.s."
" Have you rneoura<^ed Iht i"
" I hav«^ not (hired to en(;f)nrn;,'e her."
Ilis face lit up suddenly with enthusiasm, " Go to her,"
he .said, " ami let me f^o with you and help you !"
The answer cauK! faintly ami mournfully. " She has sunk
too low for tliJit !"
llo, interru|)l('(l her with a ge.sture of impatience.
** What has sh.- <lone ?"
" She has deceived— hasely deceived — innocent people who
trusted her. She has wronged- -cru(dly wronged — another
woma!i."
For the first time, Jidian seateo himself at her side. The
interest that was now roused in him was an interest above
reproach. He could speak to Ah^rcy without restraint ; he
could look at Mercy with a pun; 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 in
jured still living 1"
"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 f/ini respect her ?" Mercy asked sadly. "Can such a
mind as yours understand what she has gone through ?"
A smile, kind and momentary, brightened his attentive face.
" You forget my melancholy experience," he answered.
"Young as I am, I have seen more than most men of
women who have sinned and suffered. Even after the little
that you have told me, I think I can put myself in her place.
I can well understand, for instance that she may have been
tempted beyond human resistance. Am I right ?"
'^ You are right."
" She may have had nobody near at the time to advise her,
to warn her, to save her Is that true I"
" It is true."
Wr
i
m
130
Till': NKVV MA(inAl,i:N.
I
I :
■IS
4'^
" Tomptod aud fiiniullcss, seh'-i'bandoned to the evil impulse
of the luonunt, tliis woman may liave committed herself head-
long,' to the act which she now vainly re])ents. She may lon^'
to make atonement, and may not know how to be/^nn. All her
energies may be crushed under the despair and htjrror of her-
self, out of which the truest repentance grows. Is such a
woman as this, all wicked, all vile 1 I deny it ! She may
have a noble nature ; and she may show it nobly yet. Give
her the opportunity she needs — and our fallen fellow-creatui-e
may take her place again among the best of us ; honoured,
blameless, happy once more !"
Mercy's eyes, resting eagerly on him while he was speaking,
dropped again despon(ling 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 com-
mitted an act of deception to the injury of another woman.
Was that what you told me 1"
" Yes."
" And she has gained something to her own advantage by
the act r
« Yes."
" Is she threatened with discovery ?"
" She is safe from discovery — for the present, at least/
" Safe as long as she closes her lips V
" As long as she closes her lips."
" There is her opportunity !" cried Julian. " Her future
is before her. She has ?wt 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 wron^-ijed while that woman is still
powerless to expose her. Let her saciifice 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
ovil impulse
luTHclf head-
ho may long
;in. All her
)rior of her-
. Is such a
! She may
yet. Give
llow-creaturo
; honouretl,
as speaking,
ed, " for the
opportunity.
ment.
3he has com-
ther woman.
livautage by
least/
Her future
;y looked at
i^ords.
^h. me, what
without the
io justice to
Oman is still
ling that she
nement. If
y's sake — to
TTIK GITAHDIAN ANHKL.
n7
licr own prejudice, to her own sliame, to her own loss — then
her repentaiHt' has nobly revealed the noble nature that is in
her ; then she is a woman to be trusted, resjiected, })eloved !
If I saw the Pharisees atul Fanatics of this lower earth passing
her by in contempt, I would hold out my hand to her befon^
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 (Jod's creatures !' "
In those last sentences, he unconsciously repeated the lan-
guage in which he had spoken, years since, to his congrega-
tion in the Chapel of the Kefuge. With tenfold power and
tenfold i)ersuasion, they now found their way again to Mercy's
heart. Softly, suddenly, mysteriously, a change passed over
her. Her trouljled face grew beautifully still. The shifting
light of terror and suspense vanished from her grand grey
eyes, and left in them the steady inner glow of a high and
pure resolve.
There was a moment of si V nee 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 V he asked. " Do you feel, as I feel, that she has wo^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.
" I'ardon me," he rejoined, " I don't understand you."
" You will understand me directly. Give me a little time."
He still lingerec' near the door, with his eyes fixed incjutr-
188
THE NKW MAGDALEN.
■ii - <i
ingly on her. A iian of a lower nature than his, or a man be-
lieving 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 1" he asked considerately. " Shall
I leave you for awhile and return again ]"
She looked up with a start of terror. •* Leave me V she re-
peated, 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 whis-
pered 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 sud-
denly 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, inno-
cently 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, paralysed
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 in-
nocently said to him, " Don't look away from me. Your eyes
give me courage."
His hand returned the ])ressure of hers. He tasted to the
full the «leli(;ious joy of looking at her. She had l)roken dow n
his last reserves of eelf-coiitro\ Tlie thought of Horace, the
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL.
130
or a man be-
, would now
8 far as ever
ttely. "Shall
»e V she re-
nt of saying
d them from
to say were
uld see some
to him on a
yme back to
she pointed
It him, and
3 confession,
stinct whis-
iaid to him,
)uragement.
He neither
ecome sud-
/■. He was
instant he
5tant, inno-
his hand,
roused his
id the pure
*, paralysed
tery of her
nan in him
thought of
e in hers ;
. She in-
Your eyes
;ed to tlio
•k(!n (low II
oraco, the
sense of honour, became obscured in him. In a moment morci
he might have said the words wliich he would have deplored
for the rest of his life, if she had not stopped him by speaking
first. " I liave more to say to you," she resumed abruptly ;
feeling the animating resolution to lay her heart bear before
him at last ; " more, far more, than I liave said yet. Generous,
merciful friend, let me say it here /"
She attempted to throw herself on her knees at his feet. He
sprang from his seat and checked her, holding her with both
his hands, raising her as he rose liims(?lf In the words which
hail just escaped her, in the startling action which had accom-
panied them, the truth burst on him. The guilty woman she
had spoken of was herself !
Wliile 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 lioy entered the room.
1 7
!■■ ' i:
^,i' J!
1 , :'||
' i. i
1 i',
: 1 l\ \
1 **'il!i
1 , ". i
Jij] ' ' i' r
li 1 ■: ;
J; 1 V
■ :1 'iii
■ ' i! 1
4 ''Hi
I f
t ill;
'«■ :
ill!
; I
1*0
THE KEW MA(JDALEN.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE SEARCH IN THE GROUNDS.
#RACE Rosebeny, still listening in che conservatory, saw
the door open, and recognised 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 Jaiicit advanced no further than the threshold. She
stood there and looked at her nephew and her adopted daughter
in stern silence.
IMeicy dropped into the chair at her si<le. Julian kept his
place by her. His miud was still stunned by the discovery that
had burst on it ; his eyes still rested on her in a mute terror
of inquiry. lie 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. S'o ad-
dressed herself to her nephew.
" You were right, Mr Julian Gray," she said with her bit-
terest 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 posi-
tion towards him :
" You ai)parently forget, Lady .Fanet, that you are not speak-
ing to one of your footmen," ho said. " There are serious rea-
sons (of which you know nothing) for my remaining i\ 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 sur-
prised her timidly looking n\) at him. In the instant when
their eyes met, the tumult of emotions struggling in him be-
THE SKAIU'M IN THE (moUNDS.
141
'vatory, saw
f the house,
afer hiding,
shold. She
ed daughter
Ml kept his
icovery that
nute terror
J one act of
ther in the
I. S'f^ ad-
h her bit-
it to liave
I detain
fiamo suddenly stilled. Sorrow for her — coin passionaii tig sor-
I'ow — rose in the new calm and filhid his heart. Now, and
now only, he coidd read in the wasted and noble face how she
had suffered. The pity which he had felt for tjie unnamed
woman grew to a tenfold pity for her. The faith which he had
professed — honestly professed — in the l)etter nature of the un-
nam(ul woman strengthened into a tenfold faith in her. He
addressed himself again to his aunt in a g(^ntler tone. " This
lady," he resumed, " has som(!tlung to say to me in private
which she has not said yet. That is my reason and my apo-
logy for not immediately leaving the house."
Still under the impression of what she had seen on entering
the room, Lady Janet looked at him in angry amazement.
Was Julian actually ignoring Horace Holmcroft's claims, in
the presence of Hoiace Holmcroft's betrothed wife. She ap-
pealed 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 nejjhew once more, and addressed
him in the hardest words that she had ever spoken to her sis-
ter's son :
" If you have any sense of decency," she said — " I say no-
thing of a sense of honour — 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 entirel)'^ misunderstand what you saw when you opened
that door," Julian answered quietly.
" Perhaps I misunderstand the cor* ^iion which you made
to me not an hour ago 1 " retorted L^dy 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
■is:;
i
'i
!l I
m
1
i
'■/■'■
I
14.2
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
that reply. It proved his iiiiiocence as nothing else could have
proved it. Lady Janet dvvw l)ack 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,
h'!jjibly written in his disturbed foce and manner — entered the
room.
In the nervous irritability of the moment, Lady Janet re-
sented the servant's appearance as a positive offence on the
part of the harmless man. Who sent for you 1 " she asked
sharply. " What do you mean by interrupting us 1 "
The servant made his excuses in an oddly bewildered man-
ner.
" I beg your ladyship's pardon. I wished to take the liberty
— I wanted to speak to Mr. Julian Gray."
" What is it 1 " asked Julian.
The man looked uneasily at Lady Janet, hesitated, and
<][lancod 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 sharply ; " that
abominable woman has found her way here again. Am I
right 1 "
The man's eyes helplessly consulted Julian.
" Yes 1 or no 1 " cried Lady Janet, imperatively.
" Yes, my lady."
Julian at once assumed the duty of asking the necessary
qnestions.
" Where is she ? " he began.
" Somewhere in the grounds, as we suppose, sir."
" Did you see her 1 "
" No, sir."
" Who sav^ her 1 "
" The lodge-keeper's wife."
This looked serious. The lodge-keeper's wife had been pre-
sent while Julian gave his instructions to her husband. She
THE SEAIK.'H IN THK GRrnrNDS.
u;j
was not likely to have mistaken the identity of tlie poison
whom she had discovered.
" How long since 1 " Julian asked next.
" Not very long, sir."
" Be more particular. IIoio long 1 "
"I didn't hear, sir."
" Did the lodge-keeper's wife speak to the person when she
saw her 1 "
" No, sir : she didn't get the chance, as I understand it. She
is a stout woman, if you rememl)er. The other was too quick
for her — discovered her, sir -, and (as the saying is) gave licr
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 i)lace, and she is minding the gate. They sent their boy
with tlie message. From what I can make out from the lad,
they would be thankful if they could get a word i^ore 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 approach-
ing to open the door ; and that she was now (in the servant's
phrase) " somewhere in the grounds," after eluding the pur
suit of the lodge-keeper's wife.
The matter w^as serious. Any mistake in dealing with it
might lead to very painful results.
If Julian had correctly anticipated the nature of the confes-
sion 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 lo be — no
other than the true Grace Roseberry.
Taking this for granted, it was of the utmost importance that
144
TFIE NEW MAGDALEN.
11 'I
I i
he shoiiM spoak to Grace privately, befor«? slie committed lior
self to any rashly-renewed assertion of her claims, and before
she could gain access to Lady Janet's adopted daughter. Thy
landlady at her lodgings had already warned hivn that the ob-
ject 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 gentlemen 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 skilful 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 enquiries
instantly at the lodge, and then to direct the search in person.
He looked towards Mercy's chair as he arrived at this reso-
lution. It was at a cruel sacrifice of his own anxieties and his
own wishes that he deferred continuing the conversation with
her, from the critical point at which Lady Janet's appearance
had interrupted it.
Mercy had risen while he had been questioning the servant.
The attention which she had failed to accord to what had
passed between his aunt and himself, she had given to the im-
perfect statement which he had extracted from the man. Her
face plainly showed that sh., had listened as eagerly as Lady
Janet had listened ; with this remarkable difference between
them, that Lady Janet looked frightened, and that Lady Janet's
companion showed no signs of alarm. She appeared to be in-
terested ; 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 expres-
sion in her eyes which suggested to Julian that her mind was
busy with some project of its own. He stopped as he passed
THE SEARCH IN THE (i HOUNDS.
1 4.5
mitted hor
mid before
liter. Tho
hat the ob-
tier way to
ent to take
Drotect her.
i), " and I
le is ! " As
30 seriously
ing as this,
emeiit of an
knew wliere
)d it, there
is enquiries
1 in person,
it this reso-
sties and his
•sation with
appearance
t,he servant.
what had
to the im-
man. Her
[ly as Lady
ice between
lady Janet's
id to be in-
ittle doubt,
fy find this
uneasy. I
return to
lain expres-
mind was
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
Deat fast, his voice sank low, as he spoke to her :
" You shall see me again," he said. " T 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 Lo the ground — she made no repW. Tlie 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."
Literpreting 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 h^^ard the door opened again. He turned round.
Lady Janet had followed him.
" Do you wish to speak to me 1 " 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
^his woman really is in the grounds. She may be lurking
somewhere in the house, and she may appear when your back
is 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
n(^w forbade him to make use of his own precautions — in the
vi'ry face of the emergency which they had been especially in
tended to meet. How could he deularo the true Grace Rose-
PhI
^
1
1
1
t\,
.')i
146
THE NEW MA(jlDALEN.
berry to be mad ? How could he give tlie true CJrace Rose-
berry 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 aTi-
noyance at his aunt's disposal. And now, there stood Lad}
Janet, unaccustomed to have her wishes disregarded by any-
body, with her hand 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 con
trived to slip into the house in his absence, he could provide
against that contingency by sending a second card privately to
the police-station, forbidaing the officer to stir in the affair
until he had received further orders. Julian made one stipu-
lation 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 1
Of course, I shall keep it a secret from Grace ! "
Reassured 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 luanted at Mablethorpe House." This clone, she put
the card into the old-fashioned pocket of her dress, and re-
turned 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
certahdy convinced her that sl^e had misinterpreted what she
li If !l
THE SKAIUH IN THE GROUNDS.
147
Grace Rose-
,d personally
id to require
isult and an-
) stood Lady
'ded by any-
ird !
the difficulty
succeeded in
ake care that
, If she con
could provide
'd privately to
in the athiir
ide one stipu-
it.
positive antl
1 one condition,
with the police
Lady Janet.
frighten her?
ut her already 1
to the grounds.
if ted the gold
wrote on her
plain clothes);
clone, she put
ress, and re-
kictions which
ras spoken on
jpted daughter,
itself in Lady
|ide, on opening
Julian had
leted what she
had seen ; but he had convinced her against her will. She
had found Mi^'cy deeply agitated ; suspiciously silent. Julian
miglit \)ii innocent (she admitted) — there was no accounting
for the vagaries of men. lUit the case of Mercy was altogether
different. Women did not find them-selves in the arms of men
without knowing what they were about. Actpiitting 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 1 Have you no
opinion to offer on this alarming state of things 1 You heard
what the man said to Julian — X saw you listening. Are you
horribly frightened 1 "
" 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. Do you hear ? I congratulate you on
your recovery."
" Thank you, Lady Janets"
" I am not so composed as you are. We were an exciteable
set in my youth — and I havn't got the better of it yet. I feel
nervous. Do you hear 1 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 tne roan ; the women are of no use. I am
afraid I fail to attract your attention 1 "
" You have n.y best attention, Lady Janet."
" You are very good again. I said the women were of no
use."
" Yes, Lady Janet ? "
' 1 y i
148
TIIK NEW MAGDALEN
I'i
' i!
" I mean to plactj a maii-seivaiit 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 he 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 1"
" I am much obliged to your Ladyship. I don't mind being
left here by myself. "
" You don't mind 1 I never heard of such heroism in my
life — out of a novel I Suppose that crazy wretch should find
her way in here ? "
" She would not frighten me this time, as she frightened nio
before."
" Not too fast my /oung lady ! Suppose Good Hea-
vens ! now I think of it, there is the conservatory. Suppose
she should be hidden in there 1 Julian is searching the
grounds. Who is to search the conservatory ?"
" With your Ladyship's permission, / will search the con-
servatory."
"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 'i "
" Yes, Lady Janet."
" Have your own way, then. I shall do one thing, however,
in case of your having over-estimated 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 La-
dyship, 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,
THE SKARCH IN THE CJROUNDS.
149
yerj entrance
(Vill you come
3 the orders in
)tive in asking
• you than you
e by yourseh'.
in't mind being
heroism in my
jtch shouhl find
e frightened nio
— Good Ilea-
itory. Suppose
searching the
search the con-
Live and learn'
iracter. This «
to say so) that
le by surprise on
thing, however,
|own courage. 1
)u will only have
111 give the alarm
In," said her La-
•pocket. "Don't
lave no intention
fdo. Once more,
and for the last time — do you stay here? or do you go with me ?"
" I .stay here."
She resixftfully opem-d the library door for Lady Janel'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
disniissed 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 tlie change in her young companion to
the true motive, Lady Janet left the room to summon her do-
mestic garrison, thoroughly puzzled, and (as a necessary conse-
quence 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 offence
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 con-
fidence 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 fol-
lowed them, rang as grandly as ever in her ears : " Else, poor
wounded heart 1 Beautiful, purified soul, God's angels rejoice
oyer you ! Take your place among the noblest of God's crea-
tures ! " Did the woman live who could hear Julian Gray say
t&at, and who could hesitate, at any sacrifice, at any loss, to
]
I
1 : ■S
i I
!
: ;
■' 1 i
■f ) ,
: * ■
■|! :
' ^ '
■1
ii^.
150
THF NKW MA(3I)AI,EN.
justify his Itflict" in licr ? "Oli ! " sW (Ii(ni;^'litlnii<^'in<^'ly, while
iior «'y<'s f'olhnvcd liiuly .laiu't lo Uio ciul of the liWrary, " II
your worst tears could only be ivalizod ! If I couhl only s(!o
draw Ivosi'h(iiTy in this room, how fcarh'ssly I could lucitt Ik r
now!"
Sho closed tli(^ library door, whih.' La<ly Jauot openod tlic
other door which led into the hall.
As she turned aiul hjokcd back into the dinin<; room, a cry of
astonishment escaped her.
There — as if in answer to the aspiration which was still in
her mind ; there, established in triuniph, on the chair that she
liad just left — sat Grace Roscberi}, iu binister bilence, wuitiM-
for Lor.
THE KVIL tILNlUS.
151
l..M<!;in'j;ly, wliili'
tlic lil.iiiry, " It
i c()ul<l only HCf
couM iiHMit lur
UKit opeiioil the
ig-room, a cry <ii
•liicli was still in
lit! chair tliat she
L' bilcuce, wuiti'in
•^y
CHAPTER XIX.
THE EVIL (JENIUS.
EnOVEKTNG from the first overpowering sensation of
surprise, Mercy rai)i(lly advanced, eaj,'('r to say her first
pi'!iit(!nt words. Grace stopptjd her by a warning ges-
ture of the hand. "No nearer to me," she said, with a look
of contemptuous command. " Stay where; you are."
Mercy paused. Grace's reception ha<l startled her. She in-
stinctively took the chair nearest to her to support herself.
Grace raised a warning hand for the second time, and issued
another connnand :
" I foibid you to be seated in my presence. You have no
right to be in this house at all. Kemember, 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
wa^ 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 con-
trast between them was strange to see. Grace Roseberry,
seated in her chair, little and lean, with her dull white complex-
ion, 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 con-
nected by the ties of relationship with Lady Janet Roy, and
0^
h
l\
n
1^'
■ ■'
I
i
iif'
\
;;l*
I
%
1l
n 'li
i
\ ti'
I ■'
■I ;!
162
THE NEW MAGD.VLEN.
that the ()i\wr liad successfully att(^m))te(l to persouato hor —
be 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 dis-
dainfully minute attention, from head to foou.
" 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
yuu to. There are no gentlemen here to-day to pity you and
pick you up. Mercy Men ick, I have got you at last. Thank
God, my turn lia&i come ! You oan'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 re"ealed itself once more. The
woman who, in those past times, had felt no impulse to take a
suftoring and a penitent fellow-creature by the hand, was the
same woman who could feel no pity, Avho could spare no insol-
ence of triumph, now. Mercy's sweet voice answered her pati-
ently, 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 heart-felt 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 seein ■ you."
Conciliatory as the reply was, it was spoken with a simple
and modest dignity of manner which roused Grace Eoseberry
to fury.
" How dare you speak to me as if you w^ere my equal 1 " she
burst out. " You stand there, and answer me, as if you had
your right and your place in this house. You audacious wo-
man ! 1 have my right and my place here — and what am I
obliged to do ? I am obliged to hang about in the grounds,
and fiy from the sight of the servants, and
and wait like a beggar ; and ail for what 'i
hide like a thief.
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 ; iier hand trembled as it held by
the back ot the chair.
THE EVIL GENIUS.
153
lato her--
it'ss wliidi
iiid Mercy
ill her lips
with clis-
speaking
[t's no use
y to bring
y^ you and
b. Thank
!"
rst shown
Vlercv told
«
lore. The
! to take a
d, was the
e no insol-
d her pati-
I
to
e gone to
here. It
ainst you,
anxioi'S
• you."
a simple
Roseberry
lal 1 " she
you had
cious wo-
hat am I
grounds,
3 a thief,
chance of
he air of
held by
It was haid to bear the reiterated insults heaped on her, but
Julian's influence still made itself felt. She answered as pati-
ently 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 travelled with a tigerish stare
over Mercy's costly silk dress. " Who gave you that dress 1
who gave you those jewels ] I know ! Lady Janet gave
them to Grace Roseberry. Are you Grace Roseberry 1 That
dress is mine. Take off your bracelets and your brooch. They
were meant for me.'"'
" You may soon have them. Miss Roseberry. They will
not be in my possession many 1 .urs longer."
" What do you mean 1 "
" 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 1 You are one shameful brazen lie from head
to foot ! Are you the woman to give up your silks and your
jewels, and your pocition in this house, and go back to the Re-
fuge of your own accord 1 Not you — not you."
A first faint flush of coloui showed itself, stealing slowly
over Mercy's face ; but she still held resolutely by the good in-
fluence 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 si-
lence ; she could no longer trust herself to answer.
The mute endurance in her face idditionally 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 before the whole house. I
shall be the blessed means of casting you back on the streets.
i 4il
i
ii!
!'i
Mi:
1 *•
1m
if 1
lil !
il i 1'
I i:i
-il'
l.')4
THK NKW MAODAI.KN,
Oh ! it will be jiliuost worth {ill I have goi'e throiigli, to sotiyou
with a policeman's hand on your arm, and the mol) pointing at
and mocking you on your way to gaol ! "
This time the sting struck deep ; the outrage was beyond
endurance. Mercy gave the woman who had again and again
delil)erately insulted her a first warning.
"Miss Roseberry," she said, "I have borne without a mur-
mur the bitterest words you could say to me. .Si)are 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 trombling earnestness of tone. Grace listen-
ed 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, aii-d own it at once. Call in Lady Janet — call in
Mr. Gray and Mr. Holmcroft — call in the servants. Go dt)wn
on your knees and acknowledge yourself an impostor before
them all. Then will I believe — not before."
" Don't, don't turn me against you ! " cried Mercy
entreatingly.
" What do I care whether you are against me or not 1 "
" 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 'I "
With a last desiderate 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. [
can't face the shame ot 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 till
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.
THE KVTL OENTTTS.
1.50
)l) pointing at
1 was beyond
;ain and again
itliout a mur-
,Si)are me any
•cstore you to
, to you — I am
Grace listen-
k of contempt,
•ing it."
)U are dying to
* Own it before
Janet — call in
nts. Go down
;npostor before
cried Mercy
e or not ? "
oking me mucli
Do you mean
ing faster and
r cheeks, Mercy
d. " Badly as
ke yourself, 1
ave done befo'-e
(laughter ; Mr.
3. 1 can't t'3ll
s that I have
know it for all
tell the whole
"Aha!" she exclaimed, with a
*' Now we have come to it at
Grace hurst out laughing,
cynical outburst of gaiety,
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, Avith Mr.
Julian Gray ! "
" No more, Miss Eoseberry ! no more I For God's sake,
don't ] )ut me beside myself ! You have tortured me enough
already."
" V( 'laven't been on the streets for nothing. You are a
woman \ ith resources ; you know the value of having two
strings t(» your bow. If Mr. Holmcroft fail you, you have Mr.
Julian Gray. Ah I you sicken me. I'll see that Mr. Holm-
croft's eyes are opened ; he shall know what a woman he might
have married, but for Mo.
She checked herself ; the next refinement of insult remained
suspended on h^r 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 sort of a wo-
man he might have married, but for you ! ' "
Sh>, ])aused, and followed these words by a question which
struck a creeping terror through Grace Roseberry, from the
hair of her head > 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. Tn the guardian
angel's absence the evil genius had done it's evil work. The
better nature which Julian Gray had brought to life sank,
poisoned by the vile venom of a woman's s[)iteful tongue. An
easy and terrible means of avenging the outrages heaped on her
was within Mercy's reach if she chose to tak>^ it. In the frenzy
of her indignation she never hesitated — she took it.
*' Who are you % " she asked for the second time.
:l!
1 i(\
:'(! i
m' '
i 1 11
156
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
Grace roused herself and attempted to speak. Mercy stop-
ped licr with a scornful gesture of her hand.
*' 1 remember ! " she went on, with the same fiercely sup-
pressed rage. " You are the mad woman 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 t.ie 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 1 "
" 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 fixing 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 bend 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 I have done honour 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 1 Not she !
I tell you to your face, I have filled the false position more cre-
ditably then you could have filled the tiue one, and I mean to
THE EVIL GENIUS.
157
[ercy stop-
rcely su]v
e German
of you this
cy turned
den her to
hat I recall
im resolved
what you
a ask them
,st hour of
the woman
the house
for Lady
Iher!"
of a proof
Ision of the
confidence,
my dresses
eny that I
/e nothing
it if I can.
|w that you
name and
have won
I you think
Not slie !
ki more cre-
I I mean to
me long,
keep it. T 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 oppor-
tunity the moment it was within her reach.
'* You defy me 1 " she returned resolutely. *' You won't defy
I have written to Canada. My friends will speuk
for me."
" What of it, if they do 1 Your friends are strangers here.
I am Lady Janet's adopted daughter. Do you think she will
believe your friends 1 She will believe me. She will burn
their letters if they write. She will forbid the house to thorn
if they come. I shall be Mrs. Horace Holmcroft in a week's
time. Who can shake m)/ position ? Who can injure Me 1 ''
"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
1 gave a stranger like you the name I really bore in tlie Re-
fuge ] 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 mo at the
French cottage while you were senseless on the bed. I liad my
grey cloak on ; neither he nor any of them saw me in my
nurse's dress. Inquiries have been made about me on the Con-
tinent — 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 pm Grace Roseberry ; and you are Mercy
Merrick. Disprove it if you can."
Summing up the unassailable security of her false position ii)
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 tlio
room 1 "
" I won't stir a step ! "
Mercy walked to a side-table, and struck the bell placed on it.
m
'■» u
THE NEW MAODALEN.
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 H'jlmcroft with his mother's
wedding present to Mercy in his hand.
m
■l' i
hi
',:n
■M
!-i|i!
\ ilv,
rl
ri
THE POLiCKMAM IN PLAIN CLUTUEii.
159
led. Julian
Barch in the
library-door
( room. The
) Lady Janet
L his mother's
CHAPTER XX.
THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES.
ULIAN 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 party 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 offence 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 1 " she asked. " Are you fright-
ened ? No ! not in the least frightened ! Wonderful ! " She
*urned to the servant. " Wait in the library ; I may want you
again,
manage it
She looked at Julian. " Leave it all to me ; I can
She made a sign to Horace : " Stay where you
are, and hold your tongue." Having said all that was neces-
sary to every one else, she advanced to the part of the room in
which Grace was standing, with lowering brows and firmly-
shut lips, defia.it of everybody.
" I have no desire to oflfend you, or to act harshly towards
you," her ladyship began very quietly. " I only suggest that
your visits to my house cannot 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."
Tlie 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 re-
kiisted in the plainest possible terms.
fflfFP^
^yl
h I
in
If*
■t
I;
160
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
" In justice to my father's memory, and injustice 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 tem-
per. In the interval of silence, Julian seized the opportunity
of remonstrating with Grace.
" Is this what you promised me 1 " 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 I'brary door.
" If you have not made up your mmd to take my advice by
the time 1 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 towards the library. Julian attempted
to interfere with another word of remonstrance. His aunt
stopped him by a gesture whijh said plainly, " I insist on act-
ing for myself" He looked next at Mercy. Would she re-
main 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 o\er her
shoulder at the little immovable black figure in the chair.
" Will you go 1 " she asked for the last time.
Grace started up angrily, from her seat, and fixed her viper-
ish eyes on Mercy.
" I won't be turned out of your ladyship's house, in the pre-
sence 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
ia the outcast and adventuress, Mercy Merrick ! "
THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES.
161
ice to myself,"
to withdraw."
n the presence
tiling her tem-
le opportunity
jently. " You
Mablethorpe
;ot her temper
Lce by pointing
1 my advice by
! said, " I will
am used to be
ise hard words.
dian attempted
ice. His aunt
I insist on act-
Would she re-
ad ; she never
ing apart from
attention, and
oked o\er her
the chair.
ixed her viper-
use, in the pre-
l to force — but
ht to the place
ding me," she
as that woman
away from the
written to my
deny that she
The challenge forced Mercy to take part in the proceedings,
In her own defence. 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 ! " cri(;d Grace. " She may well be
ashamed to free an honest woman. It's her place to leave the
room — not inine ! "
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 her, opened the library door.
" Go to the police station," she said to the servant in an un-
dertone, " 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 ad-
dressing 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 colour and her uneasy silence.
Roused by Julian's significantly distant reference to Avliat had
passed between them, her better impulses were struggling al-
ready 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 re-
memberance of the insults which had bceu heaped upon her —
if Grace's malice had not seen in her hesitation a means of re-
■ ,1
.1'] I'
!l '
I \
1 ' l!
V,
'tl li
! i
162
TIIK NKW M Ad DAL EN.
t'erring offensively once again to her interview with JuHan
Gray.
" Pray don't think twice about trusting him alone with mo,"
she said with a sardonic affection of politeness. " / am not in-
terested in making a conquoht of Mr. Julian Gray."
The jealous distrust in Horace (already awakened by
Julian's request) now attempted to assert itself openly. Before
he could speak, Mercy's indignation had dictated Mercy's answer.
" I am much obliged to you, Mr. Gray," she said, addressing
Julian (but still not raising her eyes to his). " I have no-
thing 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 which 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 seav Hing attention on Mercy's face, while
she was speakmg. He 1. ird Julian sigh to himself when she
had done. He obfdrved Julian — after a moment's serious con-
sideration, 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 in-
sisted on her right to act for herself — Julian took the pencil
from his pocket-book, and added his signature to the writing
already inscribed on the card. When he had handed it back
to the servant he made his apologias 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 ob-
struction to the course which you propose taking. On the con-
trary I have just assisted you in gaining the end that you have
in v'dw."
/.s h3 said that, he held up the pencil with which he had
si^^ned his name.
L;:.dy Janet, naturally perphx'd, and (with some reason
I iiiiiiiiii
THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN PLOTHES
163
with Julian
ne with mo,"
■ / am not in-
wakened by
Bnly. Before
ercy's answer,
id, addressing
"I have no-
D trouble you
I to which she
tied herself to
the face of the
1 saw Julian's
cy's face, while
nself when she
t's serious con-
he stranger in
of a man who
servant. His
Ith. The man
[remptorily in-
)ok the pencil
the writing
mded it back
fid. " There is
(will explain to
"no further ob-
Onthe con-
that you have
rhich he had
some reason
{)erhap8) offond<Ml as well, made no answer. She waved her
land to the servant, and sent him away with tli(? card.
There was silence in the room. The eyes of all the persons
present turned more or less anxiously on Julian. Mercy was
vagucdy surpris I and alarmed. Horace, like lady Janet, felt
offended, without clearly knowing why. Even Grace Kose-
berry her'«'lf was s\il)dued by some presentiment of coming in-
terference 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 clue.
The motive which had animated his conduct may, neverthe-
less, be described in two words : Julian still held to his faith
in the inbred nobility of Mercy's nature.
He hiid inferred, with little difficulty, from the language
which Gra ^ had used towards Mercy in his presence, that the
injured woman must have taken pitiless advantage of her posi-
tion at the interview which ht; had interrupted. Instead of
appealing to Mercy's sympathies and Mercy's sense of right
— instead of accepting the expression of her sincere contri-
tion, and encouraging her to make the <'ompletest and the
speediest atonement — Grace had evidently o itraged and insult-
ed her. As a necessary result, her endurance had given
way — under her own sense of intolerable severity and intoler-
able wrong.
The remedy for the mischief thus done was (as Julian had
first seen it) to speak privately with Grace — to soothe her by
cv» liing that his opinion of the justice of her claims had under-
gone a change in her favour — and then to persuade her, in hv.r
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 permit-
ted to speak separately to the one, and the otlier. The scene
that had followed, the new insult offered by Grace, and the an-
swer 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 one remedy now left to try was the desperate i-emedy ot
ri|
I -• 1
Hi
' !■
r
'ill:
' hi,
111
if:
lijiii
I;, III'
'in
llii 1
ii
l! i
'Uik
164
THE NKVV MAGDALEN.
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 madhouse, or confessing the truth— and
what would happen 1 If Julian's confidence in her was a con-
fidence soundly placed, she would noljly pardon the outrages
which 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 al-
ternative, and persisted in asserting liei 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 confes-
sion 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 deter-
mined 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 interfer
ence, 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 hood-
winked. 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 ? "
THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES.
IG5
implicitly to
iter the room.
H interference
of consignin<j,
le truth— an (1
lier was a am-
i the outrages
I do justice to
lothing better
le faced the al-
identity, what
ker side of the
I entirely with
had prevented
jfhis card, by
to attend to no
card produced
y that he was
ade no confes-
-he had signed
there he stood
he was deter-
room.
suggestive of a
mention and in
open interfer
'of wishing to
nted to Grace),
library?"
-/race burst out.
low that he ia
effectually hood-
ht to be to you.
finding out the
" Do you want to marry an outcast from the streets ] "
Horace took one stt^p forward towards her. There was a
look in his face which plainly betrayed that he was capable of
turning lier out of the house with his owri hands. Lady Janet
8top])('d him.
" You were right in suggesting just now that Grace had bet-
ter leave the room," she .said. " Let us all tliree go. Julian
will remain here, and give the man his directions when he ar-
rives. 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 dig-
nity J 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 opportu-
nity of vindicating Mercy by a public bestowal of the gift.
" Wait ! " he called out sternly. '* Th?,t wretch shall have
her answer. She has sense enough to see, and sense enough to
hear. Let her see and hear ! "
He opened the jevrel-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, honoured 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 sus-
tain the ordeal through which Horace had innocently con-
demned 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 grace-
fully to receive the necklace. Her face warmed into colour ;
.j^
16d
THE NEW M\GDALEN.
i i'
it •'
her beauty rallied its charms. Her triumph over Grace Rose-
berry was complete ! Julian's head sank. For one 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 contemptous 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 fur-
nished her sharp tongue with a new sting.
" You will hear; and yoii 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 pas-
sion.
" You are mad 1 " 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 1 "
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 ac-
cusation revealed to her, for the first time, the frightful suspi-
cion to whiv^h 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 in'.ot^-'e library. She opened the
door — started- -and suddenly stepped aside, so as to leave the
entrance free.
A man appeared in the doorway.
He was? not a gentlemen ; he was not a workman ; he was
not a servant. He was vilely dressed, in glossy black broad-
cloth. His frock coat hung on him instead of fitting him. His
waistcoat was too short and too tight over the chest. His trou-
sers were a pair of shapeless black bags. His gloves were too
large for him. His high polished boots creaked detestably
{' ;i' I
'1:1.'
' ,l^-i>^iJi.l.-U.-llJ-fc —
THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES.
167
Grace T?.ose-
one moment
teen mistaken
sck, love," he
V," he added,
"we may go
1"
id simply fur-
ofs come from
your wife has
see your wife
atburst of pas-
iger in the air
)0 said it :
himself. He
16 contagious
The treble ac-
ji^htful suspi-
mk back, with
She would
caught her.
he opened the
IS to leave the
:man ; he was
y black broad-
ing him. His
(St. His trou-
loves were too
led detestably
whenever he moved. He had odiously watchful eyos — eyes
that looked skilled in peeping through keyholes. 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-posses-
sed, when he was silent. A lurking air of secret-services en-
veloped the fellow, like an atmosi)hore of his own, from head
to foot. He looked all round the magnificent room, without
betraying either surprise or admiration. He closely investi-
gated every person in it with one glance of his cunningly watch-
ful 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 iden-
tity — a police officer in plain clothes.
Nobody spoke to him. Everybody shrank inwardly, as if a
reptile had crawled into the room.
He looked backwards and forwards, perfectedly unembarras-
sed, between Julian and Horace.
" Is Mr. Julian Gray here 1 " 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 !here," he said, pointing to a chair in the most dis-
tant corner of the room. •' 1 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 chairs, 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 pri-
vate 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 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 ap-
168
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
M
i .; m
:'' :i'i
l':- \.i
preached Julian. Like Grace Roscberry, she was trembling.
Like Grace Roseberry, she whispered, " Who is he 1 "
Julian told her plainly who he was.
" Why is he here ? "
" Can't you guess 1 "
" Mo ! "
Horace left Lady Janet, and joined Mercy and Julian — im
patient of the private colloquy between them.
" Am I in the way 1 " he iuquired.
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 h. d placed her in a
chair. The direst of all terrors was in possession of her — ter-
ror of the unknown. There was no fear of her interfering j
and no fear of her hearing what they said, so long as they were
careful to spe ik 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 1 "
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 1 "
" 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
Horacew
'' To the police istation ! " she repeated. " What for ? "
" How can you a&k the question 1" said Horace, irritably.
" To be placed under restraint, of course."
" Do you mean prison 1 "
" I mean an asylum."
Again Mercy turned to Julian. There was horror now, as
well as surprise, in her face. " Oh ! " she s.aid to him, "Horace
is surely wrong 1 It can't be 1 "
Julian left it to Horace to answer. Every faculty in him
seemed to be absorbed in watching Mercy's face. She was com-
pelled to address herself to Horace once more.
i '
I.: it •'Ir
■r
THE POLICEMAN IN PLAIN CLOTHES.
1C9
trembling.
ulian — im
perfectly.
;th of the
3h she was
[ her in a
■ her — ter-
iterfering j
they were
sample by
. to Mercy
ered, " He
watching
again at
[)r
irritably.
r now, as
"Horace
T in him
was com-
((
You don't surely
" What sort of asylum 1 " she asked,
mean a madhouse ? "
" I do," he nyoined. " 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 ! W^hat is the matter 1 "
She turned to Julian for the third time. The terrible alter
native that was offered to her had showed itself ro last, with-
out reserve or disguise. Restore the identity you have stole:.,
or shut her up in a madhouse — it rests with you to choose I In
that form the situation formed 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."
These were her first words. She spoke (pointing to the police
officer) in clear, ringing, resolute tones, audable to the remot-
est 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
resol "tely repeated what she had said • " Send that man out
of the house."
Lady Janet lost all patience with her. " What has come to
you 1 " she asked sternly. " Do you know what you are say-
ing I The man is here in your interest, as well as 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 1 "
" 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 ! "
170
IIIK NKAV M,\<Jl»AI,r,N.
'li
rl^S
1 1
y Hi,
I ,1' ;
Julian HlopjUMl asido (with hiH aiinlH (\yoH aii^jrily lollowiiii;
him) Mini spok«> to t Ii«' i)(»li( i- oIVkm^i'. " (Jo hark t.o the Htal ion,"
1h< said, " and \vj«il. llu>rr (ill y<"« Ih'.'M' IVoni nio."
The meanly viu;ilnn( <>y<'^^ <'l 'he man in plain cIoMioh Iravcl
\M »'u\o]o\\ir from Julian to Mercy, and valued I heir heauty an
Ihey had v.uued (.h<> earpet. and the ehairn. " The old story,"
he thouf^ht. " The niei^looUinsj; wonian is ahvay.s at. th(> h(»t,
toni of it. ; an«l. sooner or lat(>r the nice-lookin/j; woman has h(>r
way." He man hed hack across th(» rovnn, to th«> discord ol" his
own creakinj;' hoots ; how(»d. with a villainous Hmih^ which put
the worst const ructioL upon overything ; and vanished throui:;h
(he lihraiy <lt.or.
Lady Janet's high hre(»ding restra«n(>d her from flaying any
thing until the police oilicer was out of hearing. Then, and
not till then, she appealtMl to Julian.
" 1 presinn«» you are in tin* secret of this," she said. " 1 «up
pose you hav«> svmie reason for setting my authority at «lefiance
in my (»wn house."
"1 have ninvr yet failed to respect your ladyship," Julian
answered. " Ik^fore Ion you will know that 1 am not tailing
in res]iect towards you now^"
Lady .lanet look(Ml across the room. Grace was listening
<\igerly. consciou!? that events had taken some mysterious tmn
in her favour within the last minute.
*' Is it ii.irt of your new arrangement of my afTaira," her
ladyship continued, '* that this person is to remain in tlu>
h»>use ? "
The terror thatliad ihmntod Grace had not lost all hold o(
her yet. She left it to Julian to re]>ly. Before he could speak
Mercy had crossed the room and whisptn'ed to her, "Give me
time to confess it in writing. I can't own it b(>fore them — with
this round my neck." She pointed to the necklace. Grace
cast a threatening glance at h«»r, and i.uddenly looked away
again in silence.
Mercy answ^n'ed Lady Janet's question. " I heg your lady
ship to permit her to remain until the half hour is over/' she
said. " IMy request will havi^ explained itself by that time."
Lady Janet raised no further obstacles. Something in
Mercy's face, or in Mercy's tone, seemed to have silenced her,
:i« it bad silenced Grace. Horace was the next who spoke. In
THK. I'<>M(!|';IV1AN IN IM,AIN rl.nlHKK.
171
i
y lollowiiifc;
he Htiit i(»ii,"
)lli(>s Iravol
r ))(>!Hity iiH
« old Klory,"
i\{, tln^ Ixtl,
nan Iimh Ikt
iscord <>r liis
(> vvliicli put
U'd Uirongh
saying any
Thou, and
(I. " I m\\
y at. <U'lianc(3
(hip," dnlian
u not lailini;
aa lisioninj;
;,(>rion» inrn
iilVaira," lici-
nivin in Iho
all hold ol
coidd s[»0!d\
"(jivc mo
lliom — with
aco. Grace
ookcd away
your lady-
s over," slio
I at time."
mothing in
Icncod hrr,
(o spoke. In
tones of «n|>|tn'SH<Ml ra.g<MiTnI HnHpicion, hc.'Mhhv.ssrd hini.m-jf to
^..u'(•y, Htandiiig fronting him hy .luLinV, Kido.
" Am I inchidcd," he asked, "in tho !irra?i}.';<'mcnt which viu-
gagoH you to explain yonr extraordinary condn^^t in half an
hour r'
/lis hand had placed hin tiiothci'H wcthling prcnont rotind
Mercy's neck. A sliaij) pang wrung lier as hIio h»()k(u| at
Horace, and saw how deeply .she had Mhca,<ly diHtrcHHcd and of-
fended him. The tears lose in her eyew ; she humhiy and
faintly answei-ecl him.
" 11' yon pIcMse," was mII she <'onld say, hefore the crn(!l swel-
ling ai hi^r he.'irt rosi! a.nd silenced her.
llora(;e's sens<i of injniy refnH(!<l to he soothe<l Ijysuch Kinij)lo
Kulnnissiim as this.
" I <lislike mysteriiis and inn(Mi<lo(!s," Ik* went on ha,rshly.
" In my family circle we are acciistomed to nuM^t <'a(;h otlicir
fraiddy. Why am 1 to wait hidf an hour for an explanation
which might Ix! given now ? What am I to wait fori "
Lady Janet rec(r/ered Innsc^lf as Horace spoke.
" i entirely agree with you," she said. " 1 ask what are we
to wait for?''
Even .lulian's Helf-posHossio!i failed him when his aunt re-
peated that cruidly plain (|uestior,. How would Mtsrcy answer
it'/ VVouhl her courage still hold out?
" You have asked iiie what you are to wait for," she said to
Horace, (juietly and lirmly. " Wait to hoar something more of
Mercy Merrick."
Ija<ly Janet listened with a look of weary disgust.
"Don't return to l/inf f" she said. We ktiow 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 respcictfuliy.
" I have bogged of you, Lady Janet, to give me half an
hour," she went on. " In half an hour I solemidy engage my-
self to produce Mercy Merrick in this room. Lady Jantit Uoy,
Mr. Horace Ilolmcroft, you an^ to wait for that."
Steadily pledging her.selfin those t«nins to make her confes-
sion, she unclasped the pearls tVom hej- neck, put them away in
'm'ii
i
n ,(
"T^
'11
vm
li ;
ii, r
•:j
172
THE NEW MAGDALEN
their case, 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 paralysed by surprise. His hand moved
mechanically. His eyes followed Mercy with a vacant ques-
tioning look. Lady Janet seemed, in her different wf.y, to
share the strange oppression which 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 or looked it yet.
" Have I your ladyship's leave," said Mercy, respectfully, " to
go to my room ? "
Lady Janet nmtely granted the request. Mercy's last look,
before she went out, was a look at Grace. " Are you satisfied
now % " the grand grey eyes seemed to say mournfully. Grace
turned her head aside, with a quick petulant action. Even
her narrow nature opened f r a moment unwillingly, and let
;oity in a little way, in spite of herself.
Mercy's parting words recr .amended Grace to Julian's care :
" You will see that she is allowed a room to wait in 1 You
will warn her yourself when the half hour is expired 1 "
JuJian opened the library door for her.
" Well done 1 Nobly done ! " he whispered. " All my sym-
pathy is with you — all my help is yours."
Her eyes looked at him, and thanked him, through her ga-
thering tears. His own eyes were dimmed. She passed quietly
down the room, and was lost to him before he had shut the door
again.
.'t «;
J
i: '
THE FOOTSTEP IN THE COKRIDOK.
173
3ep it," she
titil we meet
acted like a
hand moved
vacant ques-
5nt WE.y, to
im. A vague
p her mind,
looked her
ectfully, " to
y's last look,
you satisfied
ully. Grace
jtion. Even
gly, and let
ulian's care :
lit in 1 You
ired ? "
All my sym-
)ugh her ga-
assed quietly
}hut the door
J
CHAPTER XXI.
THE FOOTSTEP IN THE CuRRTDOR.
^^^^ ERCY 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 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 1 In writ-
ing 1 or by word of mouth 1
After all that had happened, from the time when Lady
Janet's appearance had interrupted them, she would have relief
rather than embarrassment in personally opening her heart to
the man who had so delicatelv understood her, who had
so faithfully befriended her in her sorest need. But the
repeated betrayals of Horace's jealous suspicion of Julian warn-
ed her that she would only be surrounding herself with new
difficulties, and be placing Julian in a position of painful em-
barrassment, 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 con-
duct 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 wliom she had pledged
herself to produce — awaited in the adjoining room whatever
sentence it pleased them to pronounce on her. Her resolution
! !•
ri:
i;;
I'
ill
ill
'11 s ?'
ill '}',
\H
u
! i;
::t
m
174
THE NKW MA(!r)AI.EN.
not to screen herself boliind Julian from any conaeqwences
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 joiiuHl him in asking) why she delayed
her explanation, and what she was keeping them waiting for.
Out ot the very pain which these 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. Know-
ing 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 nar-
rative in their due sequence and their due proportion towards
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 op-
pression on her bosom, warned her not to leave herself unoc-
cupied, a prey to morbid self-investigation, and imaginary
alarms.
She turned instinctively, for a temporary employment of
some kind, to the consideration of own future. Here there
were no intricacies or entanglements. The prospect began and
ended with her return to the Refuge, if the matron would re-
ceive 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 1 Scandal would
point to her beauty and to his youth, and would place its own
vile interpretation on the purest friendship that could exist be-
tween them. And he would be the sufierer, for he had a cha-
TIIK FOOTSTEP IN THE CORRIPOll.
176
aequeuces
I her mind
her (and
le delayed
aiting for.
, the idea
om, while
tiad sprung
ad thought
it ; " it will
k. Know-
and do it.
dy writing
leasure the
:ists in the
and shape
I been laid
her for the
;s of a nar-
on towards
letter, and
;s confusion
sterical op-
erself unoc-
imaginary
loyment of
Here there
, began and
would re-
that great
held out to
oughtlessly
■ndal would
ace its own
Id exist be-
had a cha-
racter — a clergyman ^ character — to lose. No ! for his sake,
out of gratitude to him, the farewell to Mablethorpe House must
be also the farcwtill 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 retimi, before she took up the
pen again.
Her window looked eastward. Thi; dusky glare of lighted
London met her as her eyes rested on the sky. It seemed to
beckon her back to the horrors of the cruel strec is — -to point
her way mockingly to the bridges over the black river — to hire
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 '^ay," she asked herself, " if the matron says No i "
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 ; T 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, my I ask leave to return to the friend
who has borne with me and helped me through many miserable
years 1 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 for-
give 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 1
" 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 pretences ; they are
IS !'
I
\ ,1
il'llll
III.
!l 1 h '
tii':
m
\ -i
*i i
17G
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
not mine. No more forlorn creature tlum T 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 u good nurse, as you know, and I am a quick worker
with my needhn In one Avay or the other can you not find oc-
cupation for me 1
" I could also teach, in a very unpreteiiding way. But that
is useless. Who would entrust their children to a woman
without a character 1 There is no hope for me in this direc-
tion. 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 as-
sociated with them in some way. Are there not charitable
societies which are trying to help and protect destitute children
wandering about the streets 1 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 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
a word for me 1 If I am asking too much, please forgive me.
I am so wretched, madam — so lonely and 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 tele
gram?
" 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 tele-
gram to ' The Keverend Julian Gray, Mablethorpe Grove, Ken-
sington.' He is here, and he will show it to me. No words
of mine can describe what I owe to him. He has never de-
spaired 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 enclosed 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.
I'M'
TllJy. I'OUi.SlKl' l\ I'UI-: (.'<> x^UJU.
177
^ecl in savin<'
Tiifre W.1S no time to forward lior letter in the ordinary man-
ner I»y post. It must he taken to its dostinivtion \>y a [)i-ivato
nKssscnger. Lady Jaiujt'. servants had hithci!'^ ixicn one and
all at her disposal. Could she presume to omi)loy them on her
own aflairs, when she mi^ht he dif^missed from th»,' honse, a
disgraced woman, in half an Imnr's time ? Of the two alterna-
tives, it seemed hetter to taki> her chance, and present lierself
at the Refuge, without asking leave first.
While she was still c<ni.sidering the question, she was startled
l»y a knock at her dooi'. On opening it, she admitted Lady
Janet's maid with a morsel of folded [)apei' in ln-r had.
" From my lady miss," said the wuman, gi\ iu^^ 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 inrpuiy to her. She asked
if any of the servants were likely tu be going into town that
afternoon ]
" Yes, miss. One of the grooms is going on liorfichack, with
tt message to her Uidyship's coachmaker."
The Refuge .vas close by the eoaciimaker's place of business.
Under the circumstances, JVlercy was emboldened to make umi
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 \vill not take him out of his way. He iicw only to
deliver it— nothing more."
The woman wilhngly complied with the re([ue.st. 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 irethod of communicating with her when they were
both in the same house What did such a departure from estab-
lished habits mean 1 Had she received her notice of dismis-
sal? Had Lady Janet's quick intelligence found its way al-
ready to a suspicion of the truth? Mercy's nerves were un-
strung. She trembled pitiably ae she opened the unfolded
note.
It began without a foim of address, and it ended without a
signature. It ran thus :
" I must request yun to delay for a little while the explana-
%
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(716) 872-4S03
"
178
THE NKW MAGDALr':N.
tion 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
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 1
Had Lady Janet really guessed the truth ? or h.id 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 opin-
ions had undergone a change in that quarter. But was the
phrase enough of itself to justify the inference that she had ac-
tually 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 after-time.
To the end of her life, Lady Janet resolutely refused to commu-
nicate to any one the conclusions which she might have pri-
vately formed, the griefs which she might have secretly stifled,
on that memorable day.
Amid much, however, which was beset with un certain ity,
one thing at least was clear. The time at Mercy's disposal in
her own room, had been indefinitely prolonged by Mercy's bene-
factress. Hours might pass before the disclosures 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. Rest-
ing her head on hei 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 cot-
tage, 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 pursue 1 the retrospect, how strangly
TUt. FOOTSIEP IN THE CORRIDOR.
179
surprises
n myself,
t be kept
g will go
roft, and
ly desire,
I tu meet
joint ]
she only
in some
errick " 1
3 diniiig-
hcr opin-
was the
le had ac-
! It was
proved to
fter-time.
3 commu-
have pri-
ly stifled,
ertainity,
isposal in
cy's here-
to which
In those
;o be able
r. Rest-
tried to
ning with
ench cot-
m face to
jlethorpe
d clearly,
strangly
Chance or Fate had paved the way for the act of personation
in the first place.
If they had moi under ordinary circumstances, neither Mercy
nor Grace would have trusted each other with the contidences
which had Vjeen exchanged between thom. As the event had
happened, they had cuine t(»L!;ether, under thoso extraordinary
circunistauces of common trial and common peril, in a strange
country, whi< h 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 (trace's position and Grace's affairs which had
placed temptation befo-e her, as tlie necessary consequence that
followed the bursting ot c'>e German shell.
Advancing from this poi it, through the succeeding series of
events which had so naturally, and yet so strangely, favoured
the perpetration of the fraud, Mercy reached the latter pr^-iod
when Grace had followed her to England. Here again, she re-
marked, in the second place, how Chance, or Fate, had once
more paved the way for that second meeting which had con-
fronted them with one another at Mabletiiorpe House.
She had, as slie well remembered, attended at a certain as-
sembly (convened by a charitable society) in the character of
LaiH Janet's representative, at Lady Janet's own request. For
tlui' reason, -he had been absent from the house when Grace
had entered it. If her return had been delayed by a few min-
utes 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. I)y what ai)peared at the time to be the commonest
possible occurrence. The persons assembled at the society's
room liad disagreed so seriously on the business which had
brought them together, as to render it necessary to take the or-
dinary course of proceeding to a future day. And (,'hance, or
Fate, h.ul so timed that adjournment as to bring :*iercy back
into the dining-room exactly at the moment when Grace liose-
betry insisted on being confronted witli ihe woman who had
taken her place.
She had never yet seen the circumstances in this sinister
light. She was alone in hei room, at a crisis in her life. She
I
■I
i' ■
t:i
I
si >
•1 ?,"
' >
'1
180
THi: NKW MAGDALEN.
M'as worn and weakened by emotions wliicii had sliaken 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 tliought. Little
by little, her heart began to sink under the stealthy chill of su-
]ierstitious dread. Vaguely horrible presentiments throbbed in
her with her pulses, flowed through her with her blood. Mys-
tic oppressions of hidden disaster hovered over her in the at-
mosphere of the room. The cheerful candlelight 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 cold hands cov-
ering her ftice, without knowing when she had lifted tliem to
it, or why.
Still helpless under the horror that held her, she suddenly
heard footsteps — a nuin'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 mechani-
cally took up her pen ; she found herself beirinning to remem-
ber 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 ^f herself yet.
A faint cry of alarm esca})ed 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 Holmoroft.
His ruJdy complexion had turned pale. His hair (of wliich
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 Avith a wntchfully-sus])ici-
ous eye ; he spoke to her without preface or apology, in a coldly
angry voice.
"Are you aware," he asked, " Oi what is going on down-
stairs ?"
" 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 T know no more."
ui her to
loose on
b. Little
liill of sii-
robbed in
»cl. Mys
in the at-
3(1 traitor
ed round
as afraid
an (Is cov-
l tliem to
suddenly
r outside.
: now, it
mionship,
mechcini-
,0 remem-
her door.
erself yet.
le knock,
and had
(of wliich
or. The
ised man,
1 durance,
y-,susi)ici-
1 a coldly
}n down-
now that
promised
THE FOOTSTKP fN THK UOiilUDuR.
181
" Ha.s nol)ndy told you what lijidy Janet did after you left
us l Has nobody told you tliat slic placed hov own boudoir at
th(! disposal of the very woman wlium slie Inul oitlcred half an
hour before to leave the house I Do you really iu)t know that
Mr. Julian Gray has himself conducted this suddeidy-honourcd
guest to her place of letircment ? and that lam h'fr alone in
the midst of these changes, contradictious and mysteries — the
only [»erson who is kept out in the dark 1 "
'Ii is surely needless to ask me these questions,"' said
Mercy, gently. " Who could possi ly have told me what was
going on below stairs before you knocked at my door? "
He )coked at her with an ironical affectation of surprise.
"You are strangely forgetful today," he said. "Surely
your friend Mr. Juliau Gray might have told you t I am
astonished to hear 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 no-
thing of myself. You will soon discover why I patiently sub
mit to suspicions which other Avomen would resent as an in-
sult."
" Let me discover it at once. Now. Witiiout 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 oi the
corridor. When he said his last words, he suddenly stepped
forward, and (with something imperative in his gesture) laid
his hand on her arm. The strong grasp of il almost hurt her.
►She struggled to release herseli.
" Let me go !" she said. " What do you mean ?"
He dropped her arm as suddenly as he had taken it.
182
TFIE NEW MAODALKN.
'}'
l< i
;t (
!,
" You shall know what I moan." ho replieil. '' A woman
who has grossly outraged and iiisidtod you- -whose oidy t'xcusi;
is that she is mad— is detained i!i the; house at your desire,
I might almost say at your command, wlien the police oiii<',«'r
is waiting to take her away. I had a ri;:;ht to know what tins
means, lam engaged to Marry you. It you won't trust other
people, you are bound to exi)laiu yourself to JNle. I refuse to
wait Lady Janet's convenience. I insist (if you force me to
say so) I insist on knowing tlie real nature of your conne(;tion
with this affair. You have obliged n>e lo follow yon here ; it
is my only opportunity of speaking to yon. You avoid nu* ;
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. Thi lil)rary is at our dis-
jiosal, and I will take care that we are not interrupted. I am
now going there, and I have a last (|uestion to ask. You are
to be my wife in a week's time : will you take me into your
confidence or not 1 "
To hesitate was, in this case, literally to l)e lost. Mercy's
sense of justice told her that Horace claimed no nion; than his
due. She answered instantly.
" 1 will follow you to the lil»rary, 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 1)itterest mo-
ment 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 himself had suggested it, that her betrothed husband
had the foremost right to her confession. Her horror at own-
ing 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 com-
parison betM'een the claims they respectively had on her. She
owed an allegiance to Horace, to which Lady Janet could assert
no right. Cost what it might to avow the truth to him with
her own lips, the cruel sacrifice must be made.
THE FUOTSTEr IN Tllli 'JORIIIDOU.
ws
" A woman
onl}' cxouso
your tlcsiro,
)oIic(' ((llicer
i\v wliat this
t trust other
I refuse to
Pone me to
connection
'ou liere ; it
I avoid me ;
I am not
3u in. But
3 at our dis-
pted. I am
<.. You are
e into your
5t. Mercy's
ore than his
e minutes."
es surprised
could say.
itterest mo-
raised lier
own true
and hurry
again, was
ed to her,
1 husband
or at own-
t of their
1 the same
■IS no com-
her. She
•uld assert
him with
Without a moment's hesitation she put away her writing
materials. I o amazed her that she should ever have thought
of using Julian Gray as an interpreter between the man to
whom she was betrothed jind herself. Julian's sympathy ( she
thought) ir.ust 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 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
leally done, was to plunge headlong into the disclosure with-
out giving herself time to think. The shame of it would over-
power her if she gave herself time to think.
She turned to the door, to follow him at once.
Even at that trying moment, the r^ost ineradicable of all a
woman's instincts — the instinct of 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
stoj)ped 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 fiiintest 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 siie went dovviiataiis to meet him in the
library.
V-'
1S4
THE KEW MAGDALEN.
' >
•;.
r. H
:: .si
%
!•
f
It: ■ ■ 1
I
CHAPTER XXII.
THE MAN' IN THK DINING-ROOM.
|N the great emergencies of life we feel, or we act, as our
dispositions incline us. Uut we never think. Mercy's
mind was a blank as she descended the stairs. On her way
down, she waH conscious of nothing but the one headlong im-
pulse to get to the library in the shortest possible space of
time. Airived at the door, the impulse capriciously left her.
She stof)ped on the mat, wondering why she had hurried her-
self, with time to spare. Her heart sank ; the fever of her ex-
citment changed suddenly to a chill, as she faced the closed
door, and asked lierself the (|UC'Stion, Dare I go in 1
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 ex-
clamation of despair. Faint as it was, it had aparently not
passed unlieard. 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 ariiiht.
** It will not be for long," he went on. " I am far too anxious
to hear what you have to tell me to submit toany 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 w^as 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 n<. excuse, li I
THF MAN IN THR niNrNfj-r^OOM.
18o
refused to go to her I slioiiM ])v merely ohliging her to come to
me. It is ini|)ossil»Io to ri.^k lu'iii^ interrupted in that way ;
iTiy only .ilternativci is to gtjt the thing over as soon as possible.
Do you mind waiting V*
" Certaiidy not. Have j'ou any idea of what Lady Janet
wants with you ?**
" No. Whatever it is, she shall noL keep me long away from
you. Vou will he quite alone here ; I have wained the ser
vants not to show any one in. AVith those words, lie left her.
Mercy's first sensation was a sensation of relief-— soon lost in
a feeling of shame at the weakness which could Wvdoome 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, " T
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 intolerai)le
irritation, the maddening uncertainity 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 o])-
pressed and offended her. She threw open the door which l"d
into the dining-room, and dashed in, eager for a change of ob-
jects, athirst for more space and more air.
At the first step, she checked herself ; rooted to the spot, un-
der a sudden revulsion of feeling which quieted her in an in-
stant.
The room was only illuminated by the waning firelight. 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 Gra^ .
Mercy was standing with her back to the light ; her fac j be-
ing necessarily hidden in deep shadow. He recognized her by
her figure, and by the attituile 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 iipproached
her.
" I have been wishing to see you," he said, and hoping that
accident might bring about some such meeting as this."
Hf; oficied Lor a chair. Mercy hesitated before she took
m
^iifi
>"
mc,
TDK NtW MAdDAI.KN.
; .; »
It
II
her seat. 'I'liis wan lln*ir Urst mcdiii^ alorip, since Lady Janet
had iiitriTn|»l«'tl her at tlui nioniciil wlicn slu? was aluMit to con-
lidt' to .Iiiliaii tilt' niclanilioly stoiy of tlui past. VVa-s li«^ aiixi-
oUH to srizf tin* oppoitunity of rctuiiiin;^ to lier confi-HHioii f
The terms in which he had addn ssetl her suemod to imply it.
Site pnt the qnestion to iiiin in phiin words.
"1 feel tlu' deepest interest in lieariii^ all that yoii have still
to confide to nie," he answeicd. " liut anxious as I may be, T
will not hnrry you. 1 will wait, if you wish it."
" 1 rni afraid 1 niust own that I do wish it," Mercy rejoined.
"N„i, on my account but because my time is at the disposal
of Horace Ilolmcroft. 1 ex[)ect to sv.e him in a few minutes."
" Could you ^ive me those few nnnutes /" .lulian asked. " I
have something, on my sidts to say to you, whicl) 1 think yon
ought to know, before vou see any one — Horace hiuibolt ill
eluded."
He spoke with a certain depression of tone which was not
associated with her previous experience of him. His face look-
ed pi'ematurely (dd and care-worn, in the red light of the tire.
Something had plainly ha))pened to sadden and to dii»uppoint
him, since they had last met.
" I willingly oH'er you all the time that I have at my own
command," Mercy replied. '' Does what you ha'^e to tell me
relate to Lady Janet 1"
He gave her no direct reply. " What I have to tell yon of
Lady Janet," he said gravely, " is soon told. So fjir as she is
concerned, you have nothing more to dread. Lady Janet
knows all."
Even the heavy weight of oppression caused by the impend-
ing interview with Horace failed to hold its place in Mercy's
mind, when Julian answered her in these 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 un-
der 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 rei)eated, with her head on her
breast, and the tears falling slowly over her cheeks. " Have
you told her ?"
Tf
THi: M.vN IN THK DININii Hu«»M
1«7
\f Janet
to COll-
l«i Hlixi'
r«,'.ssi(ni ]
nply it.
ivo still
ny be, I
L'joitUMl.
disposal
iiiutes."
id. " I
ink yoi'
iticlt ill
*vas not
,ce look-
the tire,
iitppoint
V
y own
tell me
you of
.3 she is
Janet
nipend-
Vlercy's
t is too
)led un-
is great
own on
on her
" Have
"1 have said notliiiii; to \t\v\y Janet or to any ono. Your
ronfidence is a sacred lonlidtMioe to nic, until }nu have spoken
first."
•' Has Ijiuly .lanct said anythinij to you ?"
*' Not a word. SIh' ha^ l(»ok«'d .it yon witli the viijilant eyes
ot'a<love ; she lias listcntMl ttt you wilii the (|ui(k healing of love
— and A\r has found lit r own way to tlie tnitlv. She will not
speak of it to m<5 - she will not speak of it to any livini^ crea
ture. I only know iKtw hi>w deaily she loxcd you. Inspiteof
herself she clin<^s to you still. Her life, ]»o(»r soul, has hcen a
barren one ; unworthy, miserably unwcnthy, (»f sueh a nature
}'s hers. Her niarria^'e was loveless and childless. She has had
admirers; but luiver, in the luuher .sense of the word, a friend.
All the best years of her life have Ixm'U wast<'(| in the unsatisfied
longin,^ for something to love. At the end of her life You
have filh'd the void. Her heart has foU!id its youth a-ain,
through You. At h(!r age — at any age — is sueh a tii; as this to
be ruilely broken at the mere bidding of cireumstan. » s \ No!
She will .sulFer anything, risk anything, forgive anything, rather
than own, even to her.self, that she has been dee«ive(l in you.
There is more than her hajtpiness at .stake ; there is pride, a
noble pride, in such love as hers, which will ignore tlu- plainest
discovery and deny the most unanswerable truth. I am lirmly
convinced — from my own knowledgi; of her character, an<l
from what I have observed in her to day — that she will find
some excuse for refusing to hear you i- confession. And more
than that, T 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 —
\nd I don't shrink from it. You ought to know, and you shall
Vnow, what trials and what temptations may yet lie before you."
tie paused — leaving Mercy time to compose her.sclf, 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 always written
to her to defer her promised ex])]anation. This circumstance
was in itself a contirmation of the opinion which he had ex-
pressed. She ought to mention it to him ; she tried to mention
it to him. But she was not equal to the ettort. The few
188
TliK NKW MAODALKN.
simplt' wonl.s ill wlii<h lu' lia<l tnnrhed on the tie that houii<l
La^ly Jauut to \\n; liad w nmj; licr hi^jut. Her tears choked
her. 8he could oidy nign to liiiii to j;<» on.
** You may wonder at my siualvinjjj so positively," he con-
tinued, "with nothing Itettei- than my own conviction to justify
me. I can only say that I have watched Lady Janet too close-
ly to feel any dt»ul)t. I saw tin; moment in which the truth
flashed on her, as plMinly as < now see you. It did not disclose
itself gradually- it Inirst .-n her, as it hurst on nu'. She su8
pected nothing — hhe was frankly indignant at your sudden in-
terference and your stiang(! language — until the time cann* in
which you jiledged yourself to produce Mercy Meriick. Then
(aiul then oidy) the truth broke on her mind, and trebly revealed
to her in your words, your voice, and your look. Then (and
then only) 1 saw a marked change come over her, and remain
in her while she remained in the room. I <lread to think of what
she may do i!i the first reckless despair of the discovery
that she has made. I distrust — though God knows 1 am not
naturally a suspicious man — the most apparently triHing events
that are now taking \)\i\c(\ about us. You have held nobly to
your resolution to own the truth. Pii'pare yourself, before
the evening is over, to be tried and temi»ted again."
Mercy lifted her head. Fear took the place of grief in her
eyes, as they rested in startled iiupiiry on Julian's face.
" How is it possible that temptation can come to me now ?"
she asked.
" 1 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 lookei at him proudly and gratefully.
**I am pUdged to justify your faith in me," she said. "I
have put it out of my own i)o\vei- to yield, Horace has my
promise that I will explain everything to him, in this room."
Julian started
w
TIIR MAN IN IflK hIN IN(;-iUH)iVI
IS})
my
'* Has Horace liiiiis«'lt' asked it of yoii I" ho inquired. " He,
at least, hail no .suspicioii oj' tiio truth."
"llorai" has appealed to my duty to him as his hetrotlu'd
wife," sheiiuswered. " H<' has tlu' lir.^t «laim to my coutidenct!
— he roseiits my Hilence, .. ,d he has a ii^di( to lesetit it. Terri-
ble as it will bu to open hia ey(;s to the truth, I mu.st do it if
he asks me."
She was looking at Julian while .she tpoko. The i«ld loncj-
ing to associate with th(> hard trial of the confession the one
man who had felt lor her, and believed in her. revived ujider
another form. If she could oidy know, while she was sayiuj^
the fatal words to Horace, that .lidian was listeniui; too, she
would bo encouraged to nu'ot the worst that coidd ha[>pen I As
the idea crossed he)' mind, she observeil tl'at.luli.ui was look-
iug towards 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 arul approval
which he addressed to her, she hinted timidly at the proposal
which she liadnow to make to him.
" Are you going back into the nt^xt room V she aakwL
"Not if you object to it," he replied.
" T don't object. I want you to be there."
" After Horace has joined you V
** Yes. After Horace has joined me."
" Do you wish to see me when it is over I"
She summoned her resolution, and told bin iVankly what
she had in her mind.
" I want you to be near me while I am speaking to llorace,"
she said. "It will give me courage if 1 can feel that 1 am
speaking to you as well as to him. T can count on fjoiir s} m-
pathy — and sympathy is so precious to mo now ! Am T ask-
ing too much, if 1 ask you to leave the <loor unclosed, when
you go back to the dining-room ] Think of the dreadful tri;d
— to him as well as to me ! 1 am only u woman ; I am afraid
T may sink undei- it, if I have no Iriend near me. And 1 have
no friend but you."
In those simple words she tried her powers oi persuasion on
him, for the first time.
Between perplexity and distress, Julian was, Kjr the moment
at a loss how to answer lur. The love for Mercy which he
■■! ■!■
M'.i!
r.l
.if
i t
1*1
:-S
^r
I ill!:
l{)0
TliK NEW MAODALEN.
dared not acknowledge, was as vital a feeling in him as the
faith in her which he had been free to avow. To refuse any
thing 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 phrink as he might, even from the appearance
of deserting ]ier, 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 door shall be
left unclosed, and I will remain in the next room, on this con-
dition — that Horace knows as well as you. I should be un-
worthy of your confidence in me If I consented to be a listener
on anv 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.
Womanlike, 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 checks, as she thanked him. He
delicately relieved her from her emijarrassment by putting a
question which naturally occurred under the circumstances.
" Where is Horace all this time ?" he asked. " Why is he
not here V
'* He has been called away," she answered, " by a message
from Lady Janet."
The reply more then 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
seehiu him."
" \\'hen r
" 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
carefidly through.
" Did I nut tell you," lie said, " that she would find some
'.I ill
THE MAN IN THE bINING-UOOM.
191
excuse foi refusing to hear your confession ] She begins by
lelaying it, simply to gain time for something else which she
has it in her mind to do. When diel you receive this note ]
fcJooi) 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
usl"
" Horace told me that Lady Janet had offered Miss Rose-
berry the use of her boudoir."
" Any more ?"
" lie said that you had shown her the way to the room.
" Did he tell you what happened after that V*
"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 ovvu
I had doubts of my success — judging by what I had already
seen of her. My doubts were confirmed. In the ordinary in-
tercourse of life, I should merely have thought her a common-
place uninteresting woman. Seeing her as I saw her while we
were alone — in other words, penetrating below the surface — I
have never, ir, all my sad experience, met with such a hope-
lessly narrow, mean, and low nature as hers. Understanding,
as she could not fail to do, what the sudden change in Lady
Janet's behaviour towards her really meant, her one idea was
to take the cruellest possible advantage of it. So far from
feeling any consideration for you, she was only additionally em-
bittered towards you. She protested against your being per-
mitted to claim the merit of placing her in her right position
here, by your own voluntary avowal of the truth. She insist-
ed on publicly denouncing you, and on forcing Lady Janet to
dismiss you, unheard, before the whole nousehold. " Now I
can have my revenge ! At last lady Janet is afraid of me !"
Those were her own words — I am almost ashamed to re-
peat them — those, on my honour, 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 ;
■jt'^
:i
:'r^ V
ii
i
il
*" ■«
192
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
nothing, absolutely nothing, to he be allowed to interfere with
Miss Roseberry's vengeance and Miss Koseberry's triumpii !
There is this woman's shameless view of wliat is due to her, as
stated by herself in the plainest terras. 1 kept my temper ; I
»!id all I could to bring her to a iDctter frame of mind. I
might as well have pleaded — I won'"^. say with a savage ; sav-
ages 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 roach,
1 had just given up the hopeless effort in disgust, when Lady
Janet's maid appeared with a mcssaj^e for Miss Roseberr 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 La<ly 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 [)roceeded. * I won't keep
her ladsyship waiting a moment,' she said ; 'show me the way.'
She signed to the maid to go out of the room first, and thc^n turn-
ed round and spoke to me from the door. I despair of describ-
ing 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 1" Mercy asked,
eagerly.
" It is impossible even to guess. When you found me in
the dining-room I was considering that very question. I can-
not imagine that any neutral ground can exist, on which it is
possible for Lady Janet and this woman to meet. In her pre-
sent frame of mind, she will in all probability insult Lady
Janet before she has been live 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 lioselierry vhich has followed, and the summons to
THE MAi^ IN THE DINING-ROOM.
193
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 towards
the door that opened on the hall ; had she heard a footstep out
side ? No. All was still. Not a sign yet of Horace's return.
" Oh I" she exclaimed, " what would I not give to know
what is going on upstairs V
" You will soon know it now," said Julian. " It is impossi-
ble 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 stepc away from her, she showed him the difference be-
tween 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 warn-
ing 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 1"
She rose impulsively, while she spoke, as if to follow him in-
to 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 again.
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 1 Julian had yet to Icain
that a woman's courage rises with the greatness of the emcn -
gency. Ask her to accompany you through a field in whicii
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.
" Axe you sure of your resolution 1" he asked.
M
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194
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
i i
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" 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 attract-
ed 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 waa
opened. Had a visitor arrived 1 No voice could be heard
making inquiries. No footsteps but the servant's footsteps
crossed the hall. A long pause followed ; the carriage remain-
ing 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
audiVe. 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 ab-
sence, 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 be-
ing trifling, has just happened. The carriage which W3 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 • Jrace Koseberry 1 " she exclaimed,
fh:
THE MAN IN THE DININO-ROOM. 195
"It is Grace Roseberry."
" Has she gone away alone 1"
" Alone — after an interview with Lady Janet."
" Did she go willingly ?"
" She herself sent the servant for the cab."
" What does it mean v"
" It is useless to inquire. We shall soon know."
They resumed their seats ; waiting, as they had waitetl ul-
ready, with their eyes on the library door.
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196
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
1*'^ . !
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IS
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CHAPTER XXTII.
LADY JANET AT BAY.
[HE narrative leaves Julian and Mercy for awhile, and
ascending to the upper regions of the bouse, 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 the boudoir. Lady Janet was seated at her writing table,
waiting for the appearance of the woman whom she had sum-
moned to her presence. A single lamp diffused its mild light
over the books, pictures, and busts round her, leaving the
farther 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 realisation of the picture which Julian's description
had drawn. Her eyes were fixed on a photograph 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 fece would
have been like a mask, moulded in the hardest forms of pas-
sive resistance and suppressed rage, but for the light and life
still thrown over it by the eyes. There was something unut-
terably 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 c;uelly-profaned affection which had been
LADY JANET AT BAY.
197
o, and
follows
1(1 light
the one immeasurable joy, the one inexhaustible hope, of Lady
Janet's closing life. The brow expressed nothing but her ob-
stinate determination to stand by the wreck of that joy, to re-
kindle the dead ashes of that hope. The lips were only elo-
quent of her unflinching resolution to ignore the hateful present
and to save the sacred past. " My idol may be scattered, but
none of you shall know it. I stop the march of discovery ; 1
extinguish the light of truth. I am deaf to your words, I 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 down-
wards 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 enter-
ed ths room.
She advanced rapidly, with a defiant assurance in her man-
ner, 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 ev jry 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 1 "
The tone in which that one las, word was spoken embarras-
sed Grace a^ the outset. It established as great a distance be-
tween Lady Janet and herseli, as if she had been lifted in her
chair and conveyed bodily to the other end of the room.
198
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
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" I am surprised that your ladyship should not understand
me," she said, struggling to conceal her confusion. " Especi-
ally after your kind offer of your own boudoir."
Lady Janet remained perfectly unmoved. " I do not un-
derstand 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 behaviour to me down-
stairs. The conduct of that abominable woman has, at last,
opened your eyes to the deception that has been practiced on
you. For some reason of your own, however, you have not
yet chosen to recognize me openly. In this painful position
something is due to my own self-respect. I cannot, and will
not, permit Mercy Merrick to claim the merit of restoring me to
my proper place in this house. After what I have suffered, it
is quite impossible for me to endure that. I should have re-
quested an interview (if you had not sent for me) for the ex-
press 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 in-
sulting 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 lay-
ing 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 con-
tinued presence of that wretch under your roof is, you vnD
permit me to remark, not only a monument of your own weal
ness but a perfectly insufferable insult to Me."
There she stopped abrubtly — not for wsait 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
v.
LADY JANET AT BAY.
199
various papers scattered about the table. Some she tied to-
gether 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 1 "
" 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 com-
pletely by surprise. She had no retort ready. In sheer as-
tonishment she Avaited silently, with her eyes riveted on the
mistress of the house.
Lady Janet put down her papers, and settled herself com-
fortably 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 1 "
" Do you mean to insult me. Lady Janet 1 "
" 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 lor any one of the many
breaches of good manners which you have committed since you
have been in this rocm. 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 with 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 intemper-
ance of an angry woman, and thinking better of it, controlled
y^
200
THE NEW MA<iDALEN.
{
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hcisolf. 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 moso promising ground that
she could occupy under present circumstances.
'* If I have said anything hasty, I beg to apologise to your
ladyship," she began. " May I ask if your only object in send-
ing for me was to inquiie 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 f
" Nothing whatever. I am weary of hearing of Mercy Mer-
rick. Have you any more questions to ask me V
" I have one more."
" Yesr
" I wish to ask your ladyship whether you propose to recog-
nize me, in the presence of your household, as the late Colonel
Roseberry's daughter ?"
" 1 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 thos^ 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 resolu-
tions.
" Lady Janet 1" she said ; " this won't do. I must request
to express yourself plainly. You talk of my peculiar claims
on your forbearance. What claims do you mean V
" 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 acknow-
ledge that you have been deceived by an adventuress who has
personated me ? Do you mean to restore me to my proper pla*;e
in th^s house 1"
Lady Janet returned to the arrangement of her papers.
" Does your ladyship refuse to listen to me 1"
LADV JANET AT HAY.
201
is.'
sknow-
ho has
place
" Lady Janet looked up from her papers aa l)landly m 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 V*
" Your delusion is expressed in the questions yon have just
put to me. Your delusion constitutes your peculiar claim on
my forbearance. Nothing you can say or do w^ill shako 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-offi-
cer. I owe you c^ery 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 sub-
mit 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 im-
posed upon. Your only alternative, of course, is to ignore every-
thing 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 considera-
tion 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 ad-
dressed 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 misrepre
sentation. She ought to have remonstrated with me privately
before she interfered. But she has one fault — she is too im-
pulsive. I have never, in all my experience, met with such a
warm-hearted person as she is. Always too considerate of
m
4
M)'2
TIIK NKVV MA(Jl)AI,KN.
■It , ■
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 onco more. She was quick enough
to discern that Lady Janet was a match for her with her own
weapons.
" Wo have had enough of this," she said. " It is time to be
serious. Your adopted daughter (as you call her) is Mercy
Merrick, — and you know it."
Lady Janet returned to her papers.
*• I am Grace Roseberry, whose name she has stolen, — and
you know that."
Lady Janet went on with her papers.
Grace got up from her chair.
" I accept your silence, Lady Janet," she said, " as an ac-
knowledgment of your deliberate resolution to suppress the
truth. You are evidently determined to receive the adven-
turess 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 im-
pudently cheated out of my rights in this way. You will hear
from me again, madam, when the Canadian mail arrives in
England."
She walked towards 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 will be followed by my witnesses," she pro-
ceeded.
" I shall refuse to receive your witnesses."
" Refuse at your peril. I will ap^jeal to the law 1 "
Lady Janet smiled.
" I don't pretend to much knowledge of the subject," she
said j " but I should be surprised, indeed, if I discovered that
you had any claim on me which the iaw could enforce. How-
ever, 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
T
LADY .1 AM;T at hay
203
caranco
I to hiT
a. My
enough
her own
[no to be
g Mercy
en,— ami
as an ac-
iprcss the
lie adveu-
face the
ly face to
to be im-
will hear
arrives in
cly Janet
Ussible to
' she pro-
bject," she
Ivered that
[ce. How-
lion. You
Iwhich can
Ithe rest of
it are matters of no sort of consequence to nie. May I ask if
you arc in the same position 1"
The question silenced CIrace 8o far as money was concern-
ed, she was Hterally at tlie end of lior resources. Her only
friends were friends in Caiia<la. After what she had said to
him in the boudoir, it would be quite useless to appeal to the
sympathies of JuUan Gray. In the ixjcuniary sense, and in
one word, she was absolutely incapable of gratifying her own
vindictive longings. And there sat the mistress of Mablethorpo
House, perft!ctly 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. In-
stead of threatening me with the law, suppose you consider the
propriety of permitting me to be of some use to you 1 I am in
the habit of assisting ladies in embarrassed circumstances, and
nobody knows of it but my steward — wlio 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 f
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 !"
" Y"ou ivill 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 languag<^
and conduct — in the sympathies of others, the sense of her
isolation and her heli)lessness was almost maddening at that
final moment. A woman of finer sensibilities would have in-
stantly 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 Avhicli Lady Janet had volun-
tarily exposed herself, was still within her reach. " For th«
present," she thought, " there is but one way of being even
with your ladyship. I can cost you as much as possible,"
M:iS
204.
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
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Pray make some allowances for me," she said. " I am not
obstinate — I am only a little awkward at matching the auda-
city of a lady of high rank. I shall improve with practice.
My own language is, as I am painfully aware, only plain Eng-
lish* 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 cheque-
l)Ook.
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 hun-
dred 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 i 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 treat-
ment 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 her-
self 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.
M
LADY JANET AT BAT.
205
I am not
the auda-
L practice,
•lain Eng-
rs. What
• me ] "
r cheque-
' question
amount.
ouiit was
3 as well.
horror of
ined by a
iting it —
as Grace
moments,
et's care.
iblethorpe
one hun-
)ng (with
remained
probably
salary to
3 suitable
ff'i Lady
;iven, and
sent a fit
and a
of treat-
At the
3nscience,
slf would
irrace her-
she said,
greatly
ar future
aid Grace
s,
"• I cannot altogether undertake to advise you," Lady Janet
replied. " 1 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 communi
eating personally with your friends in Canada. Am I ri^t ?"
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,"
" Tour ladyship is quite right," she said. " I shall certain-
ly not remain in England. I shall consult my friends — and "
she added mentally, " go to law with you afterwards, if I pos-
sibly 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 esti-
mate, in your own mind, the pecuniary assistance which you
will require 1"
" May I count on your ladyship's kindness to correct me if
my own ignorant calculations turn out to be wrong f 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 un-
derstanding the stipulation, Lady Janet bowed, and waited
gravely.
Gravely, on her side, Grace began.
" I am afraid I should want more than a hundred poundFi,
she said.
Lady Janet made her first bid. " I think so too.'*
" More, perhaps, than two hundred f
Lady Janet made her second bid. " Probably."
" More than three hundred 1 Four hundred 1 Five hun-
dred r
Lady Janet made her highest bid. " Five hundred pounds
will do," she said.
In spite of herself, Grace's rising colour betrayed her un-
governable exeitemeut. From her eai 1 iest childhood she had been
r.!j
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206
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
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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 atmosphere of genteel poverty. There was something
honible 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 the cheque in a few seconds, and pushed
it across the table.
Grace's hungry eyes devoured the golden line, " Pay to my-
self or bearer five hundred pounds," and verified the signature
beneath, " Janet Roy." Once sure of the money whenever
she chose to take it, native meanness of her nature instantly as-
serted itself. She tossed her head, and let the cheque 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
cheque," she yaid.
Lady Janet leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
The very sight of Grace Roseberry sickened her. Her mind
filled suddenly with ' • 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-re-
spect," Grace went on.
Lady Janet wearily made a sign, granting time to consider.
" Your ladyship's boudoir is, I presume, still at my dis-
posaU"
Lady Janet silently granted the boudoir.
" And your ladyship's servants are at my orders, if I have
occasion to employ them 1"
Lady Janet suddenly opened her eyes. " The whole house-
hold is at your orders !" she cried furiously. " Leave me !"
Grace was far from being off'ended. 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.
LADY JANET AT BAY.
207
your
" In the event of my deciding to receive the ch^jque," she
said, '*I cannot, consistently with my own self-respect, permit
it to be delivered to me otherwise than enclosed. Your lady-
ship will (if necessary) be so kind as to enclose 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 miser-
able I have degraded myself — and all for You ! " The bitter-
ness of the retrospect was unendurable. The inbred force of
the woman's nature took refuge from it in an outburst of defi-
ance and despair. " Whatever she has done that wretch de-
serves it I Not a living creature in the house shall say she
has deceived me. She has not deceived me — she loves
me ! What do I cars whether she has given me her true name
or not 1 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
note-paper from the case ; hesitated ; and threw it from her on
the table. " Why not send for my darling 1 '' 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 b'^'an fcndly with a
iamiliar form of address.
i
3.t.'^
208
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
m
f '^1
" My dear Child, — I have had time to think, and compose
mygclf a littlo since I last wrote, requesting you to defei
the explanation which you liad promised me. I already
understand (and appreciate) the motives which led you to in-
terfere 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 al-
ready, I myself am weary of hearing of her. Besides, there is
raally 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 ia
henceforth and for ever buried in 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 ans ^er my note in
writing. Say yes, to the maid who will bring it to you, and ]
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 tone 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, frov/ning contemptuously, interrupted the mes-
sage at the outside. " I know what the person downstairs
wishes. She has sent you for a letter from me V
" Yes, my lady,"
" Anything more 1"
LADY JANET AT HAY.
209
<<
iompose
,0 defei
already
)U to in-
entirely
linful to
D inquire
know al-
there is
stranger
dety will
free will,
ucceeded
lore, my
creature,
When we
le past ia
: only the
amand of
tBoy.
eave your
Horace
irhen you
ly note in
ou, and 1
nes. Lady
ry." She
ared with
and looks
of Grace's
shes"
i the mes-
lowuBtairs
She has sent one of the men-servants, my lady, for a cab.
If your ladyship had only heard hvAv she spoke to him !"
Lady Janet intimated by a sign that she would rather not
hear. She at once inclosed the cheque 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 hor 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 l)ring 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 maiu returned.
" Where is Mr. Holmaoft ?" she asked, the moment the wo-
man entered the room.
" I saw him open the library door, my lady, just now, on my
way upstairs."
" Was he alone V
" 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 re-
turn. Receiving Horace's message of excuse, she instantly sent
back the peremptory rejoinder, " Say that he will oblige me
to go to him, if he presists 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 tmce up and
down the corridor — then grew suddenly weary of the sight of
it, and went back to her room. The two maids returned to-
gether. 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 ap-
peared again, with the news that she had iound the room
empty.
" Have you any idea where Miss Roseberry is V*
"No, my lady."
" N
I
h
!■■
1,1 > i
I
i P
(
M^
X
i1
210
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
Lady Janet reflected for a moment. If Horace presented
himself without any needless delay, the plain inference would
be that she had succeeded in separating him from Mercy. If
his appearance was suspiciously deferred, she decided on per-
sonally searching for Mercy in the reception-rooms on the
lower floor of the house.
" What have you done with the letter Y' 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.
Sh^i 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 pos-
sible."
" And I have reasons," Lady Janet rejoined, " for wishing
to speak to you about Grace before you see her j serious rea-
sons. 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 tor the first time. His face darkened with an expres-
sion ot sullen distrust — and he took the chair in silence.
'
'
presented
nee would
klercy. If
ed on per-
tts on the
LADY JANETS LETTER.
211
CHAPTER XXiy.
Lse I want
to an end.
)or from a
inquired,
e me," he
)n as pos-
r wishing
rious rea-
((
You
e terms,
he now
ti expres-
e.
LADY JANET S LETTER.
fHE narrative leaves Lady Janet and Horace Holme roft
together, and returns to Julian and Mercy in the
^-^ library.
An interval passed — a long interval, measured by the im-
patient reckoning of suspense — after the cab which had taken
Grace Roseberry away had left the house. The minutes fol-
lowed each other ; and still the warning sound of Horace's
foo istep 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 tri ed,
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 1 No — not eve:i 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 V
Giving her message in those terms, the woman produced
from the pock "t 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
f,
k:
f.
M
I ;
1 j .
1'H
Ui'-'f^
1?
ji
f r
3 {■-
J \
i 1-
IS'
ii
4l
U
■ ;i 1
15;'
^ i
-1
212
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
on those strange lines. Instead of immodiatoly opening tlio
letter, she stopped the maid at the library door. Julian's sus-
picion of the most trifling events that were taking placo in the
house had found its way from his mind to hers. " Wait !" she
said. ** 1 don't understand what is going on upstairs ; I want
to ask you something."
Tiie woman came back — not very willingly.
" How did you know I was here f Mercy itiquired.
" 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 V
" 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 V
"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 Koseberry 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 1 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 reassured, the maid spoke.
" To own the truth, miss, I heard Mr. Holracroft 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 aj.ir ; and
the voices were so loud, nobody could help hearing them."
'
■
LADY JANETS LETTER.
21S
filing tlio
liaii's .siis-
aco in tlio
i^ait!"she
3 ; I want
) take the
it in your
tho letter
ck at her
i of papr^r
n a great
id left in
u and to
y in the
re isn't a
ly Janet
»ped him
ble," sho
y before
t in my
I may
r." (She
me out,
having
n't time
ir; and
It was useless to detain the woman any longer. Having
given her leave to withdraw, Mercy turned to Julian.
" Why were tliey (juarrelling about you ?" she asked.
Julian pointed to tlie unopened letter in her hand.
"The answer to your (question may be there," he said.
*' Head 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 htjart 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 ju-stice and truth. A low cry of despair
escaped her, as the cruel complication in her position revealed
itself in all its unmerit(;d hardshi[). " 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 r
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 leetter.
" Has Lady Janet shaken your resolution]" he asked."
" She has strengthened my resolution." Mercy answered.
"She has added a new bitterness to ray remorse."
She did not mean it harshly ; but the reply sounded
harshly in Julian's ear. It stirred the generous impulses which
were the strongest impulses in his nature. He who had once
pleaded with Mercy for compassionate consideration for her-
self, 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, miser-
ably wrong Slie has recklessly degraded herself ; she has
recklessly tempted ycu. Still, is it generous — is it even just
>.
m
,!►
!; < !'
-\ ■■
:il:r.
r • t
1
li
I
^^'11^
214
TIIK NKW MAUDAI.KN.
— to hold lior ivsponsildo lor drlihciiiU^ hIm / Slic^ is at tlio
closo of hor (lays ; slu'oaii U'v\ no iirw allVction ; hIki (;ai» novcr
roplaoo you. Viow lior position in tliat li.^lit, aiul you will sco
(as I st'o) that it is no Itasc niotiv(> which has Ic,! hvv astray.
'J'hink of her wouiulcd hcait and her wasted life — .'uiil say to
yourself, forgivin^dy, SIu' loves nie !"
Mercy's eyes lilled with tears.
"I do say it!" she answered. "Not forij;ivin';iy it is 1
who have need of forgiveiu's.s. 1 say it gralel'iilly when I think
of her — I «ay it with shame and sorrow when I tiiiidc of niyseir."
He took her hand for the first time. He looked, guiltlessly
looked, at her downcast face. He s|)oke as he had s[)oken at
the niemorahle interview botwcon them, which had made a
now woman of her.
" I can imagine no crueller trial," ho said, " than the trial
that is now before you. The benefactress to whom you owe
everything asks nothing from you but your silence. The per-
son whom you have wronged is no longer present to stinudato
your resolution to speak. Horace, himself (unless I am entire-
ly mistaken) will not hold you to the oxidanation that you
have promisotl 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 ^istify my faith in you 1 Will you
still own the truth, without the base fear of discovery to drivo
you to it ?"
She lifted her head, with the steady light of resolution shin-
ing again in her grand grey eyes. Her low, sweet voice an-
swered 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 1**
"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 tirnily on his. Again, and for the last time,
she answered,
" 1 will !'•
r-AI)Y .lANlOTH LKTTIOIl.
21. 'i
is jit tho
r.m never
u will He()
«'!• ufitiviy.
ml say Lo
if- is T
n 1 think
' iiiyKeir."
uiltlessly
[)oken ut
inude a
tlio trial
you owo
T\w })er-
Jtiniulato
n eutire-
tliat you
sitioii in
Sistor
^ill you
to drive
on shin-
oice au-
rronged
u?*'
le fraud
hing —
ed you
tion of
t time,
His V(Mr(' had not trcnililed yet. H luiled liiin now. His
next words wurt! spokdii in faint wlii.mmring tones — to himsclt';
not U) lier.
"Tliank (Jod for tliis day !" ho said. " I hav(! been of sonn^
servi<M! to on(! of the noldest of (Jod's creatures !"
Some subtle inlhieiice, as he spoke, ]tass<^d from liis hand to
hers. It ticmhled tiirough her nerves; it entwined itself mys-
teriously with th(! finest s(!nsil»ilities in her nature ; it softly
opened her h(!art to a first va^Mie surmising of the devotion
that she had inspired in him. A faint gl(»w of colour, lovely
in its faintn<!ss, stole over her face and neck. 1I«m- breathing
(pii(;ken(Ml tnimblingly. She drew her haii<l away from him,
aiul sighed when she l»ad rehiascid it.
He rose suddenly to his feet and left her, without a word or a
look, walking slowly down the lengtli of the room. Wluiii h<!
turned and cjim{5 back to her, his face was composed ; he was
master of himself again.
M(!rcy 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 whi(;h
surprised me. You app(!ared to think that he would not hold
mo 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 Rose
berry's departure from the house."
Mercy interrupted him there. " Can you guess," sh^ asked,
" how Lady Janet prevailed upon her to go V
" I hardly like to -^ ii it," said Julian. ** There is an ex-
pression 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 engage-
ment to marry you in a week's time , and Lady Janet is detei-
If
!■ «
216
TIIK NKW MAGDALEN.
n,5
\
it tr, - ,,-
' '' ' :.
. ? ' ■
niinoil to keep him (as sho is (Icteiniiued to keep every one elso)
in ignorance of th'J truth. She will do that without scruple.
But the inbrcil stsnse of honour in her is not utterly .silenced yet.
She cannot, she dare not, let Horace niak(^ you his wife, under
the false impression that you are Colonel Koseherry's daughter.
You SCO 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 1 can discover. She must per
suade Horace (cu' she must irritate Horace) into acting for
himself, and breaking olF the engagement on his own respon
sibility."
"Mercy stopped him. "Impossible!" she cried warmly.
" Impossible !"
" Look again at her letter," Julian rejoined. It tells you
plainly " that you need fear no em])arrassment when you next
meet Horace. If words mean anything, those words mean
that ho will not claim from you the confidence which you have
promised to repose in him. On what condition is it pos-
sible for him to abstain from <loing that % On the one condition
that you have ceased to represent the first and fonmiost in-
terests 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 imuld
be a kindness to spare you the shame of a humiliating confession
and to save you (possibly"^ from being rejected to your face Ijy
the man you love. In my opinioji, the thing is done already.
I have reasons of my own for believing thr.t my aunt will suc-
ceed far more easily than she could anticipate. Horace's tem-
per will help her."
Mercy's mind began to yield to him, in spite of herself.
"What do you mean by Horace's temper f she inquired.
" Must you ask me that f he said, drawing back a little from
her.
"I must.
IwVDY .lANKTS I,I<:TTER.
217
point
to her
for it
icoidd
k'ssidn
cady.
1 suc-
s tem-
" I mean by Horace's temper, Horace's unworthy distruHt of
the ii (;re8t that 1 feel in you."
She instantly uinhTstdod him. And more than that, she
secretly admired him for tht; senijtuloiiH delicacy with wiiich he
had expressed himself. Another man would not havi; 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. lie conbidenite-
ly went on.
" For the reason that 1 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. Un-
til I heard what your maid said to you, 1 had thought (for
your sake) of retiring before he joined you here. Now I know
that my name has been introduced, an<l has made mischief up
stairs, 1 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 feel-
ing in his mind towards me. 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 V
*' His prolonged absence makes me doubt it," Julian replied.
" In my belief, the marriage is broken o^f. He may go as Grace
Roseberry has gone. You may never see him again."
The instant the opinion was uttered, it was practically con-
tiadicted by the man himself, Horace opened the library
door.
[1.
; from
2i8
THE NEW HAGDALEN.
H '
!, I
SI
I!
CHAPTER XXV.
THE CONFESSION.
E stopped just inside the door. His first look was for
Mercy ; his 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 V 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 scrupu-
lously civil to both of you," he said. " Lady Janet only al-
owed nie 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 liini ; and the woman's sex protects
her. You have got me at a disadvantage, and you both of you
know it. I beg to apologise if I have forgotten the clergy-
man'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 honour. 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 sus-
THE CONFESSION.
219
"You
bred a
you to
don on
d your
ly sus-
pect on old friend who has never forgotten what he owe-^ 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 comparsion be-
tween the manly force and dignity of Julian and the womanish
malice and irritability of Horace. A last faithful impulse of
loyJty towards the man to whom she had been betrothed im-
pelled her to part rhem, 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, " un-
til 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 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 V he said.
" Yes, yes !" She followed him as he withdrew, and added
rai)idly in a whisper, " Leave the door ajar !"
He made no answer. As sihe returned to Horace, he entered
the dining-room. The one concession he could make to h(;r
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 spe;ik
first.
" I have promised you an explanation of my conduct," sho
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 re-
joined. " Can you speak the truth '"
" I am waiting to speak the truth."
|tr
220
TTTF NFAV l\Ty\ODALFN.
ij •' i
J;i >*■
" I will give you an opportunity. Are you, or are you not,
in love with Julian Gray 1"
" You ought to be ashamed to ask the question !"
*' Is that your only answer V
*' I have never been unfaithful to you, Horace, even in
thought. If I had 7wt been true to you, should I feel my posi
tion as you see I feel it now?"
He smiled bitterly. " I have my own opinion of your fidelity
and of his honour," he said. " You couldn't even send him
into the next room without whispering to him f," A 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 say-
ing it in words."
Mercy's power of endurance began to fail her. Not even
Grace Roseberiy 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 say-
ing 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 confiden-
tial 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 wiiat has been going
on upstairs. Lady Janet is bent on breaking off our engagement
— and Ji'Han 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 search-
ingly.
i
THE CONFKSSION.
221
•.:4
" Do you know why Lady Jcanet sent for me ?" he asked.
" No."
" Then I will tell you. Lady Janet is a staunch 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 daui^Iiter that no explanation shall take place.'
Has she done that 1"
"Yes.'
" Now observe ! I waited till she had finished, and then
I said, ' What have I to do with this V Lady Janet has one
merit — she speaks out. * You are to do as I do,' she an-
swered. 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.'
* lu that case T have to inform your ladyship th?.t you insist on
more than you may suppose — you insist on my breaking my
engagement to Miss Roseberry. Either I am to have the ex-
planation that she has promised me, or I refuse to marry her.'
How do you think Lady Janet took tliat I She shut up her
lips, and she spread 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 lie had been entrapped
into breaking off the engagement upstairs.
"Do you understand mo, so far f Horace asked.
" I understand you perfectly."
" I will not trouble you much longer," he resumed. " I said
to Lady Janet, ' Re so good as to answer me in plain
words. Do you still insist on closing Miss Roseberry's
lips f ' I still insist,' she answered. ' No explanation is re-
quired. If you are base enough to suspect your bct/othed wife
I am just enough to believe in my adopted daughter.' I re-
plied — and J beg you will give your best attention to what I
am nowgoiuL'; to say — I replied to that, ' It is not ftdr to charge
me with suspecting her. I don't undei-stand her confidential
M
222
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
relations with Julian Gray, and I don't understand her lan-
guage and conduct in the presence of the police officer. I claim
it as my right to be satisfied on both those poinLo — in the char
acter 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 jubtice. The other question of her relations witli
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 colour rose ; Mercy's eyes began to brighten.
" Don't return to that !" she "-ried, with an irrepressible out-
'il!' ?
m
THE CONFESSION.
223
her lan-
I claim
be char
answer.
; said to
If you
b to my
between
dignity
ble J he
. I gave
he brink
dropped
truggled
position.
y to tell
!it of the
iting her
limited
Ince with
ms with
^nstaatly
" The
one of
lething
36."
lerstand
Ible out-
degrade Mr. Julian
rejoined. " Change
break of disj](ust. " 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
Gray, by answering you," she said.
"Consider what you are doing," he
your mind, before it is too late !"
" You have had my reply."
Those resolute words, that steady resistance, seemed to in-
furiate him. He caught her roughly by the arm.
" You are as false as hell !" he cried. " It's all over between
you and mel"
The loud threatening tone in which he had spoken penetrated
through the closed door of the dining-room. The door instant-
ly 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 an-
swer to the letter which she had sent to the Kefuge.
" For Mr. Julian Gray V 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 recognise 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 tele^Tam.
" Another private underetanding 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 envel-
ope.
' il
jl;
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A.:
224
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
V
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M 1
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H\i
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The message inside was expressed in these terms : " I am
as deeply interested in her as you are. Say that I have re-
ceived her letter, and that I welcome her back to the Refuge
with all my heart. I have business this evening in the neigh-
bourhood. 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 es-
cape him in the presence of Horace, the irrepressible expres-
sion 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 arm's 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 be-
tween them.
Julian gave it. She turned, and oifered it to Horace, look
ing 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 insultr^d him.
Julian's great heart only remembered the friend of former
times.
" Spare him !" he said to Mercy. " Remember he is unpre-
pared I"
She neither answered nor moved. Nothing stirred the hor
rible 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 1"
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 lif<^ in
J
THE CONFESSION.
225
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 1"
Without a change in her face, without a movement in her
limbs, she spoke the fatal words.
" I have come from a Eefuge, and I am going back to a Re-
fuge. Mr. Horace Holmcroft, I am Mercy Merrick ! "
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22G
THE NEW MAODALIN.
CHAPTER XXVI.
GREAT HEART AND LITTLE HEART.
[HERE 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 vvords of supplication died away on Julian's lips.
Even his energy failed to sustain him, tired as it now was by
the crushing oppression of suspense. The first trilling move-
ment which suggested the idea of change, and which so brought
with it the first vague sense of relief, came from Mercy. Incap-
able 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 tor-
por of resignation in her face — waiting her sentence in silence
from the man at whom she had hurled the whole terrible con-
fession of the truth in one sentence I
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 towards Mercy.
" Speak to him !" he said in a whisper. " Rouse him, before
It's too late !" . .
She moved mechanically in her chair ; she looked mechani-
cally at Julian.
" What more have 1 to say to him 1" 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 aflect
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 outwards to expres-
sion was the idea of Julian. Without moving his hand, without
GREAT HEART AND LITTLE HEART.
227
ree moved,
iree spoke,
ilian's lips.
)w was by
ling move-
80 brought
y. Incap-
, she drew
estation of
bh-like tor-
» in silence
rrible con-
it Horace,
ras fear in
im, before
mechani-
lint weary
d him my
to afiect
jproached
his hand
osition he
bo expres-
, without
looking up from Mercy, he spoke for the first time since the
shock had fallen on him.
" Where is Julian 1" he asked, very quietly.
" I am here, Horace — close by you."
•'Will jou do me a service 1"
" Certainly. How can I help you 1"
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 be-
wildered 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 mys-
teries, and hateful low-lived quarrels. We have no secrets
and mysteries at home. And as for quarrels — ridicul-
ous I My mother and my sister 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 towards Julian for the first time.
" Just look at me," he said. " Does it strike you that I am
at all wrong in my mind t 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 j 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
J:
U;M
ri
t
* '..
228
THE NEW MAODALEN.
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 V
" 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 1"
" Quite right."
" The woman carried matters with a high hand. She claim-
ed Colonel Roseberry — no, 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 imposter who had personated her. She said
the name of the impostor was Mercy Merrick. And she after-
wards put the climax to it all : she pointed to the lady who is
engaged to be my wife, and delcared 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 backwards 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 1 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. Un-
der the dull blank of his face- there appeared the first signs of
emotion slowly forcing its way outwards. The stunned mind
was revived 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 f — 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-tablf* at the side of her chair ; her out-
GilEAT HEART AND LITTLE HEART.
229
ook here ! I
this house.
^oman from
ntly in the
She claim-
urate — she
She told a
papers and
She said
i she after-
lady who is
vas Mercy
aJcing more
yet.
IS from my
>ry of what
I want to
taking his
^ere is the
Did, I or
efuge, and
did I not,
Merrick ?
' the sake
rds. Un-
8t signs of
ined mind
aiding the
the arm,
pity her."
lad been
it was all.
her out-
stretched am<s rested on it. Her head had dropped on her
arms, and her face was hidden. Julian's judgment had not mis-
led 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 widly to her feet and looked at the two men.
" 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 over-
powered her, and again she hid her face from view.
Julian led Horace to a seat, and silently waited by him un-
til he had recovered his self-control. He gratefully took the
kind hand that had sustained him ; he said simply, almost boy-
ishly, " Thank you, Julian. I am better now."
" Are you composed enough to listen to what is said to you V*
Julian asked.
" Yes. Do you wish to speak to me 1"
Julian left him without immediately replying, and returned
to Mercy.
" The time has come," he said. " Tell him all — truly, un-
reservedly, as you would tell it to me."
She shuddered as he spoke. "Have I not told him enough 1"
she asked. " Do you want me to break his heart 1 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 Icved 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
ill
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2?0
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
weaker man was powerless to res's*,, 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 hor, 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 V*
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 ak the
words which might have saved you. And then," ided,
raising her from the chair, " let him judge you — if he can 1"
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
ofiered 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 re-
signed 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 for
ever. 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 somethin^T o^his former violence.
" I can't realise 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."
GREAT HEART AND LITTLE HEART,
231
by the arm
t condemn
ptation to
as resisted
r from the
lent ; with
ose, if she
i sake, has
r hands in
r."
•
he said.
11 rapidly.
Dowed her
tty, not of
him how
ak the
ided,
e can ]"
ace which
its. Half
•. Julian
ding with
the word
J was re-
was clear,
liation of
Nothing
ceding to
)arted for
:he house
net. He
mce.
true that
! Say in
" You have done what that woman accused you of doing 1
Am I to believe that V
" 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 practised on me 1 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 de-
served it 1"
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 towards 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 be r !"
Julian looked at Mercy. Her lace brightened faintly. That
momentary expression of relief told him how truly he would
be befriending her if he consented to remain in the room. A
position of retirement was offered to him by a recess formed
by the central bay window of the library. If he occupied this
place they could see or not see that he was present, as their
own inclinations might decide them.
" I will stay with you, Horace, as long as you wish me to be
here." Having answered in those terms, he stopped as he
passed Mercy on his way to the window. His quick and
kindly insight told him that he might still be of some service
to her. A hint from him might show her the shortest and the
easiest way of making her confession. Delicately and briefly
he gave her the hint. " The first time I met you," he said,
" I saw that your life had had its troubles. Let us hear how
those troubles began."
He withdrew to his place in the recess. For the first time,
since the fatal evening when she and Grace Roseberry had met
in the French cottage, Mercy Merrick looked back into the
purgatory on earth of her past life, and told he^ «ad story
simply and truly in these words.
I
!
i
I
'1
232
THE KEW MAGDALEN.
i *
CHAPTER XXVII.
MAGDALEN'S APPRENTICESHIP.
" IwT ^' ^^^^^^ Gray has asked me to tell him, and to tell
^^^L 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 the usual penalty of such conduct as hers. After a
short time she and her husband were separated — on the con-
dition of her sacrificing to the man whom she had married the
whole of the little fortune that she possessed in her own 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 n\et 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 accompUshments and his refined tastes. My mother's
beauty fascinat'^c. 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. T only know
that my father, pt the time of my first recollections, had* aban-
doned 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
■
v./
MAGDALEN S APPRENTICESHIP.
233
ind to tell
in. They
1 with my
prospects,
ith one of
her. She
After a
the con-
irried the
wn right,
her daily
attached
ay father
c; proud
time for
mother's
players
an could
ly know-
ad* aban-
delity —
1 to her
r. But
sat what
[e never
s sent to
when I
me. I
was the favourite 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 pri-
vate, when I was apprenticed to the stage. And yet I lived
to look back on my days with the strolling players as the hap-
piest days of my life !
" I was ten years old when the first serious misfortune that
1 can remember fell upon me. My mother died, worn out
in the prime of her life. And not long afterwards 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) obtajied engagements in another
company, and I was included in the bargain. The new man-
ager by whom I was employed, was a drunkard and a brute.
One night, I made a trifling mistake in the course of t^? per-
formance — and I was savagely beaten for it. Perhaps I had
inherited some of my father's spirit — without, I hope also in-
heriting 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
I
■St. I
<t i-^
234
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
London. But I never went near my father : child as I was
I would have starved and died rather than go to hira I had
loved my mother dearly ; and I hated the man who had turned
his back on her when she lay on her death-bed. 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 1
" 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 1 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 beg-
ged 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 rtUations as these 1 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 fro 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 Avas 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 1 ended in selling matches in
the street. My mother's legacy gotme many a sixpence which my
matches would never have charmed out of the pockets of l bran-
gers 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, Hohncruft in the lite 1 am now try-
MAGDALEN S APPBENTICESHIP.
235
i as I was
im I had
had turned
ft made no
t me, Mr.
condemn
s? What
I his knee,
e had met
Perhaps,
have beg-
k^e thrown
nowing it
)eu father
Even the
ir to help
g to help
ted, even
beet them
fro me
gave me
of use to
le to the
5 of them
le season
ttong the
with my
: on this
tell you
itches in
hich my
jf Si tran-
lestined
it friend
lO
w try-
ing to describe which reminds you of a day when we were out
walking together, not long since )
" I surprised and oflFended you, I remember ; and it was not
possible for me to explain my conduct at the time. Do you recol-
lect the little wandering girl, with the miserable faded nosegay
in her hand, who ran after us and begged for a halfpenny 1
I shocked you by bursting out crjring when the child asked us
to buy her a bit of bread. Now you know why 1 was so sorry
for her. Now you know why I oflFended you the next day, by
breaking an engagement with your mother and sisters and go-
ing 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 ap-
pearance in a court of justice. If the circumstances connected
with their oflFence 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 so long as I respected it ; but on
two diflferent occasions it became my best friend when I set it
at defiance. My first fortunate offence 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 ga-^e me a supper and
shelter at the station house that nigb^. I appeared at the
police-court, and, questioned by the magistrate, I told my story
truly. It was the everyday 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 everthing
else), that I had never applied to him for help, in resentment
■A
I
i llH
I ■ I
llll| T >«l l l . ^|MI ^ ^
236
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
Ife
:li
of his treatment of my mother. This incident was now, I
suppose : it led to the appearance of my * case' in the newspa-
pers. 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
favourable 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 upwards 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.
It is 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 favourite companion, in the absence of her husband
at his place of business. She was a highly-accomplished wo-
man ; greatly her husband's superior in cultivation, and, un-
fortunately for herself, also his superior in years. The love
was all on her side. Excepting certain occasions, on which
he roused her jealously, 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 characterised 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 in-
heritance from my mother cast its first shadow on my life.
i ■
Magdalen's apprenticeship.
237
as now, I
le newspa-
describing
re sent to
espectable
•reduced a
fe. I was
follow me
tnd was a
way with
ow low I
bove me ;
Perhaps
s restless
) brought
lis house,
ide.
I said to
I will be
? me for
[ was the
husband
ihed wo-
and, un-
'he love
which
ficiently
resign
was one
s really
ing me.
y pliant
manner
to say,
onating
•oof. I
atal in-
ay 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 in-
dulge 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 borrow 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 « ' ^.e. 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 resolu-
tion, 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 / had been to blame 1 — I was
secretly removed to the East End of London, and placed under
the charge of a trustworthy person who lived, in a veiy humble
way, by letting lodgings.
J
if..*'
:? *■■
ii!
•238
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
«
Hers, in a little back garret at the top of the house, I was
thrown again on the world at an age when it was doubly
perilous for me to be left to my own resources to earn the
bread I eat, 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 na-
tural impulse was to escape from him. But let it be remem-
bered, 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
fiiendless position, lost all hold on an honest life — except the
one frail hold of needlework. 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 miserable 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 workrooms,
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 'ree
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 sufierings 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,
■M-'
%i
MAGDALEN H APPRENTICESHIP.
2;i9
)U8e, I was
w^as doubly
earn the
placed as I
e of Virtue
ae : my na-
be remem-
story, that
t to blame,
sarly years.
) come,
had in my
except the
of which I
y landlady
3rt needle-
•able work
t it in the
^ed to live
ed as long
orkrooms,
f exercise,
ad helped
irally ^ree
came at
e way. I
onounced
troubles
a;ht never
of after-
} not say
m actress
ier mine,
or three
^ bedside,
expenses
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 sub-
mit to any alternative that remained, no matter how hopeless
it might be. If I showed myself on the public stage, my dis-
covery 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 favour, 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 toil-
ing 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
I I-
'*■
240
THE NKW MA(»I)AI.KN.
■r»
I/!
:i
I i
i^ K',
'«
1
' i
i
s
" When I
was in a bed
I called out
near in whic!: 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 mo
at first, it ended in stupefying me. I lost my senses once
more.
next recovered myself the day was breaking. I
Mi a strange room. A nameless terror seized mo.
Three or four women came in whose faces be-
trayed 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 Koseberry 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 hi** breast ; the
traces of tears on his cheeks owned mutely that she had
touched his heart. Would he forgive her ? Jiilian passed on,
and approached Mercy's chair.
In silence he took the hand :vhich hung at her side. In
silence he lifted it to his lips ana kissed it, as her brother
MA^DALION'S AFPRKNIK liifcJIilP.
241
I the bell of
I fainted in
the mercy
siblo for me
conscious of
wine glass
r a man. I
how much.
leviving me
senses once
reaking. I
' seized mo.
)se faces bc-
is infamy of
bhem to tell
, you heard
Now you
[•uth ! — now
measure I
br the first
ding tones.
ler, turning
it. One of
ig listlessly
Horace
>reast; the
\t she had
passed on,
side. In
er brother
have felt the penalty of the
formalities which sot the law
had another alternative (you
would have received me and
iniglit have kissed it. Slie started hut she never looked up.
Some strange f(sar of discovery seonifd to i)ossess her. " Horace )"
she whis))ere(l timidly. Julian niiide no reply. IIo went back
to his place, and allowed her to think it was Horace.
The sacrifice was ininuinso en()u<,'h — fiH'ling towards her as
he felt — to 1)0 worthy of the man who made it.
A few minutes had been all she asked for. In a few minutes
she turned towards tlu^m 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, v/hen the full knowledge of the outrage had been re/ealed
to me ?
** If I had possessed near and dear relatives to protect and
advise me, the wretches into whose hands I had fallen might
law. I knew no more of the
in motion than a child. But I
will say). Charitable societies
helped me, if I had stated my
case to them. I knew no more of the charitable societies than
I know of the law. At least, then, I might have gone back to
the honest people among whom I had lived ] When I recovered
my freedom, after an interval of some days, I was ashamed to
go back to the honest people. Helplessly and hopelessly, with-
out sin or choice of mine, I drifted, as thousands of other wo-
men have drifted, into the life which set a ma/k on me for the
rest of my days.
" Are you surprised at the ignorance which this confession
reveals 1
"■ You, who have your solicitors to inform you of legal renie-
dies, 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 (unljss they are rogues accustomed
to prey on soci< ;:y) of your benevolent schemes to help them.
The purpose of public charities and the way to discover and
apply to them, ought to bo posted at the corner of every street.
What do we know of public dinners and eloquent sermons and
neatly-printed circulars 1 Every now and then the case of
some forlorn creature (generally of a woman), who has com
242
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
m
u
mitted suicide, within five minutes' walk perhaps of an In-
stitution 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 mth 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 ner so hardly !) especially attracted
my sympathies. She was the gentlest, the most unselfish crea-
ture 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 re-
strained 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-d:*essed woman, looking at some handkerchiefs.
The handkerchiefs were finely embroidered, but the smart lady
was hard to please. She tumbled them up disdainfully in a
heap, and asked for other specimens from the stock in the shop.
The man, in clearing the handkerchiefs out of the way, sudden-
MAGDALEN S APPRENTICESHIP.
248
an In-
appears
orgotten
asylums
I make a
long the
lire who
more of
it in my
le public
it me to
• feel for
iful, self-
ity now.
,0 think,
ittracted
ish crea-
sisters.
of self-
my poor
and re-
we had
o spare,
joy our
we had
ribbon
d I was
money
re could
panion,
rchiefs.
vrt lady
lly in a
e shop,
sudden-
ly missed one. Ho was quite sure o( it, from a peculiarity in
the embroidery vvhicli miulo tlio liandkorchicf cspeciallly notice-
able. I was poorly dressed, and f was close to the handker-
chiefs. Aftei 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 tlu; floor. A robbery had
been committed ; and 1 was accused of being the thief.
" I will say nothing of what 1 felt — 1 will only tell you what
happened.
" I was searchod, and the handkerchief was discovered on me.
The woman who had stood next to me, on finding herself threa-
tened with discovery, had no doubt contrived to slij) the stolen
handkerchief into my pocket. Only an accomplished thief
could have escaped detection in tliat way, without my know-
ledge. 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 favour of my honesty pro-
duced no effect ; it was against her that she let lodgings to peo-
ple in my position. I was prosecuted, and found guilty. The
tale of my disgrace is now complete. Mr. Holmcroft. No mat-
ter 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 rei)orted favourably of my behaviour
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 ac-
knowledged 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 re-
putable life, from the humblest starting-point — from domestic
service. After first earning my new character in the Refuge, 1
t '
m
I
i; O'
1 i
244
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
obt.'iinrd a tri.nl in a respectable house. I workofi 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 defenceless when curiosity
assailed me in its turn. Sooner or later inquiry hul 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 t««ll you the story of those sad days. I confided
it to her on the memorable ni[',ht when we met in the French
cottage ; I have no heart to repeat it now. After awhile I
M'caried 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 para-
pet at the river, and said to myself, ' Other women have done
it : why shouldn't I V
" 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 Eefuge. 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 hos-
l)ital. 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 grey
cloak.
" You know what the next event was ; you know how I en-
tered this house.
" I have not tried to make the worst of my trials and troubles
MAODALKiN S APPHKNTK'KSHIP.
245
in telling you what my life has been. I have honestly (lo«icrib-
ed it for what it was when I met with Miss Rosclx'iry — a life
without hope. May you never know the temptation that tried
me when the shell struck its victim in the Fnuich cottage.
There she lay — dead ! Her name was untainted. ILr futun*
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 ftiirest 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 op-
portunity, 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 op-
posite 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 de-
spair I stopped him ; and when he said * Where to V — in sheer
despair again I answered, * Mablethorpe House.'
" Of wliat 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 of-
fence that J have committed, before the man whom 1 ha?©
wronged."
MB
246
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
SENTENCE IS PRONOUNCED ON HER.
^1 ; I'
¥
m
The last tones of her voice died away in
was done,
silence.
Her eyes still rested on Horace. After hearing what he
had heard, could he resist that gentle pleading lookT Would
he forgive her ? Awhile since Julian had seen tears on his
cheeks, and had believed that he felt for her. Why was he now
silent 't 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 mo-
ment ; it tried even his generous nature to plead her cause
V, ith Horace against himself. But he had promised her, without
reserve all the help that her truest friend could offer. Faith-
fully and manfully, he redeemed his promise.
" Horace !" he said.
Horace slovi'ly 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 calle ' upon it !
Own the priceless value of a woman who can speak the truth.
iior heart-felt repentance is a joy in Heaven. Shall it not plead
for her on earth ] Honour her, if you are a Christian ! Feel
for her, if you are a man !"
He waited. Horace never answe. ed him.
"Mercy's eyes turned tearfully on Juli.xn. 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
Horaci^, 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
manr'
She advanced a step towards him ; it was not possible, even
yet, to completely forget the past. She held out her hand.
He rose, on his side — without looking at her.
SENTENCE IS PRONOUNCED ON HER.
247
bought
[ this
" Before we part for ever," 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 j 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 vou !"
As the words escaped bin.; he looked back at Mercy. She
had turned aside from both of them — she had retired to a dis-
tant 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. Hopeless and helpless
she sank on her knees before a little couch in the darkest corn-
er of the room. " Oh, 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 I 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
momeut ; not when she was helpless and ashamed ; not when
her weakness might make her yield, only to regret it at a later
^v ^
^ "
u 1
lit:
248
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
i?
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 re-
stored 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 re-
marked) like a man who " !»xpected good news." Tliey were
inclined to suspect — though he „-as certainly rather young for
it — that her ladyship's nephew was in a fair way of prefer-
ment in the church.
■i ^
u
3 U':
Mercy seated herself on the couch.
" There are limits, in the physical organisation of man, to
the action of pain. When suffering has reached a given point
of intensity the nervous sensibility becomes incapable of feel-
ing 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.
A.lone 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 — and 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 sum-
mon 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 ]ilainly
still) she heard Lady Janet's voice !
She started to her feet. Lady Janet's letter was still in the
SENTENCE IS PRONOUNCED ON HER.
249
pocket of her apron — the letter which imperatively command-
ed 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 favourite place in which the mistress of the
house and her guests assembled at that time. It was no mat-
ter 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 delibei ' 1y disobeyed her benefactress. Exhausted by
what she had ilready suffered, she stood trembling and irreso-
lute, 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 tu expect, when she discovered that her entreaties
and her commands 1 1 been alike set at defiance 1)
Having administti.d 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 I Not dressed for dinner 1 Oh fie, lie I"
i^
ipm
250
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
1 1 ! .
lit f ! !'
5 i-
r
.1
n
i;
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 state and splendour of her dress,
Lady Janet had, on this occasion, surpassed herself. There she
stood revealed in her grandest velvet, her richest jewellery, hei
finest lace — with no one to entertain at the dinner-table but the
ordinary members of the circle at Mablethorpe House. Notic-
ing this as strange *o 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 affec-
tionately 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 dis-
covered something supremely interesting in the familiar objects
that surrounded her on the library walls.
How were these changes to be interpreted ? To what pos-
sible conclusion did they point ?
Julian's profound er knowledge of human nature, if Julian
had been present, might have found the clue 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 whom 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 splendour
of her dress meant simply that, when other excuses for delaying
the meeting down stairs had all been exhausted, the excuse of
a long and elaborate toilet had been tried next. Even the mo-
ments 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 cf playfulness in lan-
guage and manner, the ovasive and wandering eyes, were hU
SENTENCE IS PRONOUNCEb ON HER.
251
ion which
lent Mercy
* her dress,
There she
rellery, hei
)le but the
e. Notic-
jerved, for
es avoided
ionably on
IS, without
she affec-
ngedwith
—but the
eyes dis-
ar objects
v^hat pos-
if Julian
mystery.
i Mercy's
by Lady
le woman
)seberry's
nan who
uence of
house —
5e to face
sacrificed
tlercy, as
plendour
delaying
sxcuse of
the mo-
noments
entrance
3 in Ian-
were hU
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 honour. In the presence
of Mercy, whom she loved with a mother's love — in the
presence of Mercy, for whom she had stooped to deliber-
ate concealment of the truth — all that was high and noble in
tho woman's nature rose in her and rebuked her. What will
the daughter of my adoption, the child c. my first and last ex
perience of maternal love, think of m(;, now that I have made
myself an accomplice in the fraud of which she is ashamed 1
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 1 Those were the torturing
questions in Lady Janet's mind, while her arm was wound
affectionately round Mercy's waist, while her fingers were busy-
ing 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
v.ithin 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 fain-
test 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 '^'t-ar. 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 1 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 stair-
case; you get a tepid ice, and you hear vapid talk in slang
I' i
252
THE NEW MAGDALEN
I » f
!--l l
\i i
pi liases 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 words, sung by the same singers yeai
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 pre-
tences ! 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 falter-
ing 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 pain-
ters and actors in Paris — the liveliest society in the world, my
dear, until one gets tired of them. We will dine at the res-
taurant, and go to the play, and drive about in shabby little
SENTIENCE IS PRONOUNCED ON ITER.
253
we had a
r. Look
nising as
i possible
gers yeai
J dullest
of it, the
e choice
:o work ;
e to me.
n.
►gramme
Ise pre-
tpable of
put her
it Lady
it falter-
lly dare
)ak out
•evailed
le could
iddenly
child !"
re tired
inion —
; in one
ell 3-ou
3. My
person
of the
ace (to
i what
i pain-
Id, my
he res-
r little
hired carriages. And when it begins to get monotonous (which
it is only too sure to dol) 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.
" 1 entreat your ladyship to pardon me," she resumed. " 1
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 'i
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 honour, my dear, I agree with you. You might
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 1"
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-mor^o^\'
morning, in time for the tidal train to Paris. You understand 1 "
" Yes, my lady."
"What have you got there ? Anything for me f
" For Miss Roseberry, my lady."
As he antiwered, the man handed the card and the open lette''
to Mercy.
f
^rK sms:m. ' ..imf u.-wm - .^ 'w
254
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
i '
•m
:'
■i i-'
'It
■' H '
i! f
I I ' ; !.
" The lady is waiting in the morning-room, miss. She wished
me to say she lias 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 I
She looked at the letter next. It appeared to be a printed cir-
cular, 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 suspicious
ly fixed on her. With the matrom's arrival the foredoomed
end of the flimsy false pretences and the cruel delays had come.
" A friend of yours, my dear 1"
" Yes, Lady Janet."
" Am I acquainted with her V*
" 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."
Lad}' 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 1 "
" I am in great trouble, madam, as you noticed just now" —
"Hav^ you any objection to my knowing who your visitor isl"
" 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- -de-
cided 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 1 " she said, speaking to
herself; "and calling here by appointment — if I remember
the servant's message 1 A strange time to choose, if s^-.he has
come for a subscription."
SENTENCE IS PRONOUNC'KD ON HER.
255
the wished
for you if
ithdrew.
1 arrived I
rinted cir-
ipty page.
She felt
uspicious
redoomed
jad come.
)ring bad
all your
'e me."
and."
think of
eful."
dy ought
itter will
; now" —
sitoris?"
she had
red--de-
i looked
Milburn
aking to
member
i^'-he has
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 ! Plpcing the
card ou the couch at her side, she pointed with her long yel-
low-white forefinger to the printed letter lying side by side
with her own letter on Mercy s lap.
" Do you n- an to read it or not 1 " 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 1 " 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 Eefuge. Subscribers were informed
that it had been decided to extend the shelter and the train-
ing of the institution (thus far devoted to fallen women alone)
so as to include destitute and helpless children found wander-
ing in the streets. The question of the number of children to
be thus rescued and protected was left dependant, as a matter
of course, on the bounty of the friends of the Eefuge ; the cost
of the maintenance of each one child being stated at the low-
est possible rate. A list of influential persons who had in-
creased 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 hand writing) fol-
lowed on the blank page.
" Your letter tells me, my dear, that you would like — re-
membering your own childhood — to be employed when you re-
turn 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 neigh-
bourhood 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."
i1^
^^^'^ ' ^g *W-J^ ^a^n'^^~T7 H Li' t aim
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THE NKW MAC DAL EN.
Lady Janet read the pencilled lines, as Sag had read the
{)rinted sentences, aloud. Without a word of comment, she
aid 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, out-
raged love and outraged pride looked down on the lost woman
and said, as if in words, You hav^e roused us at last.
** If that lettv r 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 lelicr ] "
« Yes."
" Have you read it ? "
" I have read it."
" Have you seen Horace 1 . imcroft 1 '
"Yes."
" Have you told Horace Holmcroft"
" Oh, Lady Janet !"
" Don't interrupt me. Have you told Horace Holmcroft
frhat 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 ansiwer 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
out-stretched hands touched Lady Janrt's dress. Lady Janet
sharply drew her dress away, and sternly repeatt.d her last
words.
" Yes 1 or no ? "
"Yes."
She had owned it at last ! To this end, Lady .Tanoi had sub-
mitted t J Grace Roseberry ; had offended Horace Holmcroft ;
had stc jped for the first time in her life to concealments and com-
promMes that degraded her. After all that she had sacrificed and
suffered — there Mercy knelt at her feet, self-convicted of viola-
••igher commands, trampling on her feelings, deserting her
SENTKNOE IS PUONOUNCED ON HER.
257
roaJ the
iment, slio
ising from
at Morcy,
roduced —
^ On the
lips, out.
)st woman
neans you
eason for
i"
Holmcroft
te, either
tions and
e word—
e pitiless
nemories
lees — her
dy Janet
her last
had sub-
Imcroft j
■rid corn-
iced and
of viola-
ting her
house 1 And who was the woman who had done this ? The
same woman who had poq^etratod the fraud, and who pc^r
sistod in her fraud, until her benefactress had descended to be-
come her accompli e. Then, and then only, she had suddenly
discovered that it was hor sacred duty to tell the truth !
In proud njilence, the gr>at lady met the hiow thar had fallen
on her. In proud silence ,iao turned her back on her adopted
daughter, and walked to 'Jio 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 atn 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 \e !
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 lo think. Oh, for
the cool air of the night ! Oh, for the friendly shelter of tha
Refuge ! She could feel those sad longings in her : it was im-
possible to think.
She rang the bell — and shrank back the instant she had done
it. Had she any right to take Uiat liberty 1 She ought to have
thought of it before she rang. Habit — all habit. How many
hundreds of times she had i iing the bell at Mablethorpe House !
The servant came in. She amazed the man — she spoke to
him so timidly : she even apologised 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 1 "
"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 diuing-room door.
258
THE NEW MAODALEN.
CHAPTER XXIX.
\
THE LAST TRIAL.
HE servant left them together. Mercy apolce first.
" Mr. Gray !" she exclaimed, " why liav(! you delayed
my message 1 If you knew all, you would know tluvt
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 mo
go!"
Briefly as she had replied, she had said enough. Julian's
knowledge of Lady Janet's character told him what had hap-
pened. His face shewed 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 aad 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.
THE LAST TRIAL.
259
" To the Refuge 1 " 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 homo ! "
" What else is it 1 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 mount-
ing 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 1 " 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 an-
swered humbly. " Why return to it now 1 "
" 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 return-
ing, 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 po-
sition 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 honour and his name 1 "
She understood him at last. She broke away from him with
a cry. She stood with her hands clasped, trembling and look-
ing 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 farther and farther, with a wild im-
ploring 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 ! "
.J
iKJ
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260
THE NEW ^AGDALEi^.
\i ^ :
4 i
V 1
:;'h
darkened with a sudden dread. His head fell on
His voice sank so low that she could barely hear
((
You have reminded
His face
his breast.
it:
" I had forgotten something," he said
me of it."
She ventured back a little nearer to him. " Have I offended
you."
He smiled sadly. " You have enlightened me. I had for-
gotten 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 colour 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 answere^ simply. "Where is
the woman in my place whose heart c<nild resist you ? "
He eagerly advanced ; he held out his arms to her in breath-
less speechless joy. She drew back from him once more with a
look that horrified him — a look of blank despair.
" Am / fit to be your wife 1 " 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 r'
" I raise you to my level when I make you my wife," he an-
swered. "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 mise.y or the happiness of my life. The
world ! Good God ! what can the
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 towards you ! It is
so hard, after all that I have suffered — when my heart is yearn-
ing for peace and happiness and love ! " She checked herself,
shuddering at the words that had escaped her. " Remember
how Mr. Holmcroft has useu me ! Remember how Lady Janet
exchange
THE LAST TRIAL.
261
has left me ! Eemember what 1 have told you of my life I
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. IShe was incapable of rcsjist-
ing 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 peoi^le, in a new
world — I will change my name — I will break with relatives,
friends, everybody. Anything, anything, rather than los«
you ! "
She lifted her head slowly and looked at him.
He suddenly released her ; he reeled back like a man stag-
gered by a blow, and dropped into a chair. Before she had
uttered a word he saw the terrible resolution in her face —
Death, lather than yield to her own weakness and disgrace him.
She stood with her hands tightly clasped in front of her.
Her grand head was raised ; her soft grey eyes shone again un-
dimmed 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 suflfered, may love you- as / 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 modest-
ly, so tenderly performed 1 As the last lingering pressure ot
her fingers left him Julian burst into tears,
The servant answered the bell. At tht^ moment when he
opened the door a woman's voice was audible, in the hall,
speaking to him.
1 1 I .- !
im
1
ill
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ll.frHi.
262
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
" 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 ia 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 ter-
rible product of a worn-out system of govern? .en t and of a civi-
lisation 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 sis-
ter in adversity crept fearfully over the beautiful carpet, and
stopped wonderstruck before the marbles of an inlaid table —
a blot of mud on the splendour 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 1 *' 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 him in a few steps.
" The others have gone from me without one kind word.
Can you forgive me 1
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 I'^'l^ter world to come ! " Then she rose, and went
back to the ohild. Hand-in-hand, the two citizens of the Gov-
ernment of Gocl — outcasts of the Government ot Man — passed
THE LAST TRIAL.
263
slowly down the length of the room. Then, out hito the hall.
Thon, out into the night. The heav}^ 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 patted, and
marked the limit of delay. The butler appeared at the dir^'ng-
room door.
" Dinner is served, sir."
Julian looked up. The empty room met his eye. Some-
thing white lay on the carpet close by him. It was her hand-
kerchief—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
for ever 1
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 hor yet !
He turned to the servant, reckless of what his face might
betray.
" Where is Lady Janet 1 "
" 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
siw the way back to her — through the influence of Lady Janet.
*' Her ladyship is waiting, sir."
Julian entered the diniug-ioow.
word.
((
The
w
f'
'Z(ji
THE NEW MAUDALEN.
' 1'
i
iJi
-Um
EriLOGUE.
CONTAINING SELECTIONS FROM THE COPKhSPONDENCE OF
MlbS GRACE ROSEBERRY AND MR. HORACE HOLMCROFT ;
TO WHICH ARE ADDED
EXTRACTiS FROM THE DIA^IY OF THE REVEREND JULIAN GRAY.
I.
" From Mr. Horace Holmcroft to Miss Grace Roseberry.
" I HASTEN to thank you, clear Miss Eoseberry, for your
last kind letter, received by yesterday's mail from Canada. Be-
lieve me, I appreciate your generous readiness to pardon and
forget what I so rudely said to yr.u at a time when the arts of
an auventuress had blinded me to the truth. In the grace
which has forgiven me I recognise 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 tb '■ progress of Julian
Gray's infatuation, and of the course of conduct pursued to-
wards him by Mercy Merrick.
" If you had not favoured 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 imposters interested in gaining a position
among persons of our rank, by becoming in some sort (un-
pleasant as it may be) famiUar with the arts by which impos-
ture too frequently succeeds. If we wish to know to what
daring lengths cunning can go, to what pitiable e. !."-!t-ri5'on
EPILOGUE.
266
^.rcJulity can consent, we must w.'itch 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, T 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
regretable 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 res-
ponsible 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
vhich 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
and do. I wo did have gone down on my knees to beg her par-
don 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, agre3 with me that such extravagance
as this is to be pitied rather than blamed. How sad to see the
d^cay 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 oppor-
tunity of touching on the matter delicately when I next see her
lawyer.
" I am straying from my subject. And — is it not strange 1
— 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 induccil
her to go there for the second time, the day after I had des-
patched ray last letter to you. Lady Janet's object on this oc-
casion was neither more nor less than to plead her nephew's
cause as humble suitor for the hand of Mercy Merrick. Ima
gine the descendant of one of the oldest families in England
inviting an adventuress in a Refuge to honour a clergyman of
Mie Church of England by becoming his wife ! In what times
mr
266
TilE NEW MACJDALEN.
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do we live ! my dear mother shed tears of shame when she
heard of it. How yon would love and admire my mother !
I dined at Mablethorpe House by previous appointment, on
the day when Lady Janet leturned from her degrading errand.
" * Well ? ' I said, waiting of course untd the servant was out
of the room.
" ' Well,' Lady Janet answered, ' Julian was quite right.'
" ' Quite right in what 1 '
" ' Li saying that the earth holds no nobler woman than
Mercy Merrick.'
" ' Has she refused him again 1 '
" * She has refused him aijain.'
" ' 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, H -ace,' she said, * if your nature
is incapable of comprehending what is great and generous in
other natures higher than yours, uut 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 favourable view of your
conduct towards 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 1. ly Jraiet would be much longer
competent to manage her c^in affairs. Perhaps you thought
me hasty, then 1 What do you think, now ?
" It was of course useless to reply seriously to the extraordi-
nary 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 favoured in return with some
account of what had really happened at the Refuge. My
mother and my sisters were disgusted when I repeated the
paiticidar* tv them. You will be dis'i'isted Wo.
EPILOGUE.
207
" The interesting penitent (expecting Larly Janet's visit),
was, of course, discovered in a touching domestic position !
She had a foundling baby asleep, on her Lap; and she was
teacliing the alpliabet to an ugly little vagabond girl whose
acquaintance she had first made in the street. Just the sort of
artful tableau vlvant 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 Mei'rick, 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
sufter, 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 honour 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 honour
and Ms 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 w^as commu-
nicated to Julian Gray. He took leave of his senses on the spot.
Can you believe it 1 — he has resigned his curacy ! At a time,
when the church is thronged every Sunday to hear him preach.^
this madman shuts tl'e 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
268
TUE NEW MAGDALEiN.
'i*i
useless ! He had but one answer to everything they could laay :
' 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 neverthe-
less 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 ques-
tion of climate ; and here I grieve to say, he has succeeded.
** He is now working — in other words, he is now deliber-
ately 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 met-
ropolitan 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
how 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 takng my gloomy view of the prospect ] I cann ot
forget that this unhappy man was once my friend ; and I real-
ly see no hope for him in the future. Deliberately self-expos-
ed to the violence of ruffians and the outbreak of disease, who
EPILOGUE.
2G9
is to extricate him from his shocking position ? The ono per-
son 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 <>n, my confidence be-
trayed — I am as yet hardly capable o\' deciding what I shall
do. Eeturning to my old profession — to th<' army — is out of
the question, in these levelling days, wIm'U any )b.scure person
who can pass an examination may call himself my brother offi-
cer, and may one day perhaps command me as my superior in
rank. If ' think of any career, it is the career of diplomacy.
Birth and oreeding 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. Sympathising with me,
they do not forget what you too have suffered. A warm wel-
come awaits you when you pay your first visit at our house.
" Most truly yours,
"Horace Holmcroft."
From Miss Grace Roseberry to Mp. Horace Holmcroft.
" Dear Mr. Holmcroft, — I snatch a few moment^: from my
other avocations to thank you for your most interescing 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 1 To die in Green Anchor Fields,
270
THE NEW MAGDAr-EN.
\fi
or to fall into the clutches of that vile wretch — is there any
comparison between the two 1 Better a thousand times die
at the post of duty than marry Mercy ^lerrick.
" 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 ])ersons of my devout
turn of mind, she is an awful warning. Wlicn I feel Satan near
me — it will l>e such a means of grace to think of Mercy jMerrick !
** 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 Mabiethorpe House. If you can find an opportunity,
will you say that I wish her well, here and hereafter 1 and you
will please add, that I do not omit to remember her in my
prayers.
" There is just a chance of my visiting England towards 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. Be-
sides 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 Gommereys 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 favourable to my kind patroness ; and
her medical advisers recommend her to winter in London. In
this event, I am to have the 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 sis-
ters. There is a sort of freemasonry among gentlewomen, is
there not 1 With best thanks and remembrances, and many
delightful anticipations of your next letter, believe me, dear Mr,
Eolmcroft,
"Truly yours,
"Grace Roseberry."
EPILOGUE.
271
ITF.
From Mr. Horace Holmcroft to Miss Grace Roseberry.
IS
"My Dear Miss Roseberry, — Pray excuse niy long silence.
I have waitL'd fur mail after mail, in the hope of being able to
send you some good news at last. It is useless to wait h)nger.
My worst forebodings have been realized ; my painful (Uity
compels me to write a letter which will surprise and shoei< you.
" Let me describe events in their ordt-r 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. 1 do not mean that
he suffered any actual violence at the hands of the people
among whom he had cast his lot. On tin* contrary, he suc-
ceeded, incredible as it may appear, in producing a favourable
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 inter
ested in promoting their welfare. It is to the other peril, in-
dicated in my last letter, that he has fallen a victim — the peril
of disease. Not lung after he began his labours in the dis-
trict, 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 neighbourhood.
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, impul-
sive 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 re-
moving 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 riverside inn, used by sliip-ca})tains and commercial travel-
lers. I took it on myself to provide the best medical assist-
ance. Lady Janet's insane prejudices against doctors impelling
her to leave this important part of the arrangements en-
tirely in my hands.
" It is needless to weary you by entering into details on
the subject of Julian's illness.
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)
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Photographic
Sdences
Corporation
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580
(716) 872-4503
^^^'
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272
THE MEW MAGDALEN.
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" The fever pursued the ordinary course, and was characterised
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 inquiiies as to this absent per-
son. I was obliged (in confidence) to state the circumstances
to them plainly.
" The eminent physician whom I had called in to superin-
tend 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 try-
ing position, and f^lt all the importance of preventing such a
person as Mercy Merrick from seizing the opportunity of in-
truding herself at the bedside. A soothing prescription (I liave
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 )6
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
pa ient'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
iij just a chance — especially if she proves to be a sensible per-
son and a good nurse — that he may astonish you all by recog-
nising 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 impu-
dent opinion was delivered at the bedside.
" Need I tell you the sequel 1 Called upon to choose be-
tween the course indicated by a physician, who is making his
five thousand a year, and who is certain of the next medical
EPILOGUE.
273
( T
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 lady-
ship's decision 1 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 honour I am not
exaggerating — Mercy Merrick was established at Julian's bed-
side.
" The excuse, of course, was that it was her duty not to let
cny private scruples of her own stand in the way, when a
med'cal 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 in-
sulted by the local practitioner's re*" sal to make use of it. I
went back in the doctor's carriage Ho spoke most feelingly
and properly. Without giving any positive opinion, I could
see that he had abandoned all hope of Julian's recover/. * 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 leel 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 lelt prepared for what was to come. The
next report announced that he was gaining strength, and the
next that he was out ot danger. Upon this Lady Janet re-
turned to Mablethorpe House. I called there a week ago — and
heard that he had been removed to the seaside. I called yes-
terday — 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 il he presumes to call : * Not at
h^me.'
B
M
ri
IL^
if 't hi
I t
274
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
" I am unhappily only too certain that I am correct, in writing
to you of this disgraceful marriage as of a settled tiling. Lady
Janet went the length of showing me the letters — one from
Julian ; the other from the woman herself. Fancy Mercy Mer-
rick 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 ; iii my opiniun, 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
toiij^ae. ' 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 Am.' ... * 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 fiT'st smile, and heard his
first grateful words to 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 Kose
berry, until we meet.
u
Most truly ycurs,
"Horace Holmcroft."
in writing
ing. Lady
one from
VIercy Mer-
ressing her
Lion ate ly ! '
rs through.
pinion, his
B plays her
with her
L wrong m
I think of
3ok that is
igh it may
om him, I
y hard lot.
weeks at
heard his
him back
our closely
lentiment i
Grod, there
due to the
r and my
n the side
.titude the
ken in my
iheartened
iliss Bose
JROFT."
EPILOGOES.
IV.
27a
Extracts from the Diary of The Reverend Julian Grey.
First Extract.
. . " A month to-day since we were married ! I have only
one thing to say : I would cheerfully go through all tl'at I
have suffered to live this one month over again. I never knew
what happiness was until now. And better still, I have per-
suaded Mercy that it is all her doing. T 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 ^^ this remote seaside 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 unexpected!}
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 1 The land-
lady at my lodgings is the woman in this case. Having no
decided plans foi the future as yet, we returned (most unfortun-
ately, 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 an 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 caids
had accumulated in my absence. Breakfast over, I was obliged
to go out. Painfully sensitive, poor thing, to any change in
my experience oi the little world around me which it is ^jo^si-
ble to connect with the event of my marriage, Mercy ques-
tioned the landlady, in my absence, about the diminished num-
ber of my visitors and my correspondents. The woman seized
the opportunity of gossiping about me and my ahtiirs, and my
276
THE NEW MAGDALEN.
I
i
H
If
if
:'i
wife's quick perception drew the right conchision iinernngly.
My marriage has decided certain wise heads of families on dis-
continuing their social relations with me. The facts unfor-
tunately 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, in-
viting, 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 o>
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.
" Most of my 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 oi
oratory as an intellectual accom.plishment. 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' habituall}'^ 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 amongst 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 cor-
ruptions 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
EPILOGUE.
277
emnjjly.
s on (lis-
ts unfor-
er years,
), in the
season —
lling, in-
• nothing
-if 1 had
nchision.
ladow o.
In this
my poor
wound ia
it boldly.
3 decided
rse,' I am
irence to
ill left to
le pulpit.
never, in
or any
een won.
rtance oi
no other
linment ;
that is
ling that
in the
low often
and soul
iTomen —
ders and
nounced
tual cor-
and in
the very
harming
sermon !* ' ^lore eloquent than ever!' *I used to dread the
sermon at the other church — do you know 1 quite look forward
to it now 1 ' 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 nn'u 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 adtdter-
ates his favourite preacher's sugar as cheertully as usual.
*' I have often, in past years, felt the objections to pursuing
my career which are here indicated. They were bitterly pres-
ent to my mind when I resigned my curacy, „nd 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 work, among the
miserable wretches in Green Anchor Fields. But I cannot,
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 peo-
ple ; away from the cities — in the far and fertile West of the
great American coittinent — I might live happily with my wiic,
and do good among my neighbours ; secure of providing for
our wants out of the modest little income which is almost use-
less to me here. In th« life which I thus picture to myseli I
see love, peace, health, and duties and occupations that are
worthy of a Christian man. What prospect is before me, il 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, 1 might defy the worst that malice can do. But I
have Mercy to think of — Mercy, whom I love better than my
own lite ! Women live, poor things, in the opinions of others.
I have had one warning already of what my wife is likely to
sufier at the hands of my ' friends ' — Heaven forgive me for
misusing the word ! Shall I deliberately expose her to fresh
mortifications 1 — and this for the sake of returning to a career
the rewards of which I no longer prize 1 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 ^Vorld we will go ' "
278
THE NEW MAQDALEN.
'>♦►(•
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 recognise 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 is-
sued invitations forone of her grand balls at Mablethorpe House;
and she 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, how-
ever, 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's 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 any-
thing, 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, lam 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 de-
pature, 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 pariiur in a firm of shipowners, largely
concerned in emigration.
EPILOGUE.
279
g. 1
>f me
)y my
point
jr did,
yship.
They
;r they
ngUah,
1 will
lay has
, has is-
House;
are that
) of Mr.
,t, how-
all that
I me to
express
oor love
iage has
fer any-
Ithat one
land my
rophecy.
ir going
among
our de-
Ihat is to
college
largely
" One of their vessels sails for America from the port of
London, in a fortnight ; touching at Plymouth. By a fortun-
ate coincidence, Lady Janet's hall takes place in a fortnight. I
see my wayi
" 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.
"1 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 prjsent from kind Lady Janet — is
finished. I was allowed to soe 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 womar. at the ball.
" The same day I called on Lady Janet to thank her, and
encountered a new revelation of t<ie wayward and original cha-
racter 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 waa 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
refused 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 topic*
prohibited to Mercy as sternly as ever, is still the persona-
tion of Grace Roseberry ! Nothing could have been more
naturally introduced, or more delicately managed, than
my wife's briei reference to the subject. No matter. The
f.jte
2?S0
THE NEW MA(JI)ALEN.
reading of the firht line was rnough, Larly Janet Hlmt her
eyes and destroyed the letter — Lady Jan(!t will livn and die
absolutely ignorant of the true story of * Mercy Merrick.*
What unanswerable riddles wo are ! Is it wonderful if we per-
petually fail to understand one another 1"
Last 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 any length of it.
We leave lor Plymouth by the afternoon express.
" We were rather late in arriving at th(i ball. The magnifi-
cent rooms were filling last. Walking through them witli my
wife, she drew my attention to a circumstance which I had not
noticed at the time. ' Julian,' she said, ' look round among
the ladies, and tell me if you see anything st mge.' 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 JNIercy
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 oflered
with a shameless politeness wonderiid 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 ami-
ability and excessive liberality are the two favourite assumptions
of the modern generation. To see the women expressing their
liberal forgetfulness of my wife's misfortunes, and the men
»et «luit her
livii and (Uo
cy Meriick.'
ul if we per-
KiMMioiri;.
tiSl
dy Janet. I
' length of it.
The magnifi-
ihom with my
lich 1 had not
round among
' As I looked
voA that a few
I noticed next
t it burst upon
rove the rule),
I took ^lercy
/s face showed
'he guests were
.vives, the men
tliers,— but, in
sxcuses ottered
es ! This was
le difficulty of
\e ladies who
lostess. They
;.ter phrase.
1, and rudeness
in these later
my wife. The
Excessive ami-
ite assumptions
xpressing their
and the men
their amiable anxiety to eiK ouraiie her husband -to hear the
same set phrases repeated in every room: 'Ho cliarmed to
nial<e your nc«iuaiiitance, Mrs. (I ray ; .so vnu/i. oblip'd to dear
Lady Janet for giving us this opportunity ! — Julian, old man,
what a beautiful creature ! I envy you ; ui)on my honour, 1
envy you !' — to receive this .sort of welcome, emphasised by
obtrusive hand-shakings, sometimes actually bj' downright ki.ss-
ings of my wife, and tlien to look round and see that not one
in thirty of these very people had brought their unmarried
daughters to the ball, was, 1 honestly believe, to see civilised
human nature in its basest conceivable aspect. Tlx; New WorM
ma> have its disappointments in store for us — but it cannot pos-
sibly show us any spectacle so abject as the spectacle which we
witnessed last night at my aunt's hall,
'* Lady Janet marked her sense of the proceeding adopted by
her guests by leaving them to themselves. 1 ler guests remained
and supped heartily notwithstanding. They all knew by ex-
perience 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 pie.
" Mercy and T had an interview with my aunt upstairs before
we left. 1 felt it necessary to state plainly myresoliition to leave
England. The scene that followed w-as 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 accon) panics 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 t'.;
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, 1 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."
The End.