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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 
 
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 IMAGE EVALUATION 
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 Hiotographic 
 
 Sdences 
 
 Coiporation 
 
 33 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14S80 
 
 (716) S73-4503 
 
 
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 '4- 
 
 
■■■ 
 
 84 
 
 THE NEW MAGDALEN. 
 
 ;. 
 
 I 
 
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 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 
 
 :'|| 
 
 I ; ' ' ■■ 
 
 
 I 
 
 III 
 
 t 
 
 1 !, ■ 
 
 > J 
 
 ( ," 
 
 I 
 
 ' I 
 
 :, ^ 
 
 i 
 
 y^m 
 
 
 .11'; 
 I .(■■' 
 
 ;{ 
 
 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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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. 
 
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 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 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 /I 
 
194 
 
 THE NEW MAGDALEN. 
 
 i i 
 
 ii 
 
 I i! 
 
 " 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. 
 
 i I 
 
 
 t i V: 
 
 
 ■pit 
 

 196 
 
 THE NEW MAGDALEN. 
 
 1*'^ . ! 
 
 : ii 
 
 1'' 
 IS 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
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 *■ 
 
 ■ }. ■ 
 
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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. 
 
 ■.I I 
 
 M-; ' 
 
 11' V 
 
 ' ''1 
 
 if 
 
 I J, 
 
 1, ■! 
 
 " 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. 
 
 { 
 
 ■'J 
 
 
 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. 
 
 (( 
 
 
 "I ■ 
 
 \ : -if i;; 
 
 ,4 
 
 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 
 
 m 
 
 206 
 
 THE NEW MAGDALEN. 
 
 i ni 
 
 ■i I, 
 
 im 
 
 li'Wi^' 
 
 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; 
 
 
 ■St 
 
 A.: 
 
224 
 
 THE NEW MAGDALEN. 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 ■T J! 
 I I 
 
 M 1 
 
 (f 
 
 H\i 
 
 ■t i^ 
 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 !i 
 
 it 
 
 
 .1 
 
 ft 
 
 
 :if; 
 
 h4 
 

 II, 
 
 t,; 
 
 !l 1 
 
 
 il 
 
 it ' 
 
 ;i 
 
 i t. 
 
 11: 
 
 If h h 1 
 
 
 
 t 
 
 I 
 
 
 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 
 
 •^^S" 
 
 IMKI 
 
m^ 
 
 
 !l 
 
 n^ 
 
 i 
 
 \i. 
 
 
 till 
 
 B 
 
 
 ^1 
 
 i i 
 
 f ; 
 
 l! 
 
 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 
 
(' 
 
 tl 
 
 i 
 
 *t ; 
 
 •J': 
 
 s( . 
 
 256 
 
 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 
 
 ;-:<!: 
 
 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. 
 
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 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. 
 
 (( 
 
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 THE NEW MAUDALEN. 
 
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 -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 
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 (716) 872-4503 
 
 
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 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.' 
 
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 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.