The New Magdalen.............................................................................................................................................1

The time is autumn, in the year eighteen hundred and seventythe year of the war between France and

The persons are, Captain Arnault, of the French army; Surgeon Surville, of the French ambulance; Surgeon

Wetzel, of the German army; Mercy Merrick, attached as nurse to the French ambulance; and Grace

Late in the evening a skirmishing party of the French and a skirmishing party of the Germans had met, by

accident, near the little village of Lagrange, close to the German frontier. In the struggle that followed, the

French had (for once) got the better of the enemy. For the time, at least, a few hundreds out of the host of the

invaders had been forced back over the frontier. It was a trifling affair, occurring not long after the great

German victory of Weissenbourg, and the newspapers took little or no notice of it.

Captain Arnault, commanding on the French side, sat alone in one of the cottages of the village, inhabited by

the miller of the district. The Captain was reading, by the light of a solitary tallowcandle, some intercepted

dispatches taken from the Germans. He had suffered the wood fire, scattered over the large open grate, to

burn low; the red embers only faintly illuminated a part of the room. On the floor behind him lay some of the

miller's empty sacks. In a corner opposite to him was the miller's solid walnutwood bed. On the walls all

around him were the miller's colored prints, representing a happy mixture of devotional and domestic

subjects. A door of communication leading into the kitchen of the cottage had been torn from its hinges, and

used to carry the men wounded in the skirmish from the field. They were now comfortably laid at rest in the

kitchen, under the care of the French surgeon and the English nurse attached to the ambulance. A piece of

coarse canvas screened the opening between the two rooms in place of the door. A second door, leading from

the 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 reasonably insure for himself and for his men a quiet and

Still absorbed in his perusal of the dispatches, and now and then making notes of what he read by the help of

writing materials placed at his side, Captain Arnault was interrupted by the appearance of an intruder in the

room. Surgeon Surville, entering from the kitchen, drew aside the canvas screen, and approached the little

The surgeon pointed to the kitchen, now the hospital devoted to the wounded men.

"The poor fellows are anxious about the next few hours," he replied. "They dread a surprise, and they ask me

if there is any reasonable hope of their having one night's rest. What do you think of the chances?"

"I know that we are in possession of the village for the present," retorted Captain Arnault, "and I know no

more. Here are the papers of the enemy." He held them up and shook them impatiently as he spoke. "They

give me no information that I can rely on. For all I can tell to the contrary, the main body of the Germans,

outnumbering us ten to one, may be nearer this cottage than the main body of the French. Draw your own

Having answered in those discouraging terms, Captain Arnault got on his feet, drew the hood of his

"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

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,"

"Did you ever know a woman who could resist looking out of window?" he asked. "Dark as it is, sooner or

later these ladies of yours will feel tempted to open that shutter. Tell them I don't want the light of the candle

to betray my headquarters to the German scouts. How is the weather? Still raining?"

"So much the better. The Germans won't see us." With that consolatory remark he unlocked the door leading

"Plenty of time," answered a soft voice with an underlying melancholy in it, plainly distinguishable though it

"Come in, then," continued the surgeon, "and bring the English lady with you. Here is a quiet room all to

The nurse led the waytall, lithe, gracefulattired in her uniform dress of neat black stuff, with plain linen

collar and cuffs, and with the scarlet cross of the Geneva Convention embroidered on her left shoulder. Pale

and sad, her expression and manner both eloquently suggestive of suppressed suffering and sorrow, there was

an innate nobility in the carriage of this woman's head, an innate grandeur in the gaze of her large gray eyes

and in the lines of her finely proportioned face, which made her irresistibly striking and beautiful, seen under

any circumstances and clad in any dress. Her companion, darker in complexion and smaller in stature,

possessed attractions which were quite marked enough to account for the surgeon's polite anxiety to shelter

her in the captain's room. The common consent of mankind would have declared her to be an unusually pretty

woman. She wore the large gray cloak that covered her from head to foot with a grace that lent its own

attractions to a plain and even a shabby article of dress. The languor in her movements, and the uncertainty of

tone in her voice as she thanked the surgeon suggested that she was suffering from fatigue. Her dark eyes

searched the dimlylighted room timidly, and she held fast by the nurse's arm with the air of a woman whose

"You have one thing to remember, ladies," said the surgeon. "Beware of opening the shutter, for fear of the

light being seen through the window. For the rest, we are free to make ourselves as comfortable here as we

can. Compose yourself, dear madam, and rely on the protection of a Frenchman who is devoted to you!" He

gallantly emphasized his last words by raising the hand of the English lady to his lips. At the moment when

he kissed it the canvas screen was again drawn aside. A person in the service of the ambulance appeared,

announcing that a bandage had slipped, and that one of the wounded men was to all appearance bleeding to

death. The surgeon, submitting to destiny with the worst possible grace, dropped the charming

Englishwoman's hand, and returned to his duties in the kitchen. The two ladies were left together in the room.

"Don't call me 'madam,'" returned the young lady, cordially. "My name is Grace Roseberry. What is your

The nurse hesitated. "Not a pretty name, like yours," she said, and hesitated again. "Call me 'Mercy Merrick,'

Had she given an assumed name? Was there some unhappy celebrity attached to her own name? Miss

Roseberry did not wait to ask herself these questions. "How can I thank you," she exclaimed, gratefully, "for

"I have only done my duty," said Mercy Merrick, a little coldly. "Don't speak of it."

"I must speak of it. What a situation you found me in when the French soldiers had driven the Germans

away! My travelingcarriage stopped; the horses seized; I myself in a strange country at nightfall, robbed of

my money and my luggage, and drenched to the skin by the pouring rain! I am indebted to you for shelter in

this placeI am wearing your clothesI should have died of the fright and the exposure but for you. What

Mercy placed a chair for her guest near the captain's table, and seated herself, at some little distance, on an

old chest in a corner of the room. "May I ask you a question?" she said, abruptly.

"A hundred questions," cried Grace, "if you like." She looked at the expiring fire, and at the dimly visible

figure of her companion seated in the obscurest corner of the room. "That wretched candle hardly gives any

light," she said, impatiently. "It won't last much longer. Can't we make the place more cheerful? Come out of

Mercy remained in her corner and shook her head. "Candles and wood are scarce things here," she answered.

"We must be patient, even if we are left in the dark. Tell me," she went on, raising her quiet voice a little,

Grace's voice dropped when she answered the question. Grace's momentary gayety of manner suddenly left

Grace's head sank on her bosom. "I have left my only protectormy fatherin the English burialground at

The shadowy figure of the nurse suddenly changed its position on the chest. She had started as the last word

"Some time since." With those words Mercy Merrick shrank back into her corner and changed the subject.

Grace sighed. "I have no relatives in England. You can hardly imagine a person more friendless than I am.

We went away from Canada, when my father's health failed, to try the climate of Italy, by the doctor's advice.

His death has left me not only friendless but poor." She paused, and took a leather lettercase from the pocket

of the large gray cloak which the nurse had lent to her. "My prospects in life," she resumed, "are all contained

in this little case. Here is the one treasure I contrived to conceal when I was robbed of my other things."

Mercy could just see the lettercase as Grace held it up in the deepening obscurity of the room. "Have you

"No; only a few family papers, and a letter from my father, introducing me to an elderly lady in Englanda

connection of his by marriage, whom I have never seen. The lady has consented to receive me as her

companion and reader. If I don't return to England soon, some other person may get the place."

"None. My education has been neglectedwe led a wild life in the far West. I am quite unfit to go out as a

governess. I am absolutely dependent on this stranger, who receives me for my father's sake." She put the

lettercase back in the pocket of her cloak, and ended her little narrative as unaffectedly as she had begun it.

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

"Your unblemished character, and your prospect of being established honorably in a respectable house."

Grace turned in her chair, and looked wonderingly into the dim corner of the room.

"How strangely you say that!" she exclaimed. There was no answer; the shadowy figure on the chest never

moved. Grace rose impulsively, and drawing her chair after her, approached the nurse. "Is there some

romance in your life?" she asked. "Why have you sacrificed yourself to the terrible duties which I find you

The nurse was dumb. Grace called to mind the hesitation that she had shown when she had mentioned her

name, and drew a new conclusion from it. "Should I be guessing right," she asked, eagerly, "if I guessed you

Mercy laughed to herselflow and bitterly. "I a great lady!" she said, contemptuously. "For Heaven's sake,

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

The nurse's voice rose excitedly. "Don't tempt me to speak out," she said; "you will regret it."

Grace declined to accept the warning. "I have placed confidence in you," she went on. "It is ungenerous to lay

"You will have it?" said Mercy Merrick. "You shall have it! Sit down again." Grace's heart began to quicken

its beat in expectation of the disclosure that was to come. She drew her chair closer to the chest on which the

nurse was sitting. With a firm hand Mercy put the chair back to a distance from her. "Not so near me!" she

"Not so near," repeated the sternly resolute voice. "Wait till you have heard what I have to say."

Grace obeyed without a word more. There was a momentary silence. A faint flash of light leaped up from the

expiring candle, and showed Mercy crouching on the chest, with her elbows on her knees, and her face

hidden in her hands. The next instant the room was buried in obscurity. As the darkness fell on the two

"WHEN your mother was alive were you ever out with her after nightfall in the streets of a great city?"

In those extraordinary terms Mercy Merrick opened the confidential interview which Grace Roseberry had

"I will put it in another way," said the nurse. Its unnatural hardness and sternness of tone passed away from

her voice, and its native gentleness and sadness returned, as she made that reply. "You read the newspapers

like the rest of the world," she went on; "have you ever read of your unhappy fellow creatures (the starving

Still wondering, Grace answered that she had read of such things often, in newspapers and in books.

"Have you heardwhen those starving and sinning fellowcreatures happened to be womenof Refuges

The wonder in Grace 's mind passed away, and a vague suspicion of something painful to come took its

place. "These are extraordinary questions," she said, nervously. "What do you mean?"

"Answer me," the nurse insisted. "Have you heard of the Refuges? Have you heard of the Women?"

"Move your chair a little further away from me." She paused. Her voice, without losing its steadiness, fell to

Grace sprang to her feet with a faint cry. She stood petrifiedincapable of uttering a word.

"I have been in a Refuge," pursued the sweet, sad voice of the other woman." I have been in a Prison. Do you

still wish to be my friend? Do you still insist on sitting close by me and taking my hand?" She waited for a

reply, and no reply came. "You see you were wrong," she went on, gently, "when you called me crueland I

At that appeal Grace composed herself, and spoke. "I don't wish to offend you" she began, confusedly.

"You don't offend me," she said, without the faintest note of displeasure in her tone. "I am accustomed to

stand in the pillory of my own past life. I sometimes ask myself if it was all my fault. I sometimes wonder if

Society had no duties toward me when I was a child selling matches in the streetwhen I was a

hardworking girl fainting at my needle for want of food." Her voice faltered a little for the first time as it

pronounced those words; she waited a moment, and recovered herself. "It's too late to dwell on these things

now," she said, resignedly. "Society can subscribe to reclaim me; but Society can't take me back. You see me

here in a place of trustpatiently, 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

She waited again. Would a word of sympathy come to comfort her from the other woman's lips? No! Miss

Roseberry was shocked; Miss Roseberry was confused. "I am very sorry for you," was all that Miss

"Everybody is sorry for me," answered the nurse, as patiently as ever; "everybody is kind to me. But the lost

place is not to be regained. I can't get back! I can't get back?" she cried, with a passionate outburst of

despairchecked instantly the moment it had escaped her. "Shall I tell you what my experience has been?"

"I am going to tell you nothing that you need shrink from hearing," she said. "A lady in your position would

not understand the trials and the struggles that I have passed through. My story shall begin at the Refuge. The

matron sent me out to service with the character that I had honestly earnedthe character of a reclaimed

woman. I justified the confidence placed in me; I was a faithful servant. One day my mistress sent for mea

kind mistress, if ever there was one yet. 'Mercy, I am sorry for you; it has come out that I took you from a

Refuge; I shall lose every servant in the house; you must go.' I went back to the matronanother kind

woman. She received me like a mother. 'We will try again, Mercy; don't be cast down.' I told you I had been

Grace began to feel interested in spite of herself. She answered with something like warmth in her tone. She

returned to her chairplaced at its safe and significant distance from the chest.

"My next place was in Canada, with an officer's wife: gentlefolks who had emigrated. More kindness; and,

this time, a pleasant, peaceful life for me. I said to myself, 'Is the lost place regained? Have I got back?' My

mistress died. New people came into our neighborhood. There was a young lady among themmy master

began to think of another wife. I have the misfortune (in my situation) to be what is called a handsome

woman; I rouse the curiosity of strangers. The new people asked questions about me; my master's answers

did not satisfy them. In a word, they found me out. The old story again! 'Mercy, I am very sorry; scandal is

busy with you and with me; we are innocent, but there is no help for itwe must part.' I left the place;

having gained one advantage during my stay in Canada, which I find of use to me here."

"Our nearest neighbors were FrenchCanadians. I learned to speak the French language."

"Where else could I go, without a character?" said Mercy, sadly. "I went back again to the matron. Sickness

had broken out in the Refuge; I made myself useful as a nurse. One of the doctors was struck with me'fell

in love' with me, as the phrase is. He would have married me. The nurse, as an honest woman, was bound to

tell him the truth. He never appeared again. The old story! I began to be weary of saying to myself, 'I can't get

back! I can't get back!' Despair got hold of me, the despair that hardens the heart. I might have committed

At those last words her voicequiet and even through the earlier part of her sad storybegan to falter once

more. She stopped, following silently the memories and associations roused in her by what she had just said.

Had she forgotten the presence of another person in the room? Grace's curiosity left Grace no resource but to

That strange answer, naturally enough, only strengthened the anxiety of Grace to hear more. "You said just

"I said just now that he saved me. He did save me; you shall hear how. One Sunday our regular clergyman at

the Refuge was not able to officiate. His place was taken by a stranger, quite a young man. The matron told

us the stranger's name was Julian Gray. I sat in the back row of seats, under the shadow of the gallery, where

I could see him without his seeing me. His text was from the words, 'Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner

that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance. 'What happier women

might have thought of his sermon I cannot say; there was not a dry eye among us at the Refuge. As for me, he

touched my heart as no man has touched it before or since. The hard despair melted in me at the sound of his

voice; the weary round of my life showed its nobler side again while he spoke. From that time I have

accepted my hard lot, I have been a patient woman. I might have been something more, I might have been a

A woman who could have sympathized with her would perhaps have guessed what those words meant. Grace

There was no alternative for Mercy but to own the truth in plain words. She sighed, and said the words. "I

was afraid I might interest him in my sorrows, and might set my heart on him in return." The utter absence of

any fellowfeeling with her on Grace's side expressed itself unconsciously in the plainest terms.

The nurse rose slowly to her feet. Grace's expression of surprise told her plainlyalmost brutallythat her

"I astonish you?" she said. "Ah, my young lady, you don't know what rough usage a woman's heart can bear,

and still beat truly! Before I saw Julian Gray I only knew men as objects of horror to me. Let us drop the

subject. The preacher at the Refuge is nothing but a remembrance nowthe one welcome remembrance of

my life! I have nothing more to tell you. You insisted on hearing my storyyou have heard it."

"I have not heard how you found employment here," said Grace, continuing the conversation with uneasy

Mercy crossed the room, and slowly raked together the last living embers of the fire.

"The matron has friends in France," she answered, "who are connected with the military hospitals. It was not

difficult to get me the place, under those circumstances. Society can find a use for me here. My hand is as

light, my words of comfort are as welcome, among those suffering wretches" (she pointed to the room in

which the wounded men were lying) "as if I was the most reputable woman breathing. And if a stray shot

comes my way before the war is overwell! Society will be rid of me on easy terms."

She stood looking thoughtfully into the wreck of the fireas if she saw in it the wreck of her own life.

Common humanity made it an act of necessity to say something to her. Grace consideredadvanced a step

toward herstoppedand took refuge in the most trivial of all the common phrases which one human being

"If there is anything I can do for you" she began. The sentence, halting there, was never finished. Miss

Roseberry was just merciful enough toward the lost woman who had rescued and sheltered her to feel that it

The nurse lifted her noble head and advanced slowly toward the canvas screen to return to her duties. "Miss

Roseberry might have taken my hand!" she thought to herself, bitterly. No! Miss Roseberry stood there at a

distance, at a loss what to say next. "What can you do for me?" Mercy asked, stung by the cold courtesy of

her companion into a momentary outbreak of contempt. "Can you change my identity? Can you give me the

name and the place of an innocent woman? If I only had your chance! If I only had your reputation and your

prospects!" She laid one hand over her bosom, and controlled herself. "Stay here," she resumed, "while I go

back to my work. I will see that your clothes are dried. You shall wear my clothes as short a time as

With those melancholy wordstouchingly, not bitterly spokenshe moved to pass into the kitchen, when

she noticed that the pattering sound of the rain against the window was audible no more. Dropping the canvas

for the moment, she retraced her steps, and, unfastening the wooden shutter, looked out.

The moon was rising dimly in the watery sky; the rain had ceased; the friendly darkness which had hidden the

French position from the German scouts was lessening every moment. In a few hours more (if nothing

happened) the English lady might resume her journey. In a few hours more the morning would dawn.

Mercy lifted her hand to close the shutter. Before she could fasten it the report of a rifleshot 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.

A THIRD rifleshot rang through the night air, close to the cottage. Grace started and approached the

Surgeon Surville answered the question. He lifted the canvas screen, and looked into the room as Miss

Grace sank on the chair near her, trembling from head to foot. Mercy advanced to the surgeon, and put the

"There is the retreat sounded!" said the surgeon. "The captain is not a man to think twice about what he does.

We are left to take care of ourselves. In five minutes we must be out of this place."

A volley of rifleshots rang out as he spoke. The German vanguard was attacking the French at the outposts.

Grace caught the surgeon entreatingly by the arm. "Take me with you," she cried. "Oh, sir, I have suffered

from the Germans already! Don't forsake me, if they come back!" The surgeon was equal to the occasion; he

placed the hand of the pretty Englishwoman on his breast. "Fear nothing, madam," he said, looking as if he

could have annihilated the whole German force with his own invincible arm. "A Frenchman's heart beats

under your hand. A Frenchman's devotion protects you." Grace's head sank on his shoulder. Monsieur

Surville felt that he had asserted himself; he looked round invitingly at Mercy. She, too, was an attractive

woman. The Frenchman had another shoulder at her service. Unhappily the room was darkthe look was

lost on Mercy. She was thinking of the helpless men in the inner chamber, and she quietly recalled the

"The strongest among them we can take away with us," he said. "The others must be left here. Fear nothing

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."

"Don't alarm yourself on my account," she answered; "the red cross will protect me."

Another roll of the drum warned the susceptible surgeon to take his place as directorgeneral of the

ambulance without any further delay. He conducted Grace to a chair, and placed both her hands on his heart

this time, to reconcile her to the misfortune of his absence. "Wait here till I return for you," he whispered.

"Fear nothing, my charming friend. Say to yourself, 'Surville is the soul of honor! Surville is devoted to me!'"

He struck his breast; he again forgot the obscurity in the room, and cast one look of unutterable homage at his

As the canvas screen fell over him the sharp report of the riflefiring was suddenly and grandly dominated by

the roar of cannon. The instant after a shell exploded in the garden outside, within a few yards of the window.

Grace sank on her knees with a shriek of terror. Mercy, without losing her selfpossession, advanced to the

"Take me away!" she cried. "We shall be killed if we stay here." She stopped, looking in astonishment at the

tall black figure of the nurse, standing immovably by the window. "Are you made of iron?" she exclaimed.

Mercy smiled sadly. "Why should I be afraid of losing my life?" she answered. "I have nothing worth living

The roar of the cannon shook the cottage for the second time. A second shell exploded in the courtyard, on

Bewildered by the noise, panicstricken as the danger from the shells threatened the cottage more and more

nearly, Grace threw her arms round the nurse, and clung, in the abject familiarity of terror, to the woman

whose hand she had shrunk from touching not five minutes since. "Where is it safest?" she cried. "Where can

The steady composure of the one woman seemed to madden the other. Releasing the nurse, Grace looked

wildly round for a way of escape from the cottage. Making first for the kitchen, she was driven back by the

clamor and confusion attending the removal of those among the wounded who were strong enough to be

placed in the wagon. A second look round showed her the door leading into the yard. She rushed to it with a

cry of relief. She had just laid her hand on the lock when the third report of cannon burst over the place.

Starting back a step, Grace lifted her hands mechanically to her ears. At the same moment the third shell burst

through the roof of the cottage, and exploded in the room, just inside the door. Mercy sprang forward, unhurt,

from her place at the window. The burning fragments of the shell were already firing the dry wooden floor,

and in the midst of them, dimly seen through the smoke, lay the insensible body of her companion in the

room. Even at that dreadful moment the nurse's presence of mind did not fail her. Hurrying back to the place

that she had just left, near which she had already noticed the miller's empty sacks lying in a heap, she seized

two of them, and, throwing them on the smoldering floor, trampled out the fire. That done, she knelt by the

Mercy raised one helpless hand, and laid her fingers on the wrist. While she was still vainly trying to feel for

the beating of the pulse, Surgeon Surville (alarmed for the ladies) hurried in to inquire if any harm had been

Mercy called to him to approach. "I am afraid the shell has struck her," she said, yielding her place to him.

The surgeon's anxiety for his charming patient expressed itself briefly in an oath, with a prodigious emphasis

laid on one of the letters in itthe letter R. "Take off her cloak," he cried, raising his hand to her neck. "Poor

Mercy removed the cloak. It dropped on the floor as the surgeon lifted Grace in his arms. "Get a candle," he

said, impatiently; "they will give you one in the kitchen." He tried to feel the pulse: his hand trembled, the

noise and confusion in the kitchen bewildered him. "Just Heaven!" he exclaimed. "My emotions overpower

me!" Mercy approached him with the candle. The light disclosed the frightful injury which a fragment of the

shell had inflicted on the Englishwoman's head. Surgeon Surville's manner altered on the instant. The

expression of anxiety left his face; its professional composure covered it suddenly like a mask. What was the

The change in his face was not lost on Mercy. Her large gray eyes watched him attentively. "Is the lady

"Don't trouble yourself to hold the light any longer," was the cool reply. "It's all overI can do nothing for

Surgeon Surville nodded and shook his fist in the direction of the outposts. "Accursed Germans!" he cried,

and looked down at the dead face on his arm, and shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "The fortune of war!" he

said as he lifted the body and placed it on the bed in one corner of the room. "Next time, nurse, it may be you

or me. Who knows? Bah! the problem of human destiny disgusts me." He turned from the bed, and illustrated

his disgust by spitting on the fragments of the exploded shell. "We must leave her there," he resumed. "She

was once a charming personshe is nothing now. Come away, Miss Mercy, before it is too late."

He offered his arm to the nurse; the creaking of the baggagewagon, starting on its journey, was heard

outside, and the shrill roll of the drums was renewed in the distance. The retreat had begun.

Mercy drew aside the canvas, and saw the badly wounded men, left helpless at the mercy of the enemy, on

Monsieur Surville lifted his hands in polite remonstrance. Mercy held back the curtain, and pointed to the

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 gallantrytrue to

the last to his admiration of the sexbowed, with his hand on his heart, and left the cottage.

The last tramp of footsteps, the last rumbling of the wagon wheels, died away in the distance. No renewal of

firing from the position occupied by the enemy disturbed the silence that followed. The Germans knew that

the French were in retreat. A few minutes more and they would take possession of the abandoned village: the

tumult of their approach should become audible at the cottage. In the meantime the stillness was terrible.

Even the wounded wretches who were left in the kitchen waited their fate in silence.

The two women had met in the confusion of the first skirmish at the close of twilight. Separated, on their

arrival at the cottage, by the duties required of the nurse, they had only met again in the captain's room. The

acquaintance between them had been a short one; and it had given no promise of ripening into friendship. But

the fatal accident had roused Mercy's interest in the stranger. She took the candle, and approached the corpse

She stood by the bed, looking down in the silence of the night at the stillness of the dead face.

It was a striking faceonce seen (in life or in death) not to be forgotten afterward. The forehead was

unusually low and broad; the eyes unusually far apart; the mouth and chin remarkably small. With tender

hands Mercy smoothed the disheveled hair and arranged the crumpled dress. "Not five minutes since," she

thought to herself, "I was longing to change places with you!" She turned from the bed with a sigh. "I wish I

The silence began to oppress her. She walked slowly to the other end of the room.

The cloak on the floorher own cloak, which she had lent to Miss Roseberryattracted her attention as she

passed it. She picked it up and brushed the dust from it, and laid it across a chair. This done, she put the light

back on the table, and going to the window, listened for the first sounds of the German advance. The faint

passage of the wind through some trees near at hand was the only sound that caught her ears. She turned from

the window, and seated herself at the table, thinking. Was there any duty still left undone that Christian

charity owed to the dead? Was there any further service that pressed for performance in the interval before

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 ladya connection by

marriage, to whom she was personally a strangerwho 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 cottageMercy herself.

She lifted the cloak from the chair on which she had placed it, and took from the pocket the leather

lettercase which Grace had shown to her. The only way of discovering the address to write to in England

was to open the case and examine the papers inside. Mercy opened the caseand stopped, feeling a strange

A moment's consideration satisfied her that her scruples were misplaced. If she respected the case as

inviolable, the Germans would certainly not hesitate to examine it, and the Germans would hardly trouble

themselves to write to England. Which were the fittest eyes to inspect the papers of the deceased ladythe

eyes of men and foreigners, or the eyes of her own countrywoman? Mercy's hesitation left her. She emptied

Some letters, tied together with a ribbon, attracted Mercy's attention first. The ink in which the addresses

were written had faded with age. The letters, directed alternately to Colonel Roseberry and to the Honorable

Mrs. Roseberry, contained a correspondence between the husband and wife at a time when the Colonel's

military duties had obliged him to be absent from home. Mercy tied the letters up again, and passed on to the

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

After replacing the journal and the correspondence in the case, the one paper left on the table was a letter.

The envelope, which was unclosed, bore this address: "Lady Janet Roy, Mablethorpe House, Kensington,

London." Mercy took the inclosure from the open envelope. The first lines she read informed her that she had

found the Colonel's letter of introduction, presenting his daughter to her protectress on her arrival in England

Mercy read the letter through. It was described by the writer as the last efforts of a dying man. Colonel

Roseberry wrote affectionately of his daughter's merits, and regretfully of her neglected educationascribing

the latter to the pecuniary losses which had forced him to emigrate to Canada in the character of a poor man.

Fervent expressions of gratitude followed, addressed to Lady Janet. "I owe it to you," the letter concluded,

"that I am dying with my mind at ease about the future of my darling girl. To your generous protection I

commit the one treasure I have left to me on earth. Through your long lifetime you have nobly used your high

rank and your great fortune as a means of doing good. I believe it will not be counted among the least of your

virtues hereafter that you comforted the last hours of an old soldier by opening your heart and your home to

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 hera woman so merciful and so generous that the father's mind had

been easy about the daughter on his deathbedand there the daughter lay, beyond the reach of Lady Janet's

The French captain's writingmaterials were left on the table. Mercy turned the letter over so that she might

write the news of Miss Roseberry's death on the blank page at the end. She was still considering what

expressions she should use, when the sound of complaining voices from the next room caught her ear. The

wounded men left behind were moaning for helpthe deserted soldiers were losing their fortitude at last.

She entered the kitchen. A cry of delight welcomed her appearancethe mere sight of her composed the

men. From one straw bed to another she passed with comforting words that gave them hope, with skilled and

tender hands that soothed their pain. They kissed the hem of her black dress, they called her their guardian

angel, as the beautiful creature moved among them, and bent over their hard pillows her gentle,

compassionate face. "I will be with you when the Germans come," she said, as she left them to return to her

unwritten letter. "Courage, my poor fellows! you are not deserted by your nurse."

If the firing had been resumed at that momentif a shell had struck her dead in the act of succoring the

afflicted, what Christian judgment would have hesitated to declare that there was a place for this woman in

heaven? But if the war ended and left her still living, where was the place for her on earth? Where were her

She returned to the letter. Instead, however, of seating herself to write, she stood by the table, absently

A strange fancy had sprung to life in her mind on reentering the room; she herself smiled faintly at the

extravagance of it. What if she were to ask Lady Janet Roy to let her supply Miss Roseberry's place? She had

met with Miss Roseberry under critical circumstances, and she had done for her all that one woman could do

to help another. There was in this circumstance some little claim to notice, perhaps, if Lady Janet had no

other companion and reader in view. Suppose she ventured to plead her own causewhat would the noble

and merciful lady do? She would write back, and say, "Send me references to your character, and I will see

what can be done." Her character! Her references! Mercy laughed bitterly, and sat down to write in the fewest

No! Not a line could she put on the paper. That fancy of hers was not to be dismissed at will. Her mind was

perversely busy now with an imaginative picture of the beauty of Mablethorpe House and the comfort and

elegance of the life that was led there. Once more she thought of the chance which Miss Roseberry had lost.

Unhappy creature! what a home would have been open to her if the shell had only fallen on the side of the

Mercy pushed the letter away from her, and walked impatiently to and fro in the room.

The perversity in her thoughts was not to be mastered in that way. Her mind only abandoned one useless train

of reflection to occupy itself with another. She was now looking by anticipation at her own future. What were

her prospects (if she lived through it) when the war was over? The experience of the past delineated with

pitiless fidelity the dreary scene. Go where she might, do what she might, it would always end in the same

way. Curiosity and admiration excited by her beauty; inquiries made about her; the story of the past

discovered; Society charitably sorry for her; Society generously subscribing for her; and still, through all the

years of her life, the same result in the endthe 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

fiveandtwenty last birthday; she was in the prime of her health and her strength; she might live, in the

To what end had the shell struck the woman who had some hope in her life, and spared the woman who had

none? The words she had herself spoken to Grace Roseberry came back to her as she thought of it. "If I only

had your chance! If I only had your reputation and your prospects!" And there was the chance wasted! there

were the enviable prospects thrown away! It was almost maddening to contemplate that result, feeling her

own position as she felt it. In the bitter mockery of despair she bent over the lifeless figure, and spoke to it as

if it had ears to hear her. "Oh!" she said, longingly, "if you could be Mercy Merrick, and if I could be Grace

The instant the words passed her lips she started into an erect position. She stood by the bed with her eyes

staring wildly into empty space; with her brain in a flame; with her heart beating as if it would stifle her. "If

you could be Mercy Merrick, and if I could be Grace Roseberry, now!" In one breathless moment the thought

assumed a new development in her mind. In one breathless moment the conviction struck her like an electric

shock. She might be Grace Roseberry if she dared! There was absolutely nothing to stop her from presenting

Grace had said it herself in so many wordsshe and Lady Janet had never seen each other. Her friends were

in Canada; her relations in England were dead. Mercy knew the place in which she had livedthe place

called Port Loganas well as she had known it herself. Mercy had only to read the manuscript journal to be

able to answer any questions relating to the visit to Rome and to Colonel Roseberry's death. She had no

accompl ished lady to personate: Grace had spoken herselfher father's letter spoke also in the plainest

termsof her neglected education. Everything, literally everything, was in the lost woman's favor. The

people with whom she had been connected in the ambulance had gone, to return no more. Her own clothes

were on Miss Roseberry at that momentmarked with her own name. Miss Roseberry's clothes, marked

with her name, were drying, at Mercy's disposal, in the next room. The way of escape from the unendurable

humiliation of her present life lay open before her at last. What a prospect it was! A new identity, which she

might own anywhere! a new name, which was beyond reproach! a new past life, into which all the world

might search, and be welcome! Her color rose, her eyes sparkled; she had never been so irresistibly beautiful

as she looked at the moment when the new future disclosed itself, radiant with new hope.

She waited a minute, until she could look at her own daring project from another point of view. Where was

As to Grace, in the first place. What injury was she doing to a woman who was dead? The question answered

itself. No injury to the woman. No injury to her relations. Her relations were dead also.

As to Lady Janet, in the second place. If she served her new mistress faithfully, if she filled her new sphere

honorably, if she was diligent under instruction and grateful for kindnessif, in one word, she was all that

she might be and would be in the heavenly peace and security of that new lifewhat injury was she doing to

Lady Janet? Once more the question answered itself. She might, and would, give Lady Janet cause to bless

She snatched up Colonel Roseberry's letter, and put it into the case with the other papers. The opportunity

was before her; the chances were all in her favor; her conscience said nothing against trying the daring

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 lettercase 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

She thought onceand hesitated. Before she could think twice, the distant tramp of marching footsteps and

the distant clatter of horses' hoofs were wafted to her on the night air. The Germans were entering the village!

In a few minutes more they would appear in the cottage; they would summon her to give an account of

herself. There was no time for waiting until she was composed again. Which should it bethe new life, as

She looked for the last time at the bed. Grace's course was run; Grace's future was at her disposal. Her

resolute nature, forced to a choice on the instant, held by the daring alternative. She persisted in the

The tramping footsteps of the Germans came nearer and nearer. The voices of the officers were audible,

The ineradicable instinct of the sex directed her eyes to her dress, before the Germans appeared. Looking it

over to see that it was in perfect order, her eyes fell upon the red cross on her left shoulder. In a moment it

struck her that her nurse's costume might involve her in a needless risk. It associated her with a public

position; it might lead to inquiries at a later time, and those inquiries might betray her.

She looked round. The gray cloak which she had lent to Grace attracted her attention. She took it up, and

The cloak was just arranged round her when she heard the outer door thrust open, and voices speaking in a

strange tongue, and arms grounded in the room behind her. Should she wait to be discovered? or should she

show herself of her own accord? It was less trying to such a nature as hers to show herself than to wait. She

advanced to enter the kitchen. The canvas curtain, as she stretched out her hand to it, was suddenly drawn

THE youngest of the three strangersjudging by features, complexion, and mannerwas apparently an

Englishman. He wore a military cap and military boots, but was otherwise dressed as a civilian. Next to him

stood an officer in Prussian uniform, and next to the officer was the third and the oldest of the party. He also

was dressed in uniform, but his appearance was far from being suggestive of the appearance of a military

man. He halted on one foot, he stooped at the shoulders, and instead of a sword at his side he carried a stick

in his hand. After looking sharply through a large pair of tortoiseshell spectacles, first at Mercy, then at the

bed, then all round the room, he turned with a cynical composure of manner to the Prussian officer, and broke

"A woman ill on the bed; another woman in attendance on her, and no one else in the room. Any necessity,

"No necessity," answered the major. He wheeled round on his heel and returned to the kitchen. The German

surgeon advanced a little, led by his professional instinct, in the direction of the bedside. The young

Englishman, whose eyes had remained riveted in admiration on Mercy, drew the canvas screen over the

The surgeon heard the answer. Stopping short on his way to the bed, he pointed to the recumbent figure on it,

His manner was ironically courteous, his harsh voice was pitched in one sardonic monotony of tone. Mercy

took an instantaneous dislike to this hobbling, ugly old man, staring at her rudely through his great

"You can be of no use, sir," she said, shortly. "The lady was killed when your troops shelled this cottage."

The Englishman started, and looked compassionately toward the bed. The German refreshed himself with a

The present surgeon was not a man to be daunted by a lady's disapproval of him. He went on with his

The German grunted in contemptuous disapproval of all Frenchmen, and all French institutions. The

Englishman seized his first opportunity of addressing himself to Mercy once more.

Mercy considered before she answered him. With the object she had in view, there might be serious reasons

Mercy's resolution was hardly equal yet to giving her own name openly as the name of Grace. She took

The old man stared at her more rudely than ever, considered with himself, and took the candle from the table.

He hobbled back to the bed and examined the figure laid on it in silence. The Englishman continued the

conversation, no longer concealing the interest that he felt in the beautiful woman who stood before him.

"Pardon me, "he said, "you are very young to be alone in wartime in such a place as this."

The sudden outbreak of a disturbance in the kitchen relieved Mercy from any immediate necessity for

answering him. She heard the voices of the wounded men raised in feeble remonstrance, and the harsh

command of the foreign officers bidding them be silent. The generous instincts of the woman instantly

prevailed over every personal consideration imposed on her by the position which she had assumed. Reckless

whether she betrayed herself or not as nurse in the French ambulance, she instantly drew aside the canvas to

enter the kitchen. A German sentinel barred the way to her, and announced, in his own language, that no

strangers were admitted. The Englishman politely interposing, asked if she had any special object in wishing

"The poor Frenchmen!" she said, earnestly, her heart upbraiding her for having forgotten them. "The poor

The German surgeon advanced from the bedside, and took the matter up before the Englishman could say a

"You have nothing to do with the wounded Frenchmen," he croaked, in the harshest notes of his voice. "The

wounded Frenchmen are my business, and not yours. They are our prisoners, and they are being moved to

our ambulance. I am Ingatius Wetzel, chief of the medical staffand I tell you this. Hold your tongue." He

turned to the sentinel and added in German, "Draw the curtain again; and if the woman persists, put her back

Mercy attempted to remonstrate. The Englishman respectfully took her arm, and drew her out of the sentinel's

"It is useless to resist," he said. "The German discipline never gives way. There is not the least need to be

uneasy about the Frenchmen. The ambulance under Surgeon Wetzel is admirably administered. I answer for

it, the men will be well treated." He saw the tears in her eyes as he spoke; his admiration for her rose higher

and higher. "Kind as well as beautiful, "he thought. "What a charming creature!"

"Well!" said Ignatius Wetzel, eying Mercy sternly through his spectacles. "Are you satisfied? And will you

She yielded: it was plainly useless to resist. But for the surgeon's resistance, her devotion to the wounded men

might have stopped her on the downward way that she was going. If she could only have been absorbed

again, mind and body, in her good work as a nurse, the temptation might even yet have found her strong

enough to resist it. The fatal severity of the German discipline had snapped asunder the last tie that bound her

to her better self. Her face hardened as she walked away proudly from Surgeon Wetzel, and took a chair.

The Englishman followed her, and reverted to the question of her present situation in the cottage.

"Don't suppose that I want to alarm you," he said. "There is, I repeat, no need to be anxious about the

Frenchmen, but there is serious reason for anxiety on your own account. The action will be renewed round

this village by daylight; you ought really to be in a place of safety. I am an officer in the English armymy

name is Horace Holmcroft. I shall be delighted to be of use to you, and I can be of use, if you will let me.

Mercy gathered the cloak which concealed her nurse's dress more closely round her, and committed herself

silently to her first overt act of deception. She bowed her head in the affirmative.

"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 stronglyfelt interest in her was restrained within the

strictest limits of goodbreeding: he was unmistakably a gentleman. Did he really mean what he had just

"You can pass me through the German lines?" she repeated. "You must possess extraordinary influence, sir,

"I possess the influence that no one can resist," he answered"the influence of the Press. I am serving here

as war correspondent of one of our great English newspapers. If I ask him, the commanding officer will grant

She summoned her resolutionnot without difficulty, even nowand took him at his word.

"It may be well to make the application as privately as possible," he said. "I shall be questioned if I pass

She looked furtively toward the German surgeon. Ignatius Wetzel was still at the bed, bending over the body,

and apparently absorbed in examining the wound which had been inflicted by the shell. Mercy's instinctive

aversion to the old man increased tenfold, now that she was left alone with him. She withdrew uneasily to the

Had she committed herself to the fraud? Hardly, yet. She had committed herself to returning to

Englandnothing more. There was no necessity, thus far, which forced her to present herself at Mablethorpe

House, in Grace's place. There was still time to reconsider her resolutionstill time to write the account of

the accident, as she had proposed, and to send it with the lettercase to Lady Janet Roy. Suppose she finally

decided on taking this course, what was to become of her when she found herself in England again? There

was no alternative open but to apply once more to her friend the matron. There was nothing for her to do but

The Refuge! The matron! What past association with these two was now presenting itself uninvited, and

taking the foremost place in her mind? Of whom was she now thinking, in that strange place, and at that crisis

in her life? Of the man whose words had found their way to her heart, whose influence had strengthened and

comforted her, in the chapel of the Refuge. One of the finest passages in his sermon had been especially

devoted by Julian Gray to warning the congregation whom he addressed against the degrading influences of

falsehood and deceit. The terms in which he had appealed to the miserable women round himterms of

sympathy and encouragement never addressed to them beforecame back to Mercy Merrick as if she had

heard them an hour since. She turned deadly pale as they now pleaded with her once more. "Oh!" she

whispered to herself, as she thought of what she had proposed and planned, "what have I done? what have I

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 handkerchiefthe handkerchief which she had lent to Graceheld up in his hand.

"I have found this in her pocket," he said. "Here is her name written on it. She must be a countrywoman of

yours." He read the letters marked on the handkerchief with some difficulty. "Her name isMercy Merrick."

"'Mercy Merrick' is an English name?" pursued Ignatius Wetzel, with his eyes steadily fixed on her. "Is it not

The hold on her mind of the past association with Julian Gray began to relax. One present and pressing

question now possessed itself of the foremost place in her thoughts. Should she correct the error into which

the German had fallen? The time had cometo speak, and assert her own identity; or to be silent, and

Horace Holmcroft entered the room again at the moment when Surgeon Wetzel's staring eyes were still

"I have not overrated my interest," he said, pointing to a little slip of paper in his hand. "Here is the pass.

Mercy pointed to the writing materials on the table. Horace seated himself, and dipped the pen in the ink.

"Pray don't think that I wish to intrude myself into your affairs," he said. "I am obliged to ask you one or two

A sudden trembling seized her. She supported herself against the foot of the bed. Her whol e future existence

Ignatius Wetzel stood her friend for once. His croaking voice filled the empty gap of silence exactly at the

right time. He doggedly held the handkerchief under her eyes. He obstinately repeated: "Mercy Merrick is an

Horace Holmcroft looked up from the table. "Mercy Merrick?" he said. "Who is Mercy Merrick?"

"I have found the name on the handkerchief, "he said. "This lady, it seems, had not curiosity enough to look

for the name of her own countrywoman." He made that mocking allusion to Mercy with a tone which was

almost a tone of suspicion, and a look which was almost a look of contempt. Her quick temper instantly

resented the discourtesy of which she had been made the object. The irritation of the momentso often do

the most trifling motives determine the most serious human actionsdecided her on the course that she

should pursue. She turned her back scornfully on the rude old man, and left him in the delusion that he had

Horace returned to the business of filling up the form. "Pardon me for pressing the question," he said. "You

She answered him recklessly, defiantly, without fairly realizing what she was doing until it was done.

The words were hardly out of her mouth before she would have given everything she possessed in the world

He wrote: "Miss Grace Roseberry"reflected for a momentand then added, interrogatively, "Returning to

her friends in England?" Her friends in England? Mercy's heart swelled: she silently replied by another sign.

He wrote the words after the name, and shook the sandbox over the wet ink. "That will be enough," he said,

rising and presenting the pass to Mercy; "I will see you through the lines myself, and arrange for your being

Mercy pointed toward the front door of the building. "In a shed outside the cottage," she answered. "It is not

much; I can do everything for myself if the sentinel will let me pass through the kitchen."

Horace pointed to the paper in her hand. "You can go where you like now," he said. "Shall I wait for you here

Mercy glanced distrustfully at Ignatius Wetzel. He was again absorbed in his endless examination of the body

on the bed. If she left him alone with Mr. Holmcroft, there was no knowing what the hateful old man might

The sentinel drew back with a military salute at the sight of the pass. All the French prisoners had been

removed; there were not more than halfadozen Germans in the kitchen, and the greater part of them were

asleep. Mercy took Grace Roseberry's clothes from the corner in which they had been left to dry, and made

for the sheda rough structure of wood, built out from the cottage wall. At the front door she encountered a

second sentinel, and showed her pass for the second time. She spoke to this man, asking him if he understood

French. He answered that he understood a little. Mercy gave him a piece of money, and said: "I am going to

pack up my luggage in the shed. Be kind enough to see that nobody disturbs me." The sentinel saluted, in

Left alone with Surgeon Wetzel, Horace noticed the strange old man still bending intently over the English

"Nothing to put in a newspaper," retorted the cynic, pursuing his investigations as attentively as ever.

Horace goodhumoredly accepted the hint implied in those words. He quitted the room by the door leading

into the yard, and waited for the charming Englishwoman, as he had been instructed, outside the cottage.

Left by himself, Ignatius Wetzel, after a first cautious look all round him, opened the upper part of Grace's

dress, and laid his left hand on her heart. Taking a little steel instrument from his waistcoat pocket with the

other hand, he applied it carefully to the wound, raised a morsel of the broken and depressed bone of the

skull, and waited for the result. "Aha!" he cried, addressing with a terrible gayety the senseless creature under

his hands. "The Frenchman says you are dead, my deardoes he? The Frenchman is a Quack! The

Frenchman is an Ass!" He lifted his head, and called into the kitchen. "Max!" A sleepy young German,

covered with a dresser's apron from his chin to his feet, drew the curtain, and waited for his instructions.

"Bring me my black bag," said Ignatius Wetzel. Having given that order, he rubbed his hands cheerfully, and

shook himself like a dog. "Now I am quite happy," croaked the terrible old man, with his fierce eyes leering

sidelong at the bed. "My dear, dead Englishwoman, I would not have missed this meeting with you for all the

money I have in the world. Ha! you infernal French Quack, you call it death, do you? I call it suspended

Ignatius Wetzel selected two fearful instruments, bright and new, and hugged them to his bosom. "My little

boys," he said, tenderly, as if they were his children; "my blessed little boys, come to work!" He turned to the

assistant. "Do you remember the battle of Solferino, Maxand the Austrian soldier I operated on for a

The assistant's sleepy eyes opened wide; he was evidently interested. "I remember," he said. "I held the

"I am not satisfied with the result of that operation at Solferino," he said; "I have wanted to try again ever

since. It's true that I saved the man's life, but I failed to give him back his reason along with it. It might have

been something wrong in the operation, or it might have been something wrong in the man. Whichever it

was, he will live and die mad. Now look here, my little Max, at this dear young lady on the bed. She gives me

just what I wanted; here is the case at Solferino once more. You shall hold the candle again, my good boy;

stand there, and look with all your eyes. I am going to try if I can save the life and the reason too this time."

He tucked up the cuffs of his coat and began the operation. As his fearful instruments touched Grace's head,

the voice of the sentinel at the nearest outpost was heard, giving the word in German which permitted Mercy

The operation proceeded. The voice of the sentinel at the next post was heard more faintly, in its turn: " Pass

The operation ended. Ignatius Wetzel held up his hand for silence and put his ear close to the patient's mouth.

The first trembling breath of returning life fluttered over Grace Roseberry's lips and touched the old man's

wrinkled cheek. "Aha!" he cried. "Good girl! you breatheyou live!" As he spoke, the voice of the sentinel

at the final limit of the German lines (barely audible in the distance) gave the word for the last time:

The persons are, Julian Gray, Horace Holmcroft, Lady Janet Roy, Grace Roseberry, and Mercy Merrick.

IT is a glorious winter's day. The sky is clear, the frost is hard, the ice bears for skating.

The diningroom of the ancient mansion called Mablethorpe House, situated in the London suburb of

Kensington, is famous among artists and other persons of taste for the carved woodwork, of Italian origin,

which covers the walls on three sides. On the fourth side the march of modern improvement has broken in,

and has va ried and brightened the scene by means of a conservatory, forming an entrance to the room

through a wintergarden of rare plants and flowers. On your right hand, as you stand fronting the

conservatory, the monotony of the paneled wall is relieved by a quaintly patterned door of old inlaid wood,

leading into the library, and thence, across the great hall, to the other receptionrooms of the house. A

corresponding door on the left hand gives access to the billiardroom, to the smokingroom next to it, and to

a smaller hall commanding one of the secondary entrances to the building. On the left side also is the ample

fireplace, surmounted by its marble mantelpiece, carved in the profusely and confusedly ornate style of eighty

years since. To the educated eye the diningroom, with its modern furniture and conservatory, its ancient

walls and doors, and its lofty mantelpiece (neither very old nor very new), presents a startling, almost a

revolutionary, mixture of the decorative workmanship of widely differing schools. To the ignorant eye the

one result produced is an impression of perfect luxury and comfort, united in the friendliest combination, and

The persons seated at the table are three in number. First, Lady Janet Roy. Second, a young lady who is her

reader and companion. Third, a guest staying in the house, who has already appeared in these pages under the

name of Horace Holmcroftattached 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

Who has not heard of her old lace and her priceless rubies? Who has not admired her commanding figure, her

beautifully dressed white hair, her wonderful black eyes, which still preserve their youthful brightness, after

first opening on the world seventy years since? Who has not felt the charm of her frank, easily flowing talk,

her inexhaustible spirits, her goodhumored, gracious sociability of manner? Where is the modern hermit

who is not familiarly acquainted, by hearsay at least, with the fantastic novelty and humor of her opinions;

with her generous encouragement of rising merit of any sort, in all ranks, high or low; with her charities,

which know no distinction between abroad and at home; with her large indulgence, which no ingratitude can

discourage, and no servility pervert? Everybody has heard of the popular old ladythe childless widow of a

But who knows the handsome young woman sitting on her right hand, playing with her luncheon instead of

She is prettily dressed in gray poplin, trimmed with gray velvet, and set off by a ribbon of deep red tied in a

bow at the throat. She is nearly as tall as Lady Janet herself, and possesses a grace and beauty of figure not

always seen in women who rise above the medium height. Judging by a certain innate grandeur in the

carriage of her head and in the expression of her large melancholy gray eyes, believers in blood and breeding

will be apt to guess that this is another noble lady. Alas! she is nothing but Lady Janet's companion and

reader. Her head, crowned with its lovely light brown hair, bends with a gentle respect when Lady Janet

speaks. Her fine firm hand is easily and incessantly watchful to supply Lady Janet's slightest wants. The old

ladyaffectionately familiar with herspeaks to her as she might speak to an adopted child. But the

gratitude of the beautiful companion has always the same restraint in its acknowledgment of kindness; the

smile of the beautiful companion has always the same underlying sadness when it responds to Lady Janet's

hearty laugh. Is there something wrong here, under the surface? Is she suffering in mind, or suffering in

The matter with her is secret remorse. This delicate and beautiful creature pines under the slow torment of

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 backafter vainly trying to fight

her way backto Home and Name. There she sits in the grim shadow of her own terrible secret, disguised in

another person's identity, and established in another person's place. Mercy Merrick had only to dare, and to

become Grace Roseberry if she pleased. She has dared, and she has been Grace Roseberry for nearly four

At this moment, while Lady Janet is talking to Horace Holmcroft, something that has passed between them

has set her thinking of the day when she took the first fatal step which committed her to the fraud.

How marvelously easy of accomplishment the act of personation had been! At first sight Lady Janet had

yielded to the fascination of the noble and interesting face. No need to present the stolen letter; no need to

repeat the readymade story. The old lady had put the letter aside unopened, and had stopped the story at the

first words. "Your face is your introduction, my dear; your father can say nothing for you which you have not

already said for yourself." There was the welcome which established her firmly in her false identity at the

outset. Thanks to her own experience, and thanks to the "Journal" of events at Rome, questions about her life

in Canada and questions about Colonel Roseberry's illness found her ready with answers which (even if

suspicion had existed) would have disarmed suspicion on the spot. While the true Grace was slowly and

painfully winning her way back to life on her bed in a German hospital, the false Grace was presented to

Lady Janet's friends as the relative by marriage of the Mistress of Mablethorpe House. From that time

forward nothing had happened to rouse in her the faintest suspicion that Grace Roseberry was other than a

deadandburied woman. So far as she now knewso far as any one now knewshe might live out her life

in perfect security (if her conscience would let her), respected, distinguished, and beloved, in the position

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

She bent her head to her protectress, looked for a moment with a steady, compassionate attention at Horace

Holmcroft, and, slowly crossing the room, entered the wintergarden. The eyes of Horace followed her, as

long as she was in view, with a curious contradictory expression of admiration and disapproval. When she

had passed out of sight the admiration vanished, but the disapproval remained. The face of the young man

contracted into a frown: he sat silent, with his fork in his hand, playing absently with the fragments on his

He filled his glass (for the fifth or sixth time) with claret, and emptied it sullenly at a draught. Lady Janet's

bright eyes watched him with sardonic attention; Lady Janet's ready tongue spoke out as freely as usual what

"The air of Kensington doesn't seem to suit you, my young friend," she said. "The longer you have been my

guest, the oftener you fill your glass and empty your cigarcase. Those are bad signs in a young man. When

you first came here you arrived invalided by a wound. In your place, I should not have exposed myself to be

shot, with no other object in view than describing a battle in a newspaper. I suppose tastes differ. Are you ill?

Horace Holmcroft dropped his fork, rested his elbows on the table, and answered:

Even Lady Janet's large toleration had its limits. It embraced every human offense except a breach of good

manners. She snatched up the nearest weapon of correction at handa tablespoonand rapped her young

"My table is not the club table," said the old lady. "Hold up your head. Don't look at your forklook at me. I

allow nobody to be out of spirits in My house. I consider it to be a reflection on Me. If our quiet life here

doesn't suit you, say so plainly, and find something else to do. There is employment to be had, I supposeif

you choose to apply for it? You needn't smile. I don't want to see your teethI want an answer."

Horace admitted, with all needful gravity, that there was employment to be had. The war between France and

Germany, he remarked, was still going on: the newspaper had offered to employ him again in the capacity of

"Don't speak of the newspapers and the war!" cried Lady Janet, with a sudden explosion of anger, which was

genuine anger this time. "I detest the newspapers! I won't allow the newspapers to enter this house. I lay the

Horace's eyes opened wide in amazement. The old lady was evidently in earnest. "What can you possibly

"Entirely responsible, "answered Lady Janet. "Why, you don't understand the age you live in! Does anybody

do anything nowadays (fighting included) without wishing to see it in the newspapers? I subscribe to a

charity; thou art presented with a testimonial; he preaches a sermon; we suffer a grievance; you make a

discovery; they go to church and get married. And I, thou, he; we, you, they, all want one and the same

thingwe want to see it in the papers. Are kings, soldiers, and diplomatists exceptions to the general rule of

humanity? Not they! I tell you seriously, if the newspapers of Europe had one and all decided not to take the

smallest notice in print of the war between France and Germany, it is my firm conviction the war would have

come to an end for want of encouragement long since. Let the pen cease to advertise the sword, and I, for

"Your views have the merit of perfect novelty, ma'am," said Horace. "Would you object to see them in the

"Don't I live in the latter part of the nineteenth century?" she asked. "In the newspapers, did you say? In large

"You blame me for being out of spirits," he said; "and you seem to think it is because I am tired of my

pleasant life at Mablethorpe House. I am not in the least tired, Lady Janet." He looked toward the

conservatory: the frown showed itself on his face once more. "The truth is," he resumed, "I am not satisfied

"She persists in prolonging our engagement. Nothing will persuade her to fix the day for our marriage."

It was true! Mercy had been mad enough to listen to him, and to love him. But Mercy was not vile enough to

marry him under her false character, and in her false name. Between three and four months had elapsed since

Horace had been sent home from the war, wounded, and had found the beautiful Englishwoman whom he had

befriended in France established at Mablethorpe House. Invited to become Lady Janet's guest (he had passed

his holidays as a schoolboy under Lady Janet's roof)free to spend the idle time of his convalescence from

morning to night in Mercy's societythe impression originally produced on him in a French cottage soon

strengthened into love. Before the month was out Horace had declared himself, and had discovered that he

spoke to willing ears. From that moment it was only a question of persisting long enough in the resolution to

gain his point. The marriage engagement was ratifiedmost reluctantly on the lady's sideand there the

further progress of Horace Holmcroft's suit came to an end. Try as he might, he failed to persuade his

betrothed wife to fix the day for the marriage. There were no obstacles in her way. She had no near relations

of her own to consult. As a connection of Lady Janet's by marriage, Horace's mother and sisters were ready to

receive her with all the honors due to a new member of the family. No pecuniary considerations made it

necessary, in this case, to wait for a favorable time. Horace was an only son; and he had succeeded to his

father's estate with an ample income to support it. On both sides alike there was absolutely nothing to prevent

the two young people from being married as soon as the settlements could be drawn. And yet, to all

appearance, here was a long engagement in prospect, with no better reason than the lady's incomprehensible

perversity to explain the delay. "Can you account for Grace's conduct?" asked Lady Janet. Her manner

changed as she put the question. She looked and spoke like a person who was perplexed and annoyed

"I hardly like to own it," Horace answered, "but I am afraid she has some motive for deferring our marriage

"I have once or twice caught her in tears. Every now and thensometimes when she is talking quite

gaylyshe suddenly changes color and becomes silent and depressed. Just now, when she left the table

(didn't you notice it?), she looked at me in the strangest wayalmost as if she was sorry for me. What do

Horace's reply, instead of increasing Lady Janet's anxiety, seemed to relieve it. He had observed nothing

which she had not noticed herself. "You foolish boy!" she said, "the meaning is plain enough. Grace has been

out of health for some time past. The doctor recommends change of air. I shall take her away with me."

"It would be more to the purpose," Horace rejoined, "if I took her away with me. She might consent, if you

would only use your influence. Is it asking too much to ask you to persuade her? My mother and my sisters

have written to her, and have produced no effect. Do me the greatest of all kindnessesspeak to her

today!" He paused, and possessing himself of Lady Janet's hand, pressed it entreatingly. "You have always

The old lady looked at him. It was impossible to dispute that there were attractions in Horace Holmcroft's

face which made it well worth looking at. Many a woman might have envied him his clear complexion, his

bright blue eyes, and the warm amber tint in his light Saxon hair. Menespecially men skilled in observing

physiognomymight have noticed in the shape of his forehead and in the line of his upper lip the signs

indicative of a moral nature deficient in largeness and breadthof a mind easily accessible to strong

prejudices, and obstinate in maintaining those prejudices in the face of conviction itself.

To the observation of women these remote defects were too far below the surface to be visible. He charmed

the sex in general by his rare personal advantages, and by the graceful deference of his manner. To Lady

Janet he was endeared, not by his own merits only, but by old associations that were connected with him. His

father had been one of her many admirers in her young days. Circumstances had parted them. Her marriage to

another man had been a childless marriage. In past times, when the boy Horace had come to her from school,

she had cherished a secret fancy (too absurd to be communicated to any living creature) that he ought to have

been her son, and might have been her son, if she had married his father! She smiled charmingly, old as she

wasshe yielded as his mother might have yieldedwhen the young man took her hand and entreated her

to interest herself in his marriage. "Must I really speak to Grace?" she asked , with a gentleness of tone and

manner far from characteristic, on ordinary occasions, of the lady of Mablethorpe House. Horace saw that he

had gained his point. He sprang to his feet; his eyes turned eagerly in the direction of the conservatory; his

handsome face was radiant with hope. Lady Janet (with her mind full of his father) stole a last look at him,

"Go to the smokingroom," she said, giving him a push toward the door. "Away with you, and cultivate the

favorite vice of the nineteenth century." Horace attempted to express his gratitude. "Go and smoke!" was all

Horace's discontent was not unreasonable. There was really no excuse for the delay of which he complained.

Whether the young lady had a special motive for hanging back, or whether she was merely fretting because

she did not know her own mind, it was, in either case, necessary to come to a distinct understanding, sooner

or later, on the serious question of the marriage. The difficulty was, how to approach the subject without

giving offense. "I don't understand the young women of the present generation," thought Lady Janet. "In my

time, when we were fond of a man, we were ready to marry him at a moment's notice. And this is an age of

Arriving, by her own process of induction, at this inevitable conclusion, she decided to try what her influence

could accomplish, and to trust to the inspiration of the moment for exerting it in the right way. "Grace!" she

called out, approaching the conservatory door. The tall, lithe figure in its gray dress glided into view, and

With those words Lady Janet led the way to a sofa, and placed her companion by her side.

Mercy sighed wearily. "I am not well," she answered. "The slightest noises startle me. I feel tired if I only

Lady Janet patted her kindly on the shoulder. "We must try what a change will do for you. Which shall it be?

Mercy started. The color flowed charmingly over her pale face. "Oh!" she exclaimed, impulsively. "Say that

"Yes! Don't think me presuming; only think me vain. I can't hear you say too often that you have learned to

like me. Is it really a pleasure to you to have me in the house? Have I always behaved well since I have been

(The one excuse for the act of personationif excuse there could belay in the affirmative answer to those

questions. It would be something, surely, to say of the false Grace that the true Grace could not have been

worthier of her welcome, if the true Grace had been received at Mablethorpe House!)

Lady Janet was partly touched, partly amused, by the extraordinary earnestness of the appeal that had been

"Have you behaved well?" she repeated. "My dear, you talk as if you were a child!" She laid her hand

caressingly on Mercy's arm, and continued, in a graver tone: "It is hardly too much to say, Grace, that I bless

the day when you first came to me. I do believe I could be hardly fonder of you if you were my own

Mercy suddenly turned her head aside, so as to hide her face. Lady Janet, still touching her arm, felt it

tremble. "What is the matter with you?" she asked, in her abrupt, downright manner.

"I am only very grateful to your ladyshipthat 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 today? If she is, now is the time to say a word for Horace!" Keeping that excellent

object in view, Lady Janet approached the delicate topic with all needful caution at starting.

"We have got on so well together," she resumed, "that it will not be easy for either of us to feel reconciled to

a change in our lives. At my age, it will fall hardest on me. What shall I do, Grace, when the day comes for

Mercy started, and showed her face again. The traces of tears were in her eyes. "Why should I leave you?"

The last allusion was too plain to be misunderstood. Mercy's head drooped. She began to tremble again. Lady

"You know your own heart, my dear child? You have surely not encouraged Horace without loving him?"

For the first time in their experience of each other Mercy ventured to interrupt her benefactress. "Dear Lady

Janet," she interposed, gently, "I am in no hurry to be married. There will be plenty of time in the future to

It was no easy matter to disconcert Lady Janet Roy. But that last question fairly reduced her to silence. After

all that had passed, there sat her young companion, innocent of the faintest suspicion of the subject that was

to be discussed between them! "What are the young women of the present time made of?" thought the old

lady, utterly at a loss to know what to say next. Mercy waited, on her side, with an impenetrable patience

which only aggravated the difficulties of the position. The silence was fast threatening to bring the interview

to a sudden and untimely end, when the door from the library opened, and a manservant, bearing a little

Lady Janet's rising sense of annoyance instantly seized on the servant as a victim. "What do you want?" she

Lady Janet recognized the handwriting on the address with a look of surprise. "Excuse me, my dear," she

said, pausing, with her oldfashioned courtesy, before she opened the envelope. Mercy made the necessary

acknowledgment, and moved away to the other end of the room, little thinking that the arrival of the letter

marked a crisis in her life. Lady Janet put on her spectacles. "Odd that he should have come back already!"

The letter contained these lines, the writer of them being no other than the man who had preached in the

"DEAR AUNTI am back again in London before my time. My friend the rector has shortened his holiday,

and has resumed his duties in the country. I am afraid you will blame me when you hear of the reasons which

have hastened his return. The sooner I make my confession, the easier I shall feel. Besides, I have a special

object in wishing to see you as soon as possible. May I follow my letter to Mablethorpe House? And may I

present a lady to youa perfect strangerin whom I am interested? Pray say Yes, by the bearer, and oblige

Lady Janet referred again suspiciously to the sentence in the letter which alluded to the "lady."

Julian Gray was her only surviving nephew, the son of a favorite sister whom she had lost. He would have

held no very exalted position in the estimation of his auntwho regarded his views in politics and religion

with the strongest aversionbut for his marked resemblance to his mother. This pleaded for him with the old

lady, aided as it was by the pride that she secretly felt in the early celebrity which the young clergyman had

achieved as a writer and a preacher. Thanks to these mitigating circumstances, and to Julian's inexhaustible

goodhumor, the aunt and the nephe w generally met on friendly terms. Apart from what she called "his

detestable opinions," Lady Janet was sufficiently interested in Julian to feel some curiosity about the

mysterious "lady" mentioned in the letter. Had he determined to settle in life? Was his choice already made?

And if so, would it prove to be a choice acceptable to the family? Lady Janet's bright face showed signs of

doubt as she asked herself that last question. Julian's liberal views were capable of leading him to dangerous

extremes. His aunt shook her head ominously as she rose from the sofa and advanced to the library door.

"Grace," she said, pausing and turning round, "I have a note to write to my nephew. I shall be back directly."

Mercy approached her, from the opposite extremity of the room, with an exclamation of surprise.

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 aboutand, to own the truth, my nephew is not one of my favorite

subjects of conversation. I don't mean that I dislike him; I detest his principles, my dear, that's all. However,

you shall form your own opinion of him; he is coming to see me today. Wait here till I return; I have

Mercy opened the library door for her, closed it again, and walked slowly to and fro alone in the room,

Was her mind running on Lady Janet's nephew? No. Lady Janet's brief allusion to her relative had not led her

into alluding to him by his name. Mercy was still as ignorant as ever that the preacher at the Refuge and the

nephew of her benefactress were one and the same man. Her memory was busy now with the tribute which

Lady Janet had paid to her at the outset of the interview between them: "It is hardly too much to say, Grace,

that I bless the day when you first came to me." For the moment there was balm for her wounded spirit in the

remembrance of those words. Grace Roseberry herself could surely have earned no sweeter praise than the

praise that she had won. The next instant she was seized with a sudden horror of her own successful fraud.

The sense of her degradation had never been so bitterly present to her as at that moment. If she could only

confess the truthif she could innocently enjoy her harmless life at Mablethorpe Housewhat 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 wonhonestly

wonin Lady Janet's estimation had been obtained by a trick. Nothing could alter, nothing could excuse,

that. She took out her handkerchief and dashed away the useless tears that had gathered in her eyes, and tried

to turn her thoughts some other way. What was it Lady Janet had said on going into the library? She had said

she was coming back to speak about Horace. Mercy guessed what the object was; she knew but too well what

Horace wanted of her. How was she to meet the emergency? In the name of Heaven, what was to be done?

Could she let the man who loved herthe man whom she loveddrift blindfold into marriage with such a

woman as she had been? No! it was her duty to warn him. How? Could she break his heart, could she lay his

life waste by speaking the cruel words which might part them forever? "I can't tell him! I won't tell him!" she

burst out, passionately. "The disgrace of it would kill me!" Her varying mood changed as the words escaped

her. A reckless defiance of her own better naturethat saddest of all the forms in which a woman's misery

can express itselffilled her heart with its poisoning bitterness. She sat down again on the sofa with eyes

that glittered and cheeks suffused with an angry red. "I am no worse than another woman!" she thought.

"Another woman might have married him for his money." The next moment the miserable insufficiency of

her own excuse for deceiving him showed its hollowness, selfexposed. She covered her face with her hands,

and found refugewhere she had often found refuge beforein the helpless resignation of despair. "Oh,

that I had died before I entered this house! Oh, that I could die and have done with it at this moment!" So the

The door leading into the billiardroom opened softly. Horace Holmcroft had waited to hear the result of

He looked in cautiously, ready to withdraw again unnoticed if the two were still talking together. The absence

of Lady Janet suggested that the interview had come to an end. Was his betrothed wife waiting alone to speak

to him on his return to the room? He advanced a few steps. She never moved; she sat heedless, absorbed in

her thoughts. Were they thoughts of him? He advanced a little nearer, and called to her.

She sprang to her feet, with a faint cry. "I wish you wouldn't startle me," she said, irritably, sinking back on

Horace pleaded for pardon with a lover's humility. In her present state of nervous irritation she was not to be

appeased. She looked away from him in silence. Entirely ignorant of the paroxysm of mental suffering

through which she had just passed, he seated himself by her side, and asked her gently if she had seen Lady

Janet. She made an affirmative answer with an unreasonable impatience of tone and manner which would

have warned an older and more experienced man to give her time before he spoke again. Horace was young,

and weary of the suspense that he had endured in the other room. He unwisely pressed her with another

She turned on him angrily before he could finish the sentence. "You have tried to make her hurry me into

Plain as the warning was this time, Horace still failed to interpret it in the right way. "Don't be angry!" he

said, goodhumoredly. "Is it so very inexcusable to ask Lady Janet to intercede for me? I have tried to

persuade you in vain. My mother and my sisters have pleaded for me, and you turn a deaf ear"

She could endure it no longer. She stamped her foot on the door with hysterical vehemence. "I am weary of

hearing of your mother and your sisters!" she broke in violently. "You talk of nothing else."

It was just possible to make one more mistake in dealing with herand Horace made it. He took offense, on

his side, and rose from the sofa. His mother and sisters were high authorities in his estimation; they variously

represented his ideal of perfection in women. He withdrew to the opposite extremity of the room, and

administered the severest reproof that he could think of on the spur of the moment.

"It would be well, Grace, if you followed the example set you by my mother and my sisters," he said.

To all appearance the rebuke failed to produce the slightest effect. She seemed to be as indifferent to it as if it

had not reached her ears. There was a spirit in hera miserable spirit, born of her own bitter

experiencewhich rose in revolt against Horace's habitual glorification of the ladies of his family. "It

sickens me," she thought to herself, "to hear of the virtues of women who have never been tempted! Where is

the merit of living reputably, when your life is one course of prosperity and enjoyment? Has his mother

known starvation? Have his sisters been left forsaken in the street?" It hardened her heartit almost

reconciled her to deceiving himwhen he set his relatives up as patterns for her. Would he never understand

that women detested having other women exhibited as examples to them? She looked round at him with a

sense of impatient wonder. He was sitting at the luncheontable, with his back turned on her, and his head

resting on his hand. If he had attempted to rejoin her, she would have repelled him ; if he had spoken, she

would have met him with a sharp reply. He sat apart from her, without uttering a word. In a man's hands

silence is the most terrible of all protests to the woman who loves him. Violence she can endure. Words she is

always ready to meet by words on her side. Silence conquers her. After a moment's hesitation, Mercy left the

sofa and advanced submissively toward the table. She had offended himand she alone was in fault. How

should he know it, poor fellow, when he innocently mortified her? Step by step she drew closer and closer.

He never looked round; he never moved. She laid her hand timidly on his shoulder. "Forgive me, Horace,"

she whispered in his ear. "I am suffering this morning; I am not myself. I didn't mean what I said. Pray

forgive me." There was no resisting the caressing tenderness of voice and manner which accompanied those

words. He looked up; he took her hand. She bent over him, and touched his forehead with her lips. "Am I

"I do know it," she answered, gently, twining his hair round her finger, and arranging it over his forehead

They were completely absorbed in each other, or they must, at that moment, have heard the library door open

Lady Janet had written the necessary reply to her nephew, and had returned, faithful to her engagement, to

plead the cause of Horace. The first object that met her view was her client pleading, with conspicuous

success, for himself! "I am not wanted, evidently," thought the old lady. She noiselessly closed the door again

Horace returned, with unwise persistency, to the question of the deferred marriage. At the first words that he

"Yes, tomorrow." She returned to the sofa, and changed the subject. "What a time Lady Janet is away!" she

Horace did his best to appear interested in the question of Lady Janet's prolonged absence. "What made her

"She went into the library to write a note to her nephew. Bytheby, who is her nephew?"

"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 lovelock that lay over her shoulder and pressed it to his lips. "Lady Janet's

She started off her seat, and looked round at him in blank, bewildered terror, as if she doubted the evidence of

Horace was completely taken by surprise. "My dear Grace!" he exclaimed; "what have I said or done to

She held up her hand for silence. "Lady Janet's nephew is Julian Gray," she repeated; "and I only know it

Horace's perplexity increased. "My darling, now you do know it, what is there to alarm you?" he asked.

(There was enough to alarm the boldest woman livingin such a position, and with such a temperament as

hers. To her mind the personation of Grace Roseberry had suddenly assumed a new aspect: the aspect of a

fatality. It had led her blindfold to the house in which she and the preacher at the Refuge were to meet. He

was comingthe man who had reached her inmost heart, who had influenced her whole life! Was the day of

"Don't notice me," she said, faintly. "I have been ill all the morning. You saw it yourself when you came in

here; even the sound of your voice alarmed me. I shall be better directly. I am afraid I startled you?"

"My dear Grace, it almost looked as if you were terrified at the sound of Julian's name! He is a public

celebrity, I know; and I have seen ladies start and stare at him when he entered a room. But you looked

She rallied her courage by a desperate effort; she laugheda harsh, uneasy laughand stopped him by

putting her hand over his mouth. "Absurd!" she said, lightly. "As if Mr. Julian Gray had anything to do with

my looks! I am better already. See for yourself!" She looked round at him again with a ghastly gayety; and

returned, with a desperate assumption of indifference, to the subject of Lady Janet's nephew. "Of course I

have heard of him," she said. "Do you know that he is expected here today? Don't stand there behind

He obeyedbut she had not quite satisfied him yet. His face had not lost its expression of anxiety and

surprise. She persisted in playing her part, determined to set at rest in him any possible suspicion that she had

reasons of her own for being afraid of Julian Gray. "Tell me about this famous man of yours," she said,

The caressing action and the easy tone had their effect on Horace. His face began to clear; he answered her

"Prepare yourself to meet the most unclerical of clergymen," he said. "Julian is a lost sheep among the

parsons, and a thorn in the side of his bishop. Preaches, if they ask him, in Dissenters' chapels. Declines to set

up any pretensions to priestly authority and priestly power. Goes about doing good on a plan of his own. Is

quite resigned never to rise to the high places in his profession. Says it's rising high enough for him to be the

Archdeacon of the afflicted, the Dean of the hungry, and the Bishop of the poor. With all his oddities, as good

a fellow as ever lived. Immensely popular with the women. They all go to him for advice. I wish you would

"Julian is famous for his powers of persuasion," said Horace, smiling. "If he spoke to you, Grace, he would

He made the proposal in jest. Mercy's unquiet mind accepted it as addressed to her in earnest. "He will do it,"

she thought, with a sense of indescribable terror, "if I don't stop him!" There is but one chance for her. The

only certain way to prevent Horace from appealing to his friend was to grant what Horace wished for before

his friend entered the house. She laid her hand on his shoulder; she hid the terrible anxieties that were

"Don't talk nonsense!" she said, gayly. "What were we saying just nowbefore we began to speak of Mr.

She tapped him impatiently on the shoulder. "No! no! It was something you said before that."

Her eyes completed what her words had left unsaid. Horace's arm stole round her waist.

She smiled charmingly . "Are you so very much in earnest aboutabout" She stopped, and looked away

There was a pause. Mercy's fingers toyed nervously with the trinkets at her watchchain. "When would you

like it to be?" she said, very softly, with her whole attention fixed on the watchchain.

She had never spoken, she had never looked, as she spoke and looked now. Horace was afraid to believe in

his own good fortune. "Oh, Grace!" he exclaimed, "you are not trifling with me?"

Horace was innocent enough to answer her seriously. "You would not even let me speak of our marriage just

"Never mind what I did just now," she retorted, petulantly. "They say women are changeable. It is one of the

"Heaven be praised for the defects of the sex!" cried Horace, with devout sincerity. "Do you really leave me

Horace considered for a momentthe subject being the law of marriage. "We may be married by license in a

"Why not? My lawyer is ready. There are no preparations to make. You said when you accepted me that it

"We might be married at onceif the law would only let us. This day fortnight! SayYes!" He drew her

closer to him. There was a pause. The mask of coquetrybadly worn from the firstdropped from her. Her

sad gray eyes rested compassionately on his eager face. "Don't look so serious!" he said. "Only one little

She sighed, and said it. He kissed her passionately. It was only by a resolute effort that she released herself.

She was in earneststrangely in earnest. She was trembling from head to foot. Horace rose to leave her. "I

will find Lady Janet," he said; "I long to show the dear old lady that I have recovered my spirits, and to tell

her why." He turned round at the library door. "You won't go away? You will let me see you again when you

Her hands dropped on her lap; her head sank back wearily on the cushions at the head of the sofa. There was

a dazed sensation in her: her mind felt stunned. She wondered vacantly whether she was awake or dreaming.

Had she really said the word which pledged her to marry Horace Holmcroft in a fortnight? A fortnight!

Something might happen in that time to prevent it: she might find her way in a fortnight out of the terrible

position in which she stood. Anyway, come what might of it, she had chosen the preferable alternative to a

private interview with Julian Gray. She raised herself from her recumbent position with a start, as the idea of

the interviewdismissed for the last few minutespossessed 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 sidethis 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 chapelshe saw him close by her,

looking her searchingly in the face; seeing her shameful secret in her eyes; hearing it in her voice; feeling it in

her trembling hands; forcing it out of her word by word, till she fell prostrate at his feet with the confession of

the fraud. Her head dropped again on the cushions; she hid her face in horror of the scene which her excited

fancy had conjured up. Even now, when she had made that dreaded interview needless, could she feel sure

(meeting him only on the most distant terms) of not betraying herself? She could not feel sure. Something in

her shuddered and shrank at the bare idea of finding herself in the same room with him. She felt it, she knew

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 cushionsher eyes closedthe monotonous ticking of the clock on the

mantelpiece grew drowsily fainter and fainter on her ear. Little by little she dropped into slumberslumber

so light that she started when a morsel of coal fell into the grate, or when the birds chirped and twittered in

Lady Janet and Horace came in. She was faintly conscious of persons in the room. After an interval she

opened her eyes, and half rose to speak to them. The room was empty again. They had stolen out softly and

left her to repose. Her eyes closed once more. She dropped back into slumber, and from slumber, in the

After an interval of rest Mercy was aroused by the shutting of a glass door at the far end of the conservatory.

This door, leading into the garden, was used only by the inmates of the house, or by old friends privileged to

enter the receptionrooms by that way. Assuming that either Horace or Lady Janet was returning to the

The voice of one of the menservants caught her ear. It was answered by another voice, which instantly set

She started up, and listened again in speechless terror. Yes! there was no mistaking it. The voice that was

answering the servant was the unforgotten voice which she had heard at the Refuge. The visitor who had

His rapid footsteps advanced nearer and nearer to the diningroom. She recovered herself sufficiently to

hurry to the library door. Her hand shook so that she failed at first to open it. She had just succeeded when

"Pray don't run away! I am nothing very formidable. Only Lady Janet's nephewJulian Gray."

He was standing, hat in hand, at the entrance to the conservatory, dressed in black, and wearing a white

cravat, but with a studious avoidance of anything specially clerical in the make and form of his clothes.

Young as he was, there were marks of care already on his face, and the hair was prematurely thin and scanty

over his forehead. His slight, active figure was of no more than the middle height. His complexion was pale.

The lower part of his face, without beard or whiskers, was in no way remarkable. An average observer would

have passed him by without notice but for his eyes. These alone made a marked man of him. The unusual size

of the orbits in which they were set was enough of itself to attract attention; it gave a grandeur to his head,

which the head, broad and firm as it was, did not possess. As to the eyes themselves, the soft, lustrous

brightness of them defied analysis No two people could agree about their color; divided opinion declaring

alternately that they were dark gray or black. Painters had tried to reproduce them, and had given up the

effort, in despair of seizing any one expression in the bewildering variety of expressions which they presented

to view. They were eyes that could charm at one moment and terrify at another; eyes that could set people

laughing or crying almost at will. In action and in repose they were irresistible alike. When they first descried

Mercy running to the door, they brightened gayly with the merriment of a child. When she turned and faced

him, they changed instantly, softening and glowing as they mutely owned the interest and the admiration

which the first sight of her had roused in him. His tone and manner altered at the same time. He addressed her

"Let me entreat you to favor me by resuming your seat," he said. "And let me ask your pardon if I have

He paused, waiting for her reply before he advanced into the room. Still spellbound by his voice, she

recovered selfcontrol enough to bow to him and to resume her place on the sofa. It was impossible to leave

him now. After looking at her for a moment, he entered the room without speaking to her again. She was

beginning to perplex as well as to interest him. "No common sorrow," he thought, "has set its mark on that

"Lady Janet is in the library, I believe," she said, timidly. "Shall I tell her you are here?"

"Don't disturb Lady Janet, and don't disturb yourself." With that answer he approached the luncheontable,

delicately giving her time to feel more at her ease. He took up what Horace had left of the bottle of claret, and

poured it into a glass. "My aunt's claret shall represent my aunt for the present," he said, smiling, as he turned

toward her once more. "I have had a long walk, and I may venture to help myself in this house without

Mercy made the necessary reply. She was beginning already, after her remarkable experience of him, to

He emptied his glass with the air of a man who thoroughly understood and enjoyed good wine. "My aunt's

claret is worthy of my aunt," he said, with comic gravity, as he set down the glass. "Both are the genuine

products of Nature." He seated himself at the table and looked critically at the different dishes left on it. One

dish especially attracted his attention. "What is this?" he went on. "A French pie! It seems grossly unfair to

taste French wine and to pass over French pie without notice." He took up a knife and fork, and enjoyed the

pie as critically as he had enjoyed the wine. "Worthy of the Great Nation!" he exclaimed, with enthusiasm.

Mercy listened and looked, in inexpressible astonishment. He was utterly unlike the picture which her fancy

had drawn of him in everyday life. Take off his white cravat, and nobody would have discovered that this

He helped himself to another plateful of the pie, and spoke more directly to Mercy, alternately eating and

"I came here by way of Kensington Gardens," he said. "For some time past I have been living in a flat, ugly,

barren, agricultural district. You can't think how pleasant I found the picture presented by the Gardens, as a

contrast. The ladies in their rich winter dresses, the smart nursery maids, the lovely children, the ever moving

crowd skating on the ice of the Round Pond; it was all so exhilarating after what I have been used to, that I

actually caught myself whistling as I walked through the brilliant scene! (In my time boys used always to

whistle when they were in good spirits, and I have not got over the habit yet.) Who do you think I met when I

As well as her amazement would let her, Mercy excused herself from guessing. She had never in all her life

before spoken to any living being so confusedly and so unintelligently as she now spoke to Julian Gray!

He went on more gayly than ever, without appearing to notice the effect that he had produced on her.

"Whom did I meet," he repeated, "when I was in full song? My bishop! If I had been whistling a sacred

melody, his lordship might perhaps have excused my vulgarity out of consideration for my music.

Unfortunately, the composition I was executing at the moment (I am one of the loudest of living whistlers)

was by Verdi" La Donna e Mobile"familiar, no doubt, to his lordship on the street organs. He

recognized the tune, poor man, and when I took off my hat to him he looked the other way. Strange, in a

world that is bursting with sin and sorrow, to treat such a trifle seriously as a cheerful clergyman whistling a

tune!" He pushed away his plate as he said the last words, and went on simply and earnestly in an altered

tone. "I have never been able," he said, "to see why we should assert ourselves among other men as belonging

to a particular caste, and as being forbidden, in any harmless thing, to do as other people do. The disciples of

old set us no such example; they were wiser and better than we are. I venture to say that one of the worst

obstacles in the way of our doing good among our fellowcreatures is raised by the mere assumption of the

clerical manner and the clerical voice. For my part, I set up no claim to be more sacred and more reverend

than any other Christian man who does what good he can." He glanced brightly at Mercy, looking at him in

helpless perplexity. The spirit of fun took possession of him again. "Are you a Radical?" he asked, with a

Mercy tried hard to understand him, and tried in vain. Could this be the preacher whose words had charmed,

purified, ennobled her? Was this the man whose sermon had drawn tears from women about her whom she

knew to be shameless and hardened in crime? Yes! The eyes that now rested on her humorously were the

beautiful eyes which had once looked into her soul. The voice that had just addressed a jesting question to her

was the deep and mellow voice which had once thrilled her to the heart. In the pulpit he was an angel of

"Don't let me startle you," he said, goodnaturedly, noticing her confusion. "Public opinion has called me by

harder names than the name of 'Radical.' I have been spending my time latelyas I told you just nowin an

agricultural district. My business there was to perform the duty for the rector of the place, who wanted a

holiday. How do you think the experiment has ended? The Squire of the parish calls me a Communist; the

farmers denounce me as an Incendiary; my friend the rector has been recalled in a hurry, and I have now the

honor of speaking to you in the character of a banished man who has made a respectable neighborhood too

"You will naturally be anxious," he went on, "to know what my offense was. Do you understand Political

"No more do Iin a Christian country," he said. "That was my offense. You shall hear my confession (just

as my aunt will hear it) in two words." He paused for a little while; his variable manner changed again.

Mercy, shyly looking at him, saw a new expression in his eyesan 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

farmlaborer really was, in some parts of England, until I undertook the rector's duties. Never before had I

seen such dire wretchedness as I saw in the cottages. Never before had I met with such noble patience under

suffering as I found among the people. The martyrs of old could endure, and die. I asked myself if they could

endure, and live, like the martyrs whom I saw round me?live, week after week, month after month, year

after year, on the brink of starvation; live, and see their pining children growing up round them, to work and

want in their turn; live, with the poor man's parish prison to look to as the end, when hunger and labor have

done their worst! Was God's beautiful earth made to hold such misery as this? I can hardly think of it, I can

His head sank on his breast. He waitedmastering his emotion before he spoke again. Now, at last, she

knew him once more. Now he was the man, indeed, whom she had expected to see. Unconsciously she sat

listening, with her eyes fixed on his face, with his heart hanging on his words, in the very attitude of the

"I did all I could to plead for the helpless ones," he resumed. "I went round among the holders of the land to

say a word for the tillers of the land. 'These patient people don't want much' (I said); 'in the name of Christ,

give them enough to live on!' Political Economy shrieked at the horrid proposal; the Laws of Supply and

Demand veiled their majestic faces in dismay. Starvation wages were the right wages, I was told. And why?

Because the laborer was obliged to accept them! I determined, so far as one man could do it, that the laborer

should not be obliged to accept them. I collected my own resourcesI wrote to my friendsand I removed

some of the poor fellows to parts of England where their work was better paid. Such was the conduct which

made the neighborhood too hot to hold me. So let it be! I mean to go on. I am known in London; I can raise

subscriptions. The vile Laws of Supply and Demand shall find labor scarce in that agricultural district; and

pitiless Political Economy shall spend a few extra shillings on the poor, as certainly as I am that Radical,

He rosemaking a li ttle gesture of apology for the warmth with which he had spokenand took a turn in

the room. Fired by his enthusiasm, Mercy followed him. Her purse was in her hand, when he turned and

A momentary flush spread over his pale cheeks as he looked at the beautiful compassionate face pleading

"No! no!" he said, smiling; "though I am a parson, I don't carry the beggingbox everywhere." Mercy

attempted to press the purse on him. The quaint humor began to twinkle again in his eyes as he abruptly drew

back from it. "Don't tempt me!" he said. "The frailest of all human creatures is a clergyman tempted by a

subscription." Mercy persisted, and conquered; she made him prove the truth of his own profound

observation of clerical human nature by taking a piece of money from the purse. "If I must take itI must!"

he remarked. "Thank you for setting the good example! thank you for giving the timely help! What name

Mercy's eyes looked confusedly away from him. "No name," she said, in a low voice. "My subscription is

As she replied, the library door opened. To her infinite reliefto Julian's secret disappointmentLady Janet

He kissed his aunt on the cheek. "Your ladyship is looking charmingly." He gave his hand to Horace. Horace

took it, and passed on to Mercy. They walked away together slowly to the other end of the room. Julian

"I came in through the conservatory," he said. "And I found that young lady in the room. Who is she?"

"Are you very much interested in her?" asked Lady Janet, in her gravely ironical way.

"My dear," she said, "let me formally present my nephew to you. Julian, this is Miss Grace Roseberry" She

suddenly checked herself. The instant she pronounced the name, Julian started as if it was a surprise to him.

"Nothing," he answered, bowing to Mercy, with a marked absence of his former ease of manner. She returned

the courtesy a little restrainedly on her side. She, too, had seen him start when Lady Janet mentioned the

name by which she was known. The start meant something. What could it be? Why did he turn aside, after

bowing to her, and address himself to Horace, with an absent look in his face, as if his thoughts were far

away from his words? A complete change had come over him; and it dated from the moment when his aunt

Lady Janet claimed Julian's attention, and left Horace free to return to Mercy. "Your room is ready for you,"

she said. "You will stay here, of course?" Julian accepted the invitationstill with the air of a man whose

mind was preoccupied. Instead of looking at his aunt when he made his reply, he looked round at Mercy with

a troubled curiosity in his face, very strange to see. Lady Janet tapped him impatiently on the shoulder. "I

expect people to look at me when people speak to me," she said. "What are you staring at my adopted

"Your adopted daughter?" Julian repeatedlooking at his aunt this time, and looking very earnestly.

"Certainly! As Colonel Roseberry's daughter, she is connected with me by marriage already. Did you think I

Julian's face cleared; he looked relieved. "I had forgotten the Colonel," he answered. "Of course the young

"Charmed, I am sure, to have satisfied you that Grace is not an impostor," said Lady Janet, with satirical

humility. She took Julian's arm and drew him out of hearing of Horace and Mercy. "About that letter of

yours?" she proceeded. "There is one line in it that rouses my curiosity. Who is the mysterious 'lady' whom

To Lady Janet's unutterable astonishment, instead of replying, Julian looked round at her adopted daughter

"What has she got to do with it?" asked the old lady, out of all patience with him.

"It is impossible for me to tell you," he answered, gravely, "while Miss Roseberry is in the room."

LADY JANET'S curiosity was by this time thoroughly aroused. Summoned to explain who the nameless lady

mentioned in his letter could possibly be, Julian had looked at her adopted daughter. Asked next to explain

what her adopted daughter had got to do with it, he had declared that he could not answer while Miss

"I hate all mysteries," she said to Julian. "And as for secrets, I consider them to be one of the forms of

illbreeding. People in our rank of life ought to be above whispering in corners. If you must have your

Julian followed his aunt very reluctantly. Whatever the mystery might be, he was plainly embarrassed by

being called upon to reveal it at a moment's notice. Lady Janet settled herself in her chair, prepared to

question and crossquestion her nephew, when an obstacle appeared at the other end of the library, in the

shape of a manservant with a message. One of Lady Janet's neighbors had called by appointment to take her

to the meeting of a certain committee which assembled that day. The servant announced that the

Lady Janet's ready invention set the obstacle aside without a moment's delay. She directed the servant to

show her visitor into the drawingroom, and to say that she was unexpectedly engaged, but that Miss

Roseberry would see the lady immediately. She then turned to Julian, and said, with her most satirical

emphasis of tone and manner: "Would it be an additional convenience if Miss Roseberry was not only out of

Julian gravely answered: "It may possibly be quite as well if Miss Roseberry is out of the house."

"My dear Grace, "she said, "you looked flushed and feverish when I saw you asleep on the sofa a little while

since. It will do you no harm to have a drive in the fresh air. Our friend has called to take me to the

committee meeting. I have sent to tell her that I am engagedand I shall be much obliged if you will go in

Mercy looked a little alarmed. "Does your ladyship mean the committee meeting of the Samaritan

Convalescent Home? The members, as I understand it, are to decide today which of the plans for the new

"You can vote, my dear child, just as well as I can," replied the old lady. "Architecture is one of the lost arts.

You know nothing about it; I know nothing about it; the architects themselves know nothing about it. One

plan is, no doubt, just as bad as the other. Vote, as I should vote, with the majority. Or as poor dear Dr.

Johnson said, 'Shout with the loudest mob.' Away with youand don't keep the committee waiting."

"How long shall you be away?" he whispered, confidentially. "I had a thousand things to say to you, and they

"We shall have the room to ourselves by that time. Come here when you return. You will find me waiting for

Mercy pressed his hand significantly and went out. Lady Janet turned to Julian, who had thus far remained in

the background, still, to all appearance, as unwilling as ever to enlighten his aunt.

"Well?" she said. "What is tying your tongue now? Grace is out of the room; why won't you begin? Is Horace

"I am afra id you have put that charming creature to some inconvenience in sending her away just at this time

"When you say 'that charming creature,'" he asked, sharply, "I suppose you mean Miss Roseberry?"

Lady Janet interposed. "Gently, Julian," she said. "Grace has only been introduced to you hitherto in the

"And it seems to be high time," Horace added, haughtily, "that I should present her next in the character of

Julian looked at Horace as if he could hardly credit the evidence of his own ears. "Your wife!" he exclaimed,

"Yes. My wife," returned Horace. "We are to be married in a fortnight. May I ask," he added, with angry

Lady Janet interposed once more. "Nonsense, Horace," she said. "Julian congratulates you, of course."

Julian coldly and absently echoed the words. "Oh, yes! I congratulate you, of course."

"Now we thoroughly understand one another," she said, "let us speak of a lady who has dropped out of the

conversation for the last minute or two. I mean, Julian, the mysterious lady of your letter. We are alone, as

you desired. Lift the veil, my reverend nephew, which hides her from mortal eyes! Blush, if you likeand

Lady Janet's fingers drummed impatiently on the table. "Have I not warned you, Julian, that I hate mysteries?

Before it was possible to answer, Horace rose from his chair. "Perhaps I am in the way?" he said.

"I have already told Lady Janet that you are not in the way," he answered. "I now tell youas Miss

Roseberry's future husbandthat you, too, have an interest in hearing what I have to say."

Horace resumed his seat with an air of suspicious surprise. Julian addressed himself to Lady Janet.

"You have often heard me speak," he began, "of my old friend and schoolfellow, John Cressingham?"

"The same. When I returned from the country I found among my other letters a long letter from the consul. I

have brought it with me, and I propose to read certain passages from it, which tell a very strange story more

"Will it be very long?" inquired Lady Janet, looking with some alarm at the closely written sheets of paper

"You are sure I am interested in it?" he asked. "The consul at Mannheim is a total stranger to me."

"I answer for it, "replied Julian, gravely, "neither my aunt's patience nor yours, Horace, will be thrown away

* * * "'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

"'The patient was a womanyoung, and (when in health), I should think, very pretty. When I first saw her

she looked, to my uninstructed eye, like a dead woman. I noticed that her head had a bandage over it, and I

asked what was the nature of the injury that she had received. The answer informed me that the poor creature

had been present, nobody knew why or wherefore, at a skirmish or night attack between the Germans and the

French, and that the injury to her head had been inflicted by a fragment of a German shell.'"

Horacethus far leaning back carelessly in his chairsuddenly raised himself and exclaimed, "Good

"It is impossible for me to say," replied Julian. "Listen to the rest of it. The consul's letter may answer your

"'The wounded woman had been reported dead, and had been left by the French in their retreat, at the time

when the German forces took possession of the enemy's position. She was found on a bed in a cottage by the

"It is the same!" said Horace. "Lady Janet, we are really interested in this. You remember my telling you how

I first met with Grace? And you have heard more about it since, no doubt, from Grace herself?"

"She has a horror of referring to that part of her journey home," replied Lady Janet. "She mentioned her

having been stopped on the frontier, and her finding herself accidentally in the company of another

Englishwoman, a perfect stranger to her. I naturally asked questions on my side, and was shocked to hear that

she had seen the woman killed by a German shell almost close at her side. Neither she nor I have had any

relish for returning to the subject since. You were quite right, Julian, to avoid speaking of it while she was in

the room. I understand it all now. Grace, I suppose, mentioned my name to her fellowtraveler. The woman

is, no doubt, in want of assistance, and she applies to me through you. I will help her; but she must not come

here until I have prepared Grace for seeing her again, a living woman. For the present there is no reason why

"I am not sure about that," said Julian, in low tones, without looking up at his aunt.

"'After a careful examination of the supposed corpse, the German surgeon arrived at the conclusion that a

case of suspended animation had (in the hurry of the French retreat) been mistaken for a case of death.

Feeling a professional interest in the subject, he decided on putting his opinion to the test. He operated on the

patient with complete success. After performing the operation he kept her for some days under his own care,

and then transferred her to the nearest hospitalthe hospital at Mannheim. He was obliged to return to his

duties as army surgeon, and he left his patient in the condition in which I saw her, insensible on the bed.

Neither he nor the hospital authorities knew anything whatever about the woman. No papers were found on

her. All the doctors could do, when I asked them for information with a view to communicating with her

friends, was to show me her linen marked with her, name. I left the hospital after taking down the name in my

Lady Janet produced her pocketbook. "Let me take the name down too," she said. "I never heard it before,

"'Under these circumstances, I could only wait to hear from the hospital when the patient was sufficiently

recovered to be able to speak to me. Some weeks passed without my receiving any communication from the

doctors. On calling to make inquiries I was informed that fever had set in, and that the poor creature's

condition now alternated between exhaustion and delirium. In her delirious moments the name of your aunt,

Lady Janet Roy, frequently escaped her. Otherwise her wanderings were for the most part quite unintelligible

to the people at her bedside. I thought once or twice of writing to you, and of begging you to speak to Lady

Janet. But as the doctors informed me that the chances of life or death were at this time almost equally

balanced, I decided to wait until time should determine whether it was necessary to trouble you or not.'"

"You know best, Julian," said Lady Janet. "But I own I don't quite see in what way I am interested in this part

"Just what I was going to say," added Horace. "It is very sad, no doubt. But what have we to do with it?"

"'At last I received a message from the hospital informing me that Mercy Merrick was out of danger, and that

she was capable (though still very weak) of answering any questions which I might think it desirable to put to

her. On reaching the hospital, I was requested, rather to my surprise, to pay my first visit to the head

physician in his private room. "I think it right," said this gentleman, "to warn you, before you see the patient,

to be very careful how you speak to her, and not to irritate her by showing any surprise or expressing any

doubts if she talks to you in an extravagant manner. We differ in opinion about her here. Some of us (myself

among the number) doubt whether the recovery of her mind has accompanied the recovery of her bodily

powers. Without pronouncing her to be madshe is perfectly gentle and harmlesswe are nevertheless of

opinion that she is suffering under a species of insane delusion. Bear in mind the caution which I have given

youand now go and judge for yourself." I obeyed, in some little perplexity and surprise. The sufferer, when

I approached her bed, looked sadly weak and worn; but, so far as I could judge, seemed to be in full

possession of herself. Her tone and manner were unquestionably the tone and manner of a lady. After briefly

introducing myself, I assured her that I should be glad, both officially and personally, if I could be of any

assistance to her. In saying these trifling words I happened to address her by the name I had seen marked on

her clothes. The instant the words "Miss Merrick" passed my lips a wild, vindictive expression appeared in

her eyes. She exclaimed angrily, "Don't call me by that hateful name! It's not my name. All the people here

persecute me by calling me Mercy Merrick. And when I am angry with them they show me the clothes. Say

what I may, they persist in believing they are my clothes. Don't you do the same, if you want to be friends

with me." Remembering what the physician had said to me, I made the necessary excuses and succeeded in

soothing her. Without reverting to the irritating topic of the name, I merely inquired what her plans were, and

assured her that she might command my services if she required them. "Why do you want to know what my

plans are?" she asked, suspiciously. I reminded her in reply that I held the position of English consul, and that

my object was, if possible, to be of some assistance to her. "You can be of the greatest assistance to me," she

said, eagerly. "Find Mercy Merrick!" I saw the vindictive look come back into her eyes, and an angry flush

rising on her white cheeks. Abstaining from showing any surprise, I asked her who Mercy Merrick was. "A

vile woman, by her own confession," was the quick reply. "How am I to find her?" I inquired next. "Look for

a woman in a black dress, with the Red Geneva Cross on her shoulder; she is a nurse in the French

ambulance." "What has she done?" "I have lost my papers; I have lost my own clothes; Mercy Merrick has

taken them." "How do you know that Mercy Merrick has taken them?" "Nobody else could have taken

themthat's how I know it. Do you believe me or not?" She as beginning to excite herself again; I assured

her that I would at once send to make inquiries after Mercy Merrick. She turned round contented on the

pillow. "There's a good man!" she said. "Come back and tell me when you have caught her." Such was my

first interview with the English patient at the hospital at Mannheim. It is needless to say that I doubted the

existence of the absent person described as a nurse. However, it was possible to make inquiries by applying

to the surgeon, Ignatius Wetzel, whose whereabouts was known to his friends in Mannheim. I wrote to him,

and received his answer in due time. After the night attack of the Germans had made them masters of the

French position, he had entered the cottage occupied by the French ambulance. He had found the wounded

Frenchmen left behind, but had seen no such person in attendance on them as the nurse in the black dress

with the red cross on her shoulder. The only living woman in the place was a young English lady, in a gray

traveling cloak, who had been stopped on the frontier, and who was forwarded on her way home by the war

"A few words more," said Julian, "and you will understand my object in claiming your attention."

He returned to the letter for the last time, and concluded his extracts from it as follows:

"'Instead of attending at the hospital myself, I communicated by letter the failure of my attempt to discover

the missing nurse. For some little time afterward I heard no more of the sick woman, whom I shall still call

Mercy Merrick. It was only yesterday that I received another summons to visit the patient. She had by this

time sufficiently recovered to claim her discharge, and she had announced her intention of returning forthwith

to England. The head physician, feeling a sense of responsibility, had sent for me. It was impossible to detain

her on the ground that she was not fit to be trusted by herself at large, in consequence of the difference of

opinion among the doctors on the case. All that could be done was to give me due notice, and to leave the

matter in my hands. On seeing her for the second time, I found her sullen and reserved. She openly attributed

my inability to find the nurse to want of zeal for her interests on my part. I had, on my side, no authority

whatever to detain her. I could only inquire whether she had money enough to pay her traveling expenses.

Her reply informed me that the chaplain of the hospital had mentioned her forlorn situation in the town, and

that the English residents had subscribed a small sum of money to enable her to return to her own country.

Satisfied on this head, I asked next if she had friends to go to in England. "I have one friend," she answered,

"who is a host in herselfLady Janet Roy." You may imagine my surprise when I heard this. I found it quite

useless to make any further inquiries as to how she came to know your aunt, whether your aunt expected her,

and so on. My questions evidently offended her; they were received in sulky silence. Under these

circumstances, well knowing that I can trust implicitly to your humane sympathy for misfortune, I have

decided (after careful reflection) to insure the poor creature's safety when she arrives in London by giving her

a letter to you. You will hear what she says, and you will be better able to discover than I am whether she

really has any claim on Lady Janet Roy. One last word of information, which it may be necessary to add, and

I shall close this inordinately long letter. At my first interview with her I abstained, as I have already told you,

from irritating her by any inquiries on the subject of her name. On this second occasion, however, I decided

As he read those last words, Julian became aware of a sudden movement on the part of his aunt. Lady Janet

had risen softly from her chair and had passed behind him with the purpose of reading the consul's letter for

herself over her nephew's shoulder. Julian detected the action just in time to frustrate Lady Janet's intention

"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."

"'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?"

Julian removed his hand from the page. Lady Janet looked at the next two words, and started back with a loud

FOR a moment Horace stood thunderstruck, looking in blank astonishment at Lady Janet. His first words, as

soon as he had recovered himself, were addressed to Julian. "Is this a joke?" he asked, sternly. "If it is, I for

Julian pointed to the closely written pages of the consul's letter. "A man writes in earnest," he said, "when he

writes at such length as this. The woman seriously gave the name of Grace Roseberry, and when she left

Mannheim she traveled to England for the express purpose of presenting herself to Lady Janet Roy." He

turned to his aunt. "You saw me start," he went on, "when you first mentioned Miss Roseberry's name in my

hearing. Now you know why." He addressed himself once more to Horace. "You heard me say that you, as

Miss Roseberry's future husband, had an interest in being present at my interview with Lady Janet. Now

"The woman is plainly mad," said Lady Janet. "But it is certainly a startling form of madness when one first

hears of it. Of course we must keep the matter, for the present at least, a secret from Grace."

"There can be no doubt," Horace agreed, "that Grace must be kept in the dark, in her present state of health.

The servants had better be warned beforehand, in case of this adventuress or madwoman, whichever she may

"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."

"I am more interested than ever," he said, "now I find that Miss Roseberry herself is your guest at

'You were always perverse, Julian, as a child, in your likings and dislikings," Lady Janet rejoined. "Why don't

"For one good reason, my dear aunt. I don't wish to hear you tell your servants to close the door on this

Lady Janet cast a look at her nephew which plainly expressed that she thought he had taken a liberty with her.

"I hope you will not refuse to see her," Julian answered, quietly. "I was out when she called. I must hear what

she has to sayand I should infinitely prefer hearing it in your presence. When I got your reply to my letter,

permitting me to present her to you, I wrote to her immediately, appointing a meeting here."

Lady Janet lifted her bright black eyes in mute expostulation to the carved Cupids and wreaths on the

"When am I to have the honor of the lady's visit?" she inquired, with ironical resignation.

Julian composedly consulted his watch. "She is ten minutes after her time," he said, and put his watch back in

At the same moment the servant appeared, and advanced to Julian, carrying a visiting card on his little silver

Lady Janet looked at the card, and tossed it indignantly back to her nephew. "Miss Roseberry!" she

exclaimed. "Printedactually printed on her card! Julian, even MY patience has its limits. I refuse to see

The servant was still waitingnot like a human being who took an interest in the proceedings, but (as

became a perfectly bred footman) like an article of furniture artfully constructed to come and go at the word

of command. Julian gave the word of command, addressing the admirably constructed automaton by the

The legs of the furniturefootman acted, and took him noiselessly out of the room. Julian turned to his aunt.

"Forgive me," he said, "for venturing to give the man his orders in your presence. I am very anxious that you

Horace dissented widely from his friend's opinion. "It's an insult to Grace," he broke out, warmly, "to hear

Lady Janet nodded her head in high approval. "I think so, too," said her ladyship, crossing her handsome old

"Pardon me," he said. "I have no intention of presuming to reflect on Miss Roseberry, or of bringing her into

the matter at all.The consul's letter," he went on, speaking to his aunt, "mentions, if you remember, that the

medical authorities of Mannheim were divided in opinion on their patient's case. Some of themthe

physicianinchief being among the numberbelieve that the recovery of her mind has not accompanied the

"In other words," Lady Janet remarked, "a madwoman is in my house, and I am expected to receive her!"

"Don't let us exaggerate," said Julian, gently. "It can serve no good interest, in this serious matter, to

exaggerate anything. The consul assures us, on the authority of the doctor, that she is perfectly gentle and

harmless. If she is really the victim of a mental delusion, the poor creature is surely an object of compassion,

and she ought to be placed under proper care. Ask your own kind heart, my dear aunt, if it would not be

downright cruelty to turn this forlorn woman adrift in the world without making some inquiry first."

Lady Janet's inbred sense of justice admitted not over willinglythe reasonableness as well as the humanity

of the view expressed in those words. "There is some truth in that, Julian," she said, shifting her position

uneasily in her chair, and looking at Horace. "Don't you think so, too?" she added.

"I can't say I do," answered Horace, in the positive tone of a man whose obstinacy is proof against every form

The patience of Julian was firm enough to be a match for the obstinacy of Horace. "At any rate," he resumed,

with undiminished good temper," we are all three equally interested in setting this matter at rest. I put it to

you, Lady Janet, if we are not favored, at this lucky moment, with the very opportunity that we want? Miss

Roseberry is not only out of the room, but out of the house. If we let this chance slip, who can say what

"Let the woman come in," cried Lady Janet, deciding headlong, with her customary impatience of all delay.

This time Julian rang it. "May I give the man his orders?" he respectfully inquired of his aunt.

"Give him anything you like, and have done with it!" retorted the irritable old lady, getting briskly on her

Horace crossed the room at the same timeapparently with the intention of leaving it by the door at the

"Certainlyif you wish it. Only remember," he added, more obstinately than ever," that I differ entirely from

A passing movement of irritation escaped Julian for the fir st time. "Don't be hard, Horace," he said, sharply.

They had unconsciously gathered together, in the heat of the little debate, turning their backs on the library

door. At the last words of the reproof administered by Julian to Horace, their attention was recalled to passing

events by the slight noise produced by the opening and closing of the door. With one accord the three turned

JUST inside the door there appeared the figure of a small woman dressed in plain and poor black garments.

She silently lifted her black net veil and disclosed a dull, pale, worn, weary face. The forehead was low and

broad; the eyes were unusually far apart; the lower features were remarkably small and delicate. In health (as

the consul at Mannheim had remarked) this woman must have possessed, if not absolute beauty, at least rare

attractions peculiarly her own. As it was now, sufferingsullen, silent, selfcontained sufferinghad

marred its beauty. Attention and even curiosity it might still rouse. Admiration or interest it could excite no

The small, thin, black figure stood immovably inside the door. The dull, worn, white face looked silently at

The three persons in the room, on their side, stood for a moment without moving, and looked silently at the

stranger on the threshold. There was something either in the woman herself, or in the sudden and stealthy

manner of her appearance in the room, which froze, as if with the touch of an invisible cold hand, the

sympathies of all three. Accustomed to the world, habitually at their ease in every social emergency, they

were now silenced for the first time in their lives by the first serious sense of embarrassment which they had

Had the appearance of the true Grace Roseberry aroused in their minds a suspicion of the woman who had

Not so much as the shadow of a suspicion of Mercy was at the bottom of the strange sense of uneasiness

which had now deprived them alike of their habitual courtesy and their habitual presence of mind. It was as

practically impossible for any one of the three to doubt the identity of the adopted daughter of the house as it

would be for you who read these lines to doubt the identity of the nearest and dearest relative you have in the

world. Circumstances had fortified Mercy behind the strongest of all natural rightsthe right of first

possession. C!circumstances had armed her with the most irresistible of all natural forcesthe force of

previous association and previous habit. Not by so much as a hairbreadth was the position of the false Grace

Roseberry shaken by the first appearance of the true Grace Roseberry within the doors of Mablethorpe

House. Lady Janet felt suddenly repelled, without knowing why. Julian and Horace felt suddenly repelled,

without knowing why. Asked to describe their own sensations at the moment, they would have shaken their

heads in despair, and would have answered in those words. The vague presentiment of some misfortune to

come had entered the room with the entrance of the woman in black. But it moved invisibly; and it spoke as

A moment passed. The crackling of the fire and the ticking of the clock were the only sounds audible in the

The voice of the visitorhard, clear, and quietwas the first voice that broke the silence.

"Mr. Julian Gray?" she said, looking interrogatively from one of the two gentlemen to the other.

Julian advanced a few steps, instantly recovering his selfpossession. "I am sorry I was not at home," he said,

By way of setting the example, Lady Janet seated herself at some little distance, with Horace in attendance

standing near. She bowed to the stranger with studious politeness, but without uttering a word, before she

settled herself in her chair. "I am obliged to listen to this person," thought the old lady. "But I am not obliged

to speak to her. That is Julian's businessnot mine. Don't stand, Horace! You fidget me. Sit down." Armed

beforehand in her policy of silence, Lady Janet folded her handsome hands as usual, and waited for the

"Will you take a chair?" Julian repeated, observing that the visitor appeared neither to heed nor to hear his

At this second appeal she spoke to him. "Is that Lady Janet Roy?" she asked, with her eyes fixed on the

The woman in the poor black garments changed her position for the first time. She moved slowly across the

room to the place at which Lady Janet was sitting, and addressed her respectfully with perfect

selfpossession of manner. Her whole demeanor, from the moment when she had appeared at the door, had

expressedat once plainly and becominglyconfidence in the reception that awaited her.

"Almost the last words my father said to me on his deathbed, "she began, "were words, madam, which told

It was not Lady Janet's business to speak. She listened with the blandest attention. She waited with the most

Grace Roseberry drew back a stepnot intimidatedonly mortified and surprised. "Was my father wrong?"

she asked, with a simple dignity of tone and manner which forced Lady Janet to abandon her policy of

"I will make myself understood. You asked me if I knew your name. I ask you, in return, which name it is?

The name on your card is 'Miss Roseberry.' The name marked on your clothes, when you were in the hospital,

The selfpossession which Grace had maintained from the moment when she had entered the diningroom,

seemed now, for the first time, to be on the point of failing her. She turned, and looked appealingly at Julian,

"Surely," she said, "your friend, the consul, has told you in his letter about the mark on the clothes?"

Something of the girlish hesitation and timidity which had marked her demeanor at her interview with Mercy

in the French cottage reappeared in her tone and manner as she spoke those words. The changesmostly

changes for the worsewrought in her by the suffering through which she had passed since that time were

now (for the moment) effaced. All that was left of the better and simpler side of her character asserted itself

in her brief appeal to Julian. She had hitherto repelled him. He began to feel a certain compassionate interest

"The consul has informed me of what you said to him," he answered, kindly. "But, if you will take my

"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 weatherI was wet to the

skin. The clothes marked 'Mercy Merrick' were the clothes lent to me by Mercy Merrick herself while my

own things were drying. I was struck by the shell in those clothes. I was carried away insensible in those

Lady Janet listened to perfectionand did no more. She turned confidentially to Horace, and said to him, in

Grace looked from one of them to the other. A faint flush o f color showed itself in her face for the first time.

"Am I to understand," she asked, with proud composure, "that you don't believe me?"

Lady Janet maintained her policy of silence. She waved one hand courteously toward Julian, as if to say,

"Address your inquiries to the gentleman who introduces you." Julian, noticing the gesture, and observing the

"Lady Janet asked you a question just now," he said; "Lady Janet inquired who your father was."

Lady Janet made another confidential remark to Horace. "Her assurance amazes me!" she exclaimed.

Julian interposed before his aunt could add a word more. "Pray let us hear her," he said, in a tone of entreaty

which had something of the imperative in it this time. He turned to Grace. "Have you any proof to produce,"

he added, in his gentler voice, "which will satisfy us that you are Colonel Roseberry's daughter?"

Grace looked at him indignantly. "Proof!" she repeated. "Is my word not enough?"

Julian kept his temper perfectly. "Pardon me," he rejoined, "you forget that you and Lady Janet meet now for

the first time. Try to put yourself in my aunt's place. How is she to know that you are the late Colonel

Grace's head sunk on her breast; she dropped into the nearest chair. The expression of her face changed

instantly from anger to discouragement. "Ah," she exclaimed, bitterly, "if I only had the letters that have been

"Yes." She turned suddenly to Lady Janet. "Let me tell you how I lost them," she said, in the first tones of

Lady Janet hesitated. It was not in her generous nature to resist the appeal that had just been made to her. The

sympathies of Horace were far less easily reached. He lightly launched a new shaft of satireintended for

the private amusement of Lady Janet. "Another explanation!" he exclaimed, with a look of comic resignation.

Julian overheard the words. His large lustrous eyes fixed themselves on Horace with a look of unmeasured

"The least you can do," he said, sternly, "is not to irritate her. It is so easy to irritate her!" He addressed

himself again to Grace, endeavoring to help her through her difficulty in a new way. "Never mind explaining

yourself for the moment," he said. "In the absence of your letters, have you any one in London who can speak

It was impossible for Lady Janetwho had never in her life heard of anybody without friends in

Londonto pass this over without notice. "No friends in London!" she repeated, turning to Horace.

Grace saw them comparing notes. "My friends are in Canada," she broke out, impetuously. "Plenty of friends

As a place of referencementioned in the capital city of EnglandCanada, there is no denying it, is open to

objection on the ground of distance. Horace was ready with another shot. "Far enough off, certainly," he said.

Once more Julian's inexhaustible kindness strove to obtain a hearing for the stranger who had been confided

to his care. "A little patience, Lady Janet," he pleaded. "A little consideration, Horace, for a friendless

"Thank you, sir," said Grace. "It is very kind of you to try and help me, but it is useless. They won't even

listen to me." She attempted to rise from her chair as she pronounced the last words. Julian gently laid his

"I will listen to you," he said. "You referred me just now to the consul's letter. The consul tells me you

"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 womanshe had been in a

Julian stopped her there with one plain question, which threw a doubt on the whole story.

"The consul tells me you asked him to search for Mercy Merrick," he said. "Is it not true that he caused

"The consul took no pains to find her," Grace answered, angrily. "He was, like everybody else, in a

Lady Janet and Horace exchanged looks. This time it was impossible for Julian to blame them. The further

the stranger's narrative advanced, the less worthy of serious attention he felt it to be. The longer she spoke,

the more disadvantageously she challenged comparison with the absent woman, whose name she so

"Granting all that you have said," Julian resumed, with a last effort of patience, "what use could Mercy

"What use?" repeated Grace, amazed at his not seeing the position as she saw it. "My clothes were marked

with my name. One of my papers was a letter from my father, introducing me to Lady Janet. A woman out of

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

Horace respectfully offered his arm. "Your ladyship is quite right," he answered. "A more monstrous story

He spoke, in the warmth of his indignation, loud enough for Grace to hear him. "What is there monstrous in

Julian checked her. He toothough he had only once seen Mercyfelt an angry sense of the insult offered

to the beautiful creature who had interested him at his first sight of her. "Silence!" he said, speaking sternly to

Grace for the first time. "You are offendingjustly offendingLady Janet. You are talking worse than

absurdlyyou are talking offensivelywhen you speak of another woman presenting herself here in your

Grace's blood was up. Stung by Julian's reproof, she turned on him a look which was almost a look of fury.

"Are you a clergyman? Are you an educated man?" she asked. "Have you never read of cases of false

personation, in newspapers and books? I blindly confided in Mercy Merrick before I found out what her

character really was. She left the cottageI know it, from the surgeon who brought me to life againfirmly

persuaded that the shell had killed me. My papers and my clothes disappeared at the same time. Is there

nothing suspicious in these circumstances? There were people at the Hospital who thought them highly

suspiciouspeople who warned me that I might find an impostor in my place." She suddenly paused. The

rustling sound of a silk dress had caught her ear. Lady Janet was leaving the room, with Horace, by way of

the conservatory. With a last desperate effort of resolution, Grace sprung forward and placed herself in front

"One word, Lady Janet, before you turn your back on me," she said, firmly. "One word, and I will be content.

Has Colonel Roseberry's letter found its way to this house or not? If it has, did a woman bring it to you?"

Lady Janet lookedas only a great lady can look, when a person of inferior rank has presumed to fail in

"You are surely not aware," she said, with icy composure, "that these questions are an insult to Me?"

The little resolute black figure (still barring the way to the co nservatory) was suddenly shaken from head to

foot. The woman's eyes traveled backward and forward between Lady Janet and Horace with the light of a

"Grace!" she exclaimed. "What Grace? That's my name. Lady Janet, you have got the letter! The woman is

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

Without waiting to be answered, she turned back again, and once more took Horace's arm.

"The woman is here!" she repeated. "Confront me with herand then send me away, if you like."

Julian advanced, and firmly took her by the arm. "You forget what is due to Lady Janet," he said, drawing her

With a desperate effort, Grace broke away from him, and stopped Lady Janet on the threshold of the

"Justice!" she cried, shaking her clinched hand with hysterical frenzy in the air. "I claim my right to meet that

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 allabsorbing agitation of the moment, the sound of the wheels (followed

by the opening of the house door) passed unnoticed by the persons in the diningroom. Horace's voice was

still raised in angry protest against the insult offered to Lady Janet; Lady Janet herself (leaving him for the

second time) was vehemently ringing the bell to summon the servants; Julian had once more taken the

infuriated woman by the arms and was trying vainly to compose herwhen the library door was opened

quietly by a young lady wearing a mantle and a bonnet. Mercy Merrick (true to the appointment which she

The first eyes that discovered her presence on the scene were the eyes of Grace Roseberry. Starting violently

in Julian's grasp, she pointed toward the library door. "Ah!" she cried, with a shriek of vindictive delight.

Mercy turned as the sound of the scream rang through the room, and metresting on her in savage

triumphthe 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 discoverywith her eyes fixed helplessly on the fierce eyes that had

JULIAN happened to be standing nearest to Mercy. He was the first at her side when she fell.

In the cry of alarm which burst from him, as he raised her for a moment in his arms, in the expression of his

eyes when he looked at her deathlike face, there escaped the plaintoo plainconfession of the interest

which he felt in her, of the admiration which she had aroused in him. Horace detected it. There was the quick

suspicion of jealousy in the movement by which he joined Julian; there was the ready resentment of jealousy

in the tone in which he pronounced the words, "Leave her to me." Julian resigned her in silence. A faint flush

appeared on his pale face as he drew back while Horace carried her to the sofa. His eyes sunk to the ground;

he seemed to be meditating selfreproachfully on the tone in which his friend had spoken to him. After

having been the first to take an active part in meeting the calamity that had happened, he was now, to all

He turned and looked round. The woman who had done the mischiefthe stranger in the poor black

garmentswas standing behind him. She pointed to the prostrate figure on the sofa, with a merciless smile.

Horace heard her. He suddenly left the sofa and joined Julian. His face, naturally ruddy, was pale with

"Take that wretch away!" he said. "Instantly! or I won't answer for what I may do."

Those words recalled Julian to himself. He looked round the room. Lady Janet and the housekeeper were

together, in attendance on the swooning woman. The startled servants were congregated in the library

doorway. One of them offered to run to the nearest doctor; another asked if he should fetch the police. Julian

silenced them by a gesture, and turned to Horace. "Compose yourself," he said. "Leave me to remove her

quietly from the house." He took Grace by the hand as he spoke. She hesitated, and tried to release herself.

Julian pointed to the group at the sofa, and to the servants looking on. "You have made an enemy of every

one in this room," he said, "and you have not a friend in London. Do you wish to make an enemy of me? Her

head drooped; she made no reply; she waited, dumbly obedient to the firmer will than her own. Julian ordered

the servants crowding together in the doorway to withdraw. He followed them into the library, leading Grace

after him by the hand. Before closing the door he paused, and looked back into the diningroom.

Horace interposed. He declined to let Julian associate himself, even in that indirect manner, with Mercy's

Julian closed the library door. He absently released Grace; he mechanically pointed to a chair. She sat down

in silent surprise, following him with her eyes as he walked slowly to and fro in the room.

For the moment his mind was far away from her, and from all that had happened since her appearance in the

house. It was impossible that a man of his fineness of perception could mistake the meaning of Horace's

conduct toward him. He was questioning his own heart, on the subject of Mercy, sternly and unreservedly as

it was his habit to do. "After only once seeing her," he thought, "has she produced such an impression on me

that Horace can discover it, before I have even suspected it myself? Can the time have come already when I

owe it to my friend to see her no more?" He stopped irritably in his walk. As a man devoted to a serious

calling in life, there was something that wounded his selfrespect in the bare suspicion that he could be guilty

He had paused exactly opposite to the chair in which Grace was seated. Weary of the silence, she seized the

"I have come here with you as you wished," she said. "Are you going to help me? Am I to count on you as

He looked at her vacantly. It cost him an effort before he could give her the attention that she had claimed.

"You have been hard on me," Grace went on. "But you showed me some kindness at first; you tried to make

them give me a fair hearing. I ask you, as a just man, do you doubt now that the woman on the sofa in the

next room is an impostor who has taken my place? Can there be any plainer confession that she is Mercy

Merrick than the confession she has made? You saw it; they saw it. She fainted at the sight of me."

Julian crossed the roomstill without answering herand rang the bell. When the servant appeared, he told

"For you and for me," Julian replied. "I am going to take you back to your lodgings."

"I refuse to go. My place is in this house. Neither Lady Janet nor you can get over the plain facts. All I asked

was to be confronted with her. And what did she do when she came into the room? She fainted at the sight of

Reiterating her one triumphant assertion, she fixed her eyes on Julian with a look which said plainly: Answer

"As far as I understand," he said, "you appear to take it for granted that no innocent woma n would have

fainted on first seeing you. I have something to tell you which will alter your opinion. On her arrival in

England this lady informed my aunt that she had met with you accidentally on the French frontier, and that

she had seen you (so far as she knew) struck dead at her side by a shell. Remember that, and recall what

happened just now. Without a word to warn her of your restoration to life, she finds herself suddenly face to

face with you, a living womanand this at a time when it is easy for any one who looks at her to see that she

is in delicate health. What is there wonderful, what is there unaccountable, in her fainting under such

There was no answer to it. Mercy's wisely candid statement of the manner in which she had first met with

Grace, and of the accident which had followed had served Mercy's purpose but too well. It was simply

impossible for persons acquainted with that statement to attach a guilty meaning to the swoon. The false

Grace Roseberry was still as far beyond the reach of suspicion as ever, and the true Grace was quick enough

to see it. She sank into the chair from which she had risen; her hands fell in hopeless despair on her lap.

"Everything is against me," she said. "The truth itself turns liar, and takes her side." She paused, and rallied

her sinking courage. "No!" she cried, resolutely, "I won't submit to have my name and my place taken from

me by a vile adventuress! Say what you like, I insist on exposing her; I won't leave the house!"

Grace turned to Julian with a defiant wave of her hand. "Don't let me detain you," she said. "I see I have

"I believe not, sir. It is said in the servants' hall that the doctor is not wanted."

Julian was too anxious to be satisfied with a report from the servants' hall. He hastily wrote on a slip of paper:

"Has she recovered?" and gave the note to the man, with directions to take it to Lady Janet.

"Did you hear what I said?" Grace inquired, while the messenger was absent in the dining room.

The servant appeared again as he spoke, with some lines in pencil written by Lady Janet on the back of

Julian's note. "Thank God, we have revived her. In a few minutes we hope to be able to take her to her room."

The nearest way to Mercy's room was through the library. Grace's immediate removal had now become a

necessity which was not to be trifled with. Julian addressed himself to meeting the difficulty the instant he

"Listen to me," he said. "The cab is waiting, and I have my last words to say to you. You are now (thanks to

the consul's recommendation) in my care. Decide at once whether you will remain under my charge, or

"If you wish to remain under my charge," Julian proceeded, "you will accompany me at once to the cab. In

that case I will undertake to give you an opportunity of telling your story to my own lawyer. He will be a

fitter person to advise you than I am. Nothing will induce we to believe that the lady whom you have accused

has committed, or is capable of committing, such a fraud as you charge her with. You will hear what the

lawyer thinks, if you come with me. If you refuse, I shall have no choice but to send into the next room, and

tell them that you are still here. The result will be that you will find yourself in charge of the police. Take

which course you like: I will give you a minute to decide in. And remember thisif I appear to express

myself harshly, it is your conduct which forces me to speak out. I mean kindly toward you; I am advising you

Grace stole one furtive glance at his steady, resolute face. She was perfectly unmoved by the manly

consideration for her which Julian's last words had expressed. All she understood was that he was not a man

to be trifled with. Future opportunities would offer themselves of returning secretly to the house. She

"I am ready to go," she said, rising with dogged submission. "Your turn now," she muttered to herself, as she

Julian advanced toward her, as if to offer her his arm, and checked himself. Firmly persuaded as he was that

her mind was derangedreadily as he admitted that she claimed, in virtue of her affliction, every indulgence

that he could extend to herthere was something repellent to him at that moment in the bare idea of

touching her. The image of the beautiful creature who was the object of her monstrous accusationthe

image of Mercy as she lay helpless for a moment in his armswas vivid in his mind while he opened the

door that led into the hall, and drew back to let Grace pass out before him. He left the servant to help her into

the cab. The man respectfully addressed him as he took his seat opposite to Grace.

"I am ordered to say that your room is ready, sir, and that her ladyship expects you to dinner."

Absorbed in the events which had followed his aunt's invitation, Julian had forgotten his engagement to stay

at Mablethorpe House. Could he return, knowing his own heart as he now knew it? Could he honorably

remain, perhaps for weeks together, in Mercy's society, conscious as he now was of the impression which she

had produced on him? No. The one honorable course that he could take was to find an excuse for

withdrawing from his engagement. "Beg her ladyship not to wait dinner for me," he said. "I will write and

make my apologies." The cab drove off. The wondering servant waited on the doorstep, looking after it. "I

wouldn't stand in Mr. Julian's shoes for something," he thought, with his mind running on the difficulties of

the young clergyman's position. "There she is along with him in the cab. What is he going to do with her after

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

Mercy's mind remained in a condition of unreasoning alarm, which it was impossible to remove. Over and

over again she was told that the woman who had terrified her had left the house, and would never be

permitted to enter it more; over and over again she was assured that the stranger's frantic assertions were

regarded by everybody about her as unworthy of a moment's serious attention. She persisted in doubting

whether they were telling her the truth. A shocking distrust of her friends seemed to possess her. She shrunk

when Lady Janet approached the bedside. She shuddered when Lady Janet kissed her. She flatly refused to let

Horace see her. She asked the strangest questions about Julian Gray, and shook her head suspiciously when

they told her that he was absent from the house. At intervals she hid her face in the bedclothes and murmured

to herself piteously, "Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?" At other times her one petition was to be left

The evening advanced, and brought with it no change for the better. Lady Janet, by the advice of Horace, sent

The doctor shook his head. The symptoms, he said, indicated a serious shock to the nervous system. He wrote

a sedative prescription; and he gave (with a happy choice of language) some sound and safe advice. It

amounted briefly to this: "Take her away, and try the seaside." Lady Janet's customary energy acted on the

advice, without a moment's needless delay. She gave the necessary directions for packing the trunks

overnight, and decided on leaving Mablethorpe Hous e with Mercy the next morning.

Shortly after the doctor had taken his departure a letter from Julian, addressed to Lady Janet, was delivered

Beginning with the necessary apologies for the writer's absence, the letter proceeded in these terms:

"Before I permitted my companion to see the lawyer, I felt the necessity of consulting him as to my present

"I told himwhat I think it only right to repeat to youthat I do not feel justified in acting on my own

opinion that her mind is deranged. In the case of this friendless woman I want medical authority, and, more

even than that, I want some positive proof, to satisfy my conscience as well as to confirm my view.

"Finding me obstinate on this point, the lawyer undertook to consult a physician accustomed to the treatment

"After sending a message and receiving the answer, he said, 'Bring the lady herein half an hour; she shall

tell her story to the doctor instead of telling it to me.' The proposal rather staggered me; I asked how it was

possible to induce her to do that. He laughed, and answered, 'I shall present the doctor as my senior partner;

my senior partner will be the very man to advise her.' You know that I hate all deception, even where the end

in view appears to justify it. On this occasion, however, there was no other alternative than to let the lawyer

take his own course, or to run the risk of a delay which might be followed by serious results.

"I waited in a room by myself (feeling very uneasy, I own) until the doctor joined me, after the interview was

"After careful examination of the unfortunate creature, he thinks that there are unmistakably symptoms of

mental aberration. But how far the mischief has gone, and whether her case is, or is not, sufficiently grave to

render actual restraint necessary, he cannot positively say, in our present state of ignorance as to facts.

"'Thus far,' he observed, 'we know nothing of that part of her delusion which relates to Mercy Merrick. The

solution of the difficulty, in this case, is to be found there. I entirely agree with the lady that the inquiries of

the consul at Mannheim are far from being conclusive. Furnish me with satisfactory evidence either that there

is, or is not, such a person really in existence as Mercy Merrick, and I will give you a positive opinion on the

"Those words have decided me on starting for the Continent and renewing the search for Mercy Merrick.

"My friend the lawyer wonders jocosely whether I am in my right senses. His advice is that I should apply to

the nearest magistrate, and relieve you and myself of all further trouble in that way.

"Perhaps you agree with him? My dear aunt (as you have often said), I do nothing like other people. I am

interested in this case. I cannot abandon a forlorn woman who has been confided to me to the tender mercies

of strangers, so long as there is any hope of my making discoveries which may be instrumental in restoring

"I start by the mailtrain of tonight. My plan is to go first to Mannheim and consult with the consul and the

hospital doctors; then to find my way to the German surgeon and to question him; and, that done, to make the

last and hardest effort of allthe effort to trace the French ambulance and to penetrate the mystery of Mercy

"Immediately on my return I will wait on you, and tell you what I have accomplished, or how I have failed.

"In the meanwhile, pray be under no alarm about the reappearance of this unhappy woman at your house. She

is fully occupied in writing (at my suggestion) to her friends in Canada; and she is under the care of the

landlady at her lodgingsan experienced and trustworthy person, who has satisfied the doctor as well as

"Pray mention this to Miss Roseberry (whenever you think it desirable), with the respectful expression of my

sympathy, and of my best wishes for her speedy restoration to health. And once more forgive me for failing,

Lady Janet closed Julian's letter, feeling far from satisfied with it. She sat for a while, pondering over what

"One of two things," thought the quickwitted old lady. "Either the lawyer is right, and Julian is a fit

companion for the madwoman whom he has taken under his charge, or he has some second motive for this

absurd journey of his which he has carefully abstained from mentioning in his letter. What can the motive

At intervals during the night that question recurred to her ladyship again and again. The utmost exercise of

her ingenuity failing to answer it, her one resource left was to wait patiently for Julian's return, and, in her

The next morning Lady Janet and her adopted daughter left Mablethorpe House for Brighton; Horace (who

had begged to be allowed to accompany them) being sentenced to remain in London by Mercy's express

A WEEK has passed. The scene opens again in the diningroom at Mablethorpe House.

The hospitable table bears once more its burden of good things for lunch. But on this occasion Lady Janet sits

alone. Her attention is divided between reading her newspaper and feeding her cat. The cat is a sleek and

splendid creature. He carries an erect tail. He rolls luxuriously on the soft carpet. He approaches his mistress

in a series of coquettish curves. He smells with dainty hesitation at the choicest morsels that can be offered to

him. The musical monotony of his purring falls soothingly on her ladyship's ear. She stops in the middle of a

leading article and looks with a careworn face at the happy cat. "Upon my honor," cries Lady Janet, thinking,

in her inveterately ironical manner, of the cares that trouble her, "all things considered, Tom, I wish I was

The cat startsnot at his mistress's complimentary apostrophe, but at a knock at the door, which follows

close upon it. Lady Janet says, carelessly enough, "Come in;" looks round listlessly to see who it is; and

She has noticed already that Julian is paler than usual, and that there is something in his manner at once

uneasy and subduedhighly uncharacteristic of him at other times. He takes a seat by her side, and kisses

her hand. Butfor the first time in his aunt's experience of himhe refuses the good things on the luncheon

table, and he has nothing to say to the cat! That neglected animal takes refuge on Lady Janet's lap. Lady

Janet, with her eyes fixed expectantly on her nephew (determining to "have it out of him" at the first

opportunity), waits to hear what he has to say for himself. Julian has no alternative but to break the silence,

"I got back from the Continent last night," he began. "And I come here, as I promised, to report myself on my

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 answeredand pointed next to the room above them. "And there," she added, "is

"Perhaps I am a little tired after my journey. Never mind me. Is Miss Roseberry still suffering from the

"What else should she be suffering from? I will never forgive you, Julian, for bringing that crazy impostor

"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

"None whatever. If anything, the change of air has made her worse. Sometimes she sits for hours together, as

pale as death, without looking at anything, and without uttering a word. Sometimes she brightens up, and

seems as if she was eager to say something; and then Heaven only knows why, checks herself suddenly as if

she was afraid to speak. I could support that. But what cuts me to the heart, Julian, is, that she does not appear

to trust me and to love me as she did. She seems to be doubtful of me; she seems to be frightened of me. If I

did not know that it was simply impossible that such a thing could be, I should really think she suspected me

of believing what that wretch said of her. In one word (and between ourselves), I begin to fear she will never

get over the fright which caused that faintingfit. There is serious mischief somewhere; and, try as I may to

Lady Janet's bright black eyes answered before she replied in words, with a look of supreme contempt.

"The doctor!" she repeated, disdainfully. "I brought Grace back last night in sheer despair, and I sent for the

doctor this morning. He is at the head of his profession; he is said to be making ten thousand a year; and he

knows no more about it than I do. I am quite serious. The great physician has just gone away with two

guineas in his pocket. One guinea, for advising me to keep her quiet; another guinea for telling me to trust to

time. Do you wonder how he gets on at this rate? My dear boy, they all get on in the same way. The medical

profession thrives on two incurable diseases in these modern daysa Hedisease and a Shedisease.

Shediseasenervous depression; Hediseasesuppressed 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

At that plain question Julian looked unaffectedly surprised. "I wrote to explain," he said. "Have you not

"Oh, I got your letter. It was long enough, in all conscience; and, long as it was, it didn't tell me the one thing

Lady Janet's reply pointednot too palpably at firstat that second motive for Julian's journey which she

"I want to know," she said, "why you troubled yourself to make your inquiries on the Continent in

person? You know where my old courier is to be found. You have yourself pronounced him to be the most

intelligent and trustworthy of men. Answer me honestlycould you not have sent him in your place?"

"You might have sent the courierand you were under an engagement to stay here as my guest. Answer me

Julian hesitated. Lady Janet paused for his reply, with the air of a women who was prepared to wait (if

"Yes?" rejoined Lady Janet, prepared to wait (if necessary) till the next morning.

"Oh!" said Lady Janet. "Another mysteryeh? And another woman at the bottom of it, no doubt. Thank

youthat will doI am sufficiently answered. No wonder, as a clergyman, that you look a little confused.

There is, perhaps, a certain grace, under the circumstances, in looking confused. We will change the subject

Once more the famous pulpit orator seemed to find himself in the inconceivable predicament of not knowing

what to say. Once more Lady Janet looked resigned to wait (if necessary) until the middle of next week.

Julian took refuge in an answer worthy of the most commonplace man on the face of the civilized earth.

Lady Janet's manyringed fingers, mechanically stroking the cat in her lap, began to stroke him the wrong

"Mighty civil, I am sure," she said. "Make it complete. Say, Mr. Julian Gray presents his compliments to

Lady Janet Roy, and regrets that a previous engagement Julian!" exclaimed the old lady, suddenly pushing

the cat off her lap, and flinging her last pretense of good temper to the winds"Julian, I am not to be trifled

with! There is but one explanation of your conductyou are evidently avoiding my house. Is there

Julian intimated by a gesture that his aunt's last question was absurd. (The muchinjured cat elevated his

back, waved his tail slowly, walked to the fireplace, and honored the rug by taking a seat on it.)

Even Julian's patience began to show signs of yielding. His manner assumed a sudden decision, his voice rose

Julian broke out, on his side: "If I see any more of her," he answered, the rare color mounting passionately in

his cheeks, "I shall be the unhappiest man living. If I see any more of her, I shall be false to my old friend,

who is to marry her. Keep us apart. If you have any regard for my peace of mind, keep us apart."

Unutterable amazement expressed itself in his aunt's lifted hands. Ungovernable curiosity uttered itself in his

Julian sprung restlessly to his feet, and disturbed the cat at the fireplace. (The cat left the room.)

"I don't know what to tell you," he said; "I can't realize it to myself. No other woman has ever roused the

feeling in me which this woman seems to have called to life in an instant. In the hope of forgetting her I broke

my engagement here; I purposely seized the opportunity of making those inquiries abroad. Quite useless. I

think of her, morning, noon, and night. I see her and hear her, at this moment, as plainly as I see and hear

you. She has made herself a part of myself. I don't understand my life without her. My power of will seems to

be gone. I said to myself this morning, 'I will write to my aunt; I won't go back to Mablethorpe House.' Here I

am in Mablethorpe House, with a mean subterfuge to justify me to my own conscience. 'I owe it to my aunt

to call on my aunt.' That is what I said to myself on the way here; and I was secretly hoping every step of the

way that she would come into the room when I got here. I am hoping it now. And she is engaged to Horace

Holmcroftto my oldest friend, to my best friend! Am I an infernal rascal? or am I a weak fool? God

knowsI 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,

As she said those words she noticed with a certain fond pride the brilliant color mounting in his cheeksthe

flashing brightness which lent an added luster to his eyes. He had never, to her mind, looked so handsome

before. She took his arm, and led him to the chairs which they had just left. It was shocking, it was wrong

(she mentally admitted) to look on Mercy, under the circumstances, with any other eye than the eye of a

brother or a friend. In a clergyman (perhaps) doubly shocking, doubly wrong. But, with all her respect for the

vested interests of Horace, Lady Janet could not blame Julian. Worse still, she was privately conscious that he

had, somehow or other, risen, rather than fallen, in her estima tion within the last minute or two. Who could

deny that her adopted daughter was a charming creature? Who could wonder if a man of refined tastes

admired her? Upon the whole, her ladyship humanely decided that her nephew was rather to be pitied than

blamed. What daughter of Eve (no matter whether she was seventeen or seventy) could have honestly arrived

at any other conclusion? Do what a man maylet him commit anything he likes, from an error to a

crimeso long as there is a woman at the bottom of it, there is an inexhaustible fund of pardon for him in

every other woman's heart. "Sit down," said Lady Janet, smiling in spite of herself; "and don't talk in that

horrible way again. A man, Julianespecially a famous man like youought to know how to control

"Send upstairs for my selfcontrol," he said. "It's in her possessionnot in mine. Good morning, aunt."

"I insist on your staying here," she said, "if it is only for a few minutes longer. I have something to say to

"It refers to the hateful woman who frightened Miss Roseberry. Now are you satisfied?"

"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 Graceshe actually

The old lady's temper gave way again at that reply. "I hate a man who can't hate anybody!" she burst out. "If

you had been an ancient Roman, Julian, I believe you would have pitied Nero himself."

Julian cordially agreed with her. "I believe I should," he said, quietly. "All sinners, my dear aunt, are more or

"Wretched!" exclaimed Lady Janet. "Nero wretched! A man who committed robbery, arson and murder to his

own violin accompanimentonly wretched! What next, I wonder? When modern philanthropy begins to

apologize for Nero, modern philanthropy has arrived at a pretty pass indeed! We shall hear next that Bloody

Queen Mary was as playful as a kitten; and if poor dear Henry the Eighth carried anything to an extreme, it

was the practice of the domestic virtues. Ah, how I hate cant! What were we talking about just now? You

wander from the subject, Julian; you are what I call birdwitted. 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

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 untoldthe 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."

"I knew there was something forgotten," she said. "You have been all this time in the house, and you have

"I WENT first to Mannheim, Lady Janet, as I told you I should in my letter, and I heard all that the consul

and the hospital doctors could tell me. No new fact of the slightest importance turned up. I got my directions

for finding the German surgeon, and I set forth to try what I could make next of the man who performed the

operation. On the question of his patient's identity he had (as a perfect stranger to her) nothing to tell me. On

the question of her mental condition, however, he made a very important statement. He owned to me that he

had operated on another person injured by a shellwound on the head at the battle of Solferino, and that the

patient (recovering also in this case) recoveredmad. 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 doubtand, thus far, I find your account of yourself, Julian, tiresome in the extreme. Go

"Nothing. Difficulties beset me on every side. The French ambulance had shared in the disasters of

Franceit was broken up. The wounded Frenchmen were prisoners somewhere in Germany, nobody knew

where. The French surgeon had been killed in action. His assistants were scatteredmost likely in hiding. I

began to despair of making any discovery, when accident threw in my way two Prussian soldiers who had

been in the French cottage. They confirmed what the German surgeon told the consul, and what Horace

himself told menamely, that no nurse in a black dress was to be seen in the place. If there had been such a

person, she would certainly (the Prussians inform me) have been found in attendance on the injured

Frenchmen. The cross of the Geneva Convention would have been amply sufficient to protect her: no woman

wearing that badge of honor would have disgraced herself by abandoning the wounded men before the

"I can draw no other conclusion, "said Julian, "unless the English doctor's idea is the right one. After hearing

"You and the doctor seem to have settled everything to your entire satisfaction on both sides," she said. "But

"You talk glibly enough, Julian, about this woman's mad assertion that Grace is the missing nurse, and that

she is Grace. But you have not explained yet how the idea first got into her head; and, more than that, how it

is that she is acquainted with my name and address, and perfectly familiar with Grace's papers and Grace's

affairs. These things are a puzzle to a person of my average intelligence. Can your clever friend, the doctor,

"You want to know how she gained her knowledge of your name and of Miss Roseberry's affairs," Julian

resumed. "The doctor says in one of two ways. Either Miss Roseberry must have spoken of you and of her

own affairs while she and the stranger were together in the French cottage, or the stranger must have obtained

"Perfectly," she said. "I have no doubt Grace rashly talked of matters which an older and wiser person would

"Very good. Do you also agree that the last idea in the woman's mind when she was struck by the shell might

have been (quite probably) the idea of Miss Roseberry's identity and Miss Roseberry's affairs? You think it

likely enough? Well, what happens after that? The wounded woman is brought to life by an operation, and

she becomes delirious in the hospital at Mannheim. During her delirium the idea of Miss Roseberry's identity

ferments in her brain, and assumes its present perverted form. In that form it still remains. As a necessary

consequence, she persists in reversing the two identities. She says she is Miss Roseberry, and declares Miss

Roseberry to be Mercy Merrick. There is the doctor 's explanation. What do you think of it?"

"Very ingenious, I dare say. The doctor doesn't quite satisfy me, however, for all that. I think"

What Lady Janet thought was not destined to be expressed. She suddenly checked herself, and held up her

"Hold your tongue!" cried the old lady. "If you say a word more I shall lose it again."

"What I wanted to say to you ages ago. I have got it back againit begins with a question. (No more of the

doctorI have had enough of him!) Where is sheyour pitiable lady, my crazy wretchwhere is she now?

"Very well. Now answer me this! What is to prevent her from making another attempt to force her way (or

steal her way) into my house? How am I to protect Grace, how am I to protect myself, if she comes here

They were both too deeply interested in the subject of their conversation to look toward the conservatory, and

to notice the appearance at that moment of a distant gentleman among the plants and flowers, who had made

his way in from the garden outside. Advancing noiselessly on the soft Indian matting, the gentleman ere long

revealed himself under the form and features of Horace Holmcroft. Before entering the diningroom he

paused, fixing his eyes inquisitively on the back of Lady Janet's visitorthe back being all that he could see

in the position he then occupied. After a pause of an instant the visitor spoke, and further uncertainty was at

once at an end. Horace, nevertheless, made no movement to enter the room. He had his own jealous distrust

of what Julian might be tempted to say at a private interview with his aunt; and he waited a little longer on

"Neither you nor Miss Roseberry need any protection from the poor deluded creature," Julian went on. "I

have gained great influence over herand 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

(He had heard enough to satisfy him that the talk was not taking the direction which his Suspicions had

anticipated. And, as an additional incentive to show himself, a happy chance had now offered him the

"Good heavens, Horace!" exclaimed Lady Janet. "Where did you come from? And what do you mean?"

"I heard at the lodge that your ladyship and Grace had returned last night. And I came in at once without

troubling the servants, by the shortest way." He turned to Julian next. "The woman you were speaking of just

"There is no mistake," Horace rejoined. "I am repeating what I have just heard from the lodgekeeper

himself. He hesitated to mention it to Lady Janet for fear of alarming her. Only three days since this person

had the audacity to ask him for her ladyship's address at the seaside. Of course he refused to give it."

No signs of anger or mortification escaped Julian. The expression in his face at that moment was an

"Pray don't alarm yourself," he said to his aunt, in his quietest tones. "If she attempts to annoy you or Miss

"How, indeed!" echoed Horace. "If we give her in charge to the police, we shall become the subject of a

"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 today I had a private consultation

with the magistrate of the district, and I have made certain arrangements at the police station close by. On

receipt of my card, an experienced man, in plain clothes, will present himself at any address that I indicate,

and will take her quietly away. The magistrate will hear the charge in his private room, and will examine the

evidence which I can produce, showing that she is not accountable for her actions. The proper medical officer

will report officially on the case, and the law will place her under the necessary restraint."

Lady Janet and Horace looked at each other in amazement. Julian was, in their opinion, the last man on earth

to take the courseat once sensible and severewhich Julian had actually adopted. Lady Janet insisted on

"Why do I hear of this now for the first time?" she asked. "Why did you not tell me you had taken these

"Because I hoped, aunt, that there would be no necessity for proceeding to extremities. You now force me to

acknowledge that the lawyer and the doctor (both of whom I have seen this morning) think, as you do, that

she is not to be trusted. It was at their suggestion entirely that I went to the magistrate. They put it to me

whether the result of my inquiries abroadunsatisfactory as it may have been in other respectsdid not

strengthen the conclusion that the poor woman's mind is deranged. I felt compelled in common honesty to

admit that it was so. Having owned this, I was bound to take such precautions as the lawyer and the doctor

thought necessary. I have done my dutysorely 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

His voice faltered. He turned away abruptly and took up his hat. Lady Janet followed him, and spoke to him

"I am only going to the lodgekeeper. I want to give him a word of warning in case of his seeing her again."

"You will come back here?" (Lady Janet lowered her voice to a whisper.) "There is really a reason, Julian, for

"I promise not to go away, aunt, until I have provided for your security. If you, or your adopted daughter, are

alarmed by another intrusion, I give you my word of honor my card shall go to the police station, however

painfully I may feel it myself." (He, too, lowered his voice at the next words ) "In the meantime, remember

what I confessed to you while we were alone. For my sake, let me see as little of Miss Roseberry as possible.

He laid a strong emphasis, of look as well as of tone, on that one word. Lady Janet understood what the

Julian laid one hand on his aunt's arm, and pointed with the other to Horacestanding with his back to them,

"Well," said Julian, with a smile on his lip and a tear in his eye, "I never envied any man as I envy him!"

HAVING warmed his feet to his own entire satisfaction, Horace turned round from the fireplace, and

The easy tone in which he put the questiona 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 Julianto

Horace's disadvantage. He was rich; he was a gentleman of ancient lineage; he bore an unblemished

character. But who had the strong brain? who had the great heart? Which was the Man of the two?

The tone of the reply was sharp, with a dash of irony in it. But where is the modern young man, possessed of

health and an independ ent income, who is capable of understanding that irony can be presumptuous enough

to address itself to him? Horace (with perfect politeness) declined to consider himself answered.

"I mean that Miss Roseberry is in her room. I mean that I have twice tried to persuade Miss Roseberry to

dress and come downstairs, and tried in vain. I mean that what Miss Roseberry refuses to do for Me, she is

How many more meanings of her own Lady Janet might have gone on enumerating, it is not easy to calculate.

At her third sentence a sound in the library caught her ear through the incompletely closed door and

suspended the next words on her lips. Horace heard it also. It was the rustling sound (traveling nearer and

(In the interval while a coming event remains in a state of uncertainty, what is it the inevitable tendency of

every Englishman under thirty to do? His inevitable tendency is to ask somebody to bet on the event. He can

no more resist it than he can resist lifting his stick or his umbrella, in the absence of a gun, and pretending to

Her ladyship took no notice of the proposal; her attention remained fixed on the library door. The rustling

sound stopped for a moment. The door was softly pushed open. The false Grace Roseberry entered the room.

Horace advanced to meet her, opened his lips to speak, and stoppedstruck 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 movementin 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

"My dear child, welcome among us again! You have come down stairs to please me?"

She bent her head in silent acknowledgment that it was so. Lady Janet pointed to Horace: "Here is somebody

She never looked up; she stood submissive, her eyes fixed on a little basket of colored wools which hung on

Horace placed her arm in his, and led her to the sofa. She shivered as she took her seat, and looked round her.

It was the first time she had seen the diningroom since the day when she had found herself face to face with

"Why do you come here, my love?" asked Lady Janet. "The drawingroom would have been a warmer and a

"I saw a carriage at the front door. I was afraid of meeting with visitors in the drawingroom."

As she made that reply, the servant came in, and announced the visitors' names. Lady Janet sighed wearily. "I

must go and get rid of them," she said, resigning herself to circumstances. "What will you do, Grace?"

Lady Janet hesitated. She had promised to see her nephew in the diningroom on his return to the

houseand to see him alone. Would there be time enough to get rid of the visitors and to establish her

adopted daughter in the empty drawingroom before Julian appeared? It was ten minutes' walk to the lodge,

and he had to make the gatekeeper understand his instructions. Lady Janet decided that she had time enough

Horace seated himself in the vacant place on the sofa. So far as it was in his nature to devote himself to any

one he was devoted to Mercy. "I am grieved to see how you have suffered," he said, with honest distress in

She placed her workbasket on her lap. Her wasted fingers began absently sorting the wools inside.

"What does he say about it?" She looked at Horace for the first time, steadily scrutinizing his face. Horace

She looked down again, with a sigh, at the basket on her lapconsidered a littleand tried him once more.

"Why has Mr. Julian Gray not been here for a whole week?" she went on. "The servants say he has been

Her fingers, suddenly stopped at their restless work among the wools; her breath quickened perceptibly. What

had Julian Gray been doing abroad? Had he been making inquiries? Did he alone, of all the people who saw

that terrible meeting, suspect her? Yes! His was the finer intelligence; his was a clergyman's (a London

clergyman's) experience of frauds and deceptions, and of the women who were guilty of them. Not a doubt of

"When does he come back?" she asked, in tones so low that Horace could barely hear her.

A faint shade of color stole slowly over the pallor of her face. She suddenly put her basket away, and clasped

her hands together to quiet the trembling of them, before she asked her next question.

"Where is" She paused to steady her voice. "Where is the person," she resumed, "who came here and

Horace hastened to reassure her. "The person will not come again," he said. "Don't talk of her! Don't think

She shook her head. "There is something I want to know," she persisted. "How did Mr. Julian Gray become

This was easily answered. Horace mentioned the consul at Mannheim, and the letter of introduction. She

"Quite a stranger," Horace replied. "No more questionsnot 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

Her hand turned suddenly cold, and trembled in his. Her head sank with a helpless weariness on her breast.

"You are coldyou are faint, "he said. "Let me get you a glass of wine!let me mend the fire!"

The decanters were still on the luncheontable. Horace insisted on her drinking some portwine. She barely

took half the contents of the wineglass. Even that little told on her sensitive organization; it roused her

sinking energies of body and mind. After watching her anxiously, without attracting her notice, Horace left

her again to attend to the fire at the other end of the room. Her eyes followed him slowly with a hard and

tearless despair. "Rally your spirits," she repeated to herself in a whisper. "My spirits! O God!" She looked

round her at the luxury and beauty of the room, as those look who take their leave of familiar scenes. The

moment after, her eyes sank, and rested on the rich dress that she wore a gift from Lady Janet. She thought of

the past; she thought of the future. Was the time near when she would be back again in the Refuge, or back

again in the streets?she who had been Lady Janet's adopted daughter, and Horace Holmcroft's betrothed

wife! A sudden frenzy of recklessness seized on her as she thought of the coming end. Horace was right!

Why not rally her spirits? Why not make the most of her time? The l ast hours of her life in that house were at

hand. Why not enjoy her stolen position while she could? "Adventuress!" whispered the mocking spirit

within her, "be true to your character. Away with your remorse! Remorse is the luxury of an honest woman."

She caught up her basket of wools, inspired by a new idea. "Ring the bell!" she cried out to Horace at the

He looked round in wonder. The sound of her voice was so completely altered that he almost fancied there

"Ring the bell!" she repeated. "I have left my work upstairs. If you want me to be in good spirits, I must have

Still looking at her, Horace put his hand mechanically to the bell and rang. One of the menservants came in.

"Go upstairs and ask my maid for my work," she said, sharply. Even the man was taken by surprise: it was

her habit to speak to the servants with a gentleness and consideration which had long since won all their

hearts. "Do you hear me?" she asked, impatiently. The servant bowed, and went out on his errand. She turned

"What a comfort it is," she said, "to belong to the upper classes! A poor woman has no maid to dress her, and

no footman to send upstairs. Is life worth having, Horace, on less than five thousand a year?"

The servant returned with a strip of embroidery. She took it with an insolent grace, and told him to bring her a

footstool. The man obeyed. She tossed the embroidery away from her on the sofa. "On second thoughts, I

don't care about my work," she said. "Take it upstairs again." The perfectly trained servant, marveling

privately, obeyed once more. Horace, in silent astonishment, advanced to the sofa to observe her more nearly.

"How grave you look!" she exclaimed, with an air of flippant unconcern. "You don't approve of my sitting

idle, perhaps? Anything to please you! I haven't got to go up and downstairs. Ring the bell again."

"My dear Grace," Horace remonstrated, gravely, "you are quite mistaken. I never even thought of your

"Never mind; it's inconsistent to send for my work, and then send it away again. Ring the bell."

"How should I know?" she retorted, carelessly. "Didn't you tell me to rally my spirits? Will you ring the bell,

Horace submitted. He frowned as he walked back to the bell. He was one of the many people who

instinctively resent anything that is new to them. This strange outbreak was quite new to him. For the first

time in his life he felt sympathy for a servant, when the muchenduring man appeared once more.

"Bring my work back; I have changed my mind." With that brief explanation she reclined luxuriously on the

soft sofacushions, swinging one of her balls of wool to and fro above her head, and looking at it lazily as

she lay back. "I have a remark to make, Horace," she went on, when the door had closed on her messenger.

"It is only people in our rank of life who get good servants. Did you notice? Nothing upsets that man's

temper. A servant in a poor family should have been impudent; a maidofallwork would have wondered

when I was going to know my own mind." The man returned with the embroidery. This time she received

him graciously; she dismissed him with her thanks. "Have you seen your mother lately, Horace?" she asked,

"She understands, I hope, that I am not well enough to call on her? She is not offended with me?"

Horace recovered his serenity. The deference to his mother implied in Mercy's questions gently flattered his

"Offended with you!" he answered, smiling." My dear Grace, she sends you her love. And, more than that,

Mercy became absorbed in her work; she stooped close over the embroideryso close that Horace could not

see her face. "Do you know what the present is?" she asked, in lowered tones, speaking absently.

She neither accepted nor refused the proposalshe went on with her work more industriously than ever.

Still she took no notice: still she never looked up. "Your mother is very kind to me," she said, abruptly. "I

was afraid, at one time, that she would think me hardly good enough to be your wife."

"Absurd!" he exclaimed. "My darling, you are connected with Lady Janet Roy. Your family is almost as good

The momentary levity of expression vanished from Horace's face. The family question was far too serious a

question to be lightly treated A becoming shadow of solemnity stole over his manner. He looked as if it was

"In OUR family," he said, "we trace backby my father, to the Saxons; by my mother, to the Normans.

Mercy dropped her embroidery, and looked Horace full in the face. She, too, attached no common importance

"If I had not been connected with Lady Janet," she began, "would you ever have thought of marrying me?"

"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 questiononly to find the point of it pressed home on him once more.

"I ask to be answered," she rejoined. "Would your mother have liked you to marry a poor girl, of no

"If you must know," he replied, "my mother would have refused to sanction such a marriage as that."

There was something defiantalmost threateningin her tone. Horace was annoyedand he showed it

"My mother would have respected the girl, without ceasing to respect herself," he said. "My mother would

There was an undertone of angry contempt in the exclamation which made Horace start. "What is the

"Nothing," she answered, and took up her embroidery again. There he sat at her side, anxiously looking at

herhis hope in the future centered in his marriage! In a week more, if she chose, she might enter that

ancient family of which he had spoken so proudly, as his wife. "Oh!" she thought, "if I didn't love him! if I

Uneasily conscious of some estrangement between them, Horace spoke again. "Surely I have not offended

She turned toward him once more. The work dropped unheeded on her lap. Her grand eyes softened into

tenderness. A smile trembled sadly on her delicate lips. She laid one hand caressingly on his shoulder. All the

beauty of her voice lent its charm to the next words that she said to him. The woman's heart hungered in its

The family name again! How strangely she persisted in coming back to that! Horace looked at her without

She took his hand, and wrung it hardas if she would wring the answer out of him in that way.

The double spell of her voice and her touch was on him. He answered, warmly, "Under any circumstances!

She put one arm round his neck, and fixed her eyes on his. "Is that true?" she asked.

She drank in those few commonplace words with a greedy delight. She forced him to repeat them in a new

She threw both arms round him, and laid her head passionately on his breast. "I love you! I love you!! I love

you!!!" Her voice rose with hysterical vehemence at each repetition of the wordsthen suddenly sank to a

low hoarse cry of rage and despair. The sense of her true position toward him revealed itself in all its horror

as the confession of her love escaped her lips. Her arms dropped from him; she flung herself back on the

sofacushions, hiding her face in her hands. "Oh, leave me!" she moaned, faintly. "Go! go!"

Horace tried to wind his arm round her, and raise her. She started to her feet, and waved him back from her

with a wild action of her hands, as if she was frightened of him. "The wedding present!" she cried, seizing the

first pretext that occurred to her. "You offered to bring me your mother's present. I am dying to see what it is.

Horace tried to compose her. He might as well have tried to compose the winds and the sea.

"Go!" she repeated, pressing one clinched hand on her bosom. "I am not well. Talking excites meI am

"Send for nobody! ring for nobody! If you love meleave me here by myself! leave me instantly!"

There was no alternative but to obey her. Unwillingly and forebodingly, Horace left the room.

She drew a deep breath of relief, and dropped into the nearest chair. If Horace had stayed a moment

longershe felt it, she knew ither head would have given way; she would have burst out before him with

the terrible truth. "Oh!" she thought, pressing her cold hands on her burning eyes, "if I could only cry, now

The room was empty: she had every reason for concluding that she was alone. And yet at that very moment

Little by little the door behind her which faced the library and led into the billiardroom was opened

noiselessly from without, by an inch at a time. As the opening was enlarged a hand in a black glove, an arm

in a black sleeve, appeared, guiding the movement of the door. An interval of a moment passed, and the worn

white face of Grace Roseberry showed itself stealthily, looking into the diningroom.

Her eyes brightened with vindictive pleasure as they discovered Mercy sitting alone at the further end of the

room. Inch by inch she opened the door more widely, took one step forward, and checked herself. A sound,

She listenedsatisfied herself that she was not mistakenand 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

Who were the men? and what would they do next? They might do one of two things: they might enter the

drawingroom, or they might withdraw again by way of the garden. Kneeling behind the door, with her ear at

ABSORBED in herself, Mercy failed to notice the opening door or to hear the murmur of voices in the

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

identitythe 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

She trembledas any human being in her place must have trembledat the bare idea of finding herself

thrown back again on the world, which had no place in it and no hope in it for her. But she could have

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

Every day Lady Janet was kinder and kinder. Every day Horace was fonder and fonder of her. How could she

confess to Lady Janet? how could she own to Horace that she had imposed upon him? "I can't do it. They are

so good to meI can't do it!" In that hopeless way it had ended during the seven days that had gone by. In

The murmur of the two voices at the further end of the conservatory ceased. The billiardroom door opened

Mercy still kept her place, unconscious of the events that were passing round her. Sinking under the hard

stress laid on it, her mind had drifted little by little into a new train of thought. For the first time she found the

courage to question the future in a new way. Supposing her confession to have been made, or supposing the

woman whom she had personated to have discovered the means of exposing the fraud, what advantage, she

Could Lady Janet transfer to the woman who was really her relative by marriage the affection which she had

given to the woman who had pretended to be her relative? No! All the right in the world would not put the

true Grace into the false Grace's vacant place. The qualities by which Mercy had won Lady Janet's love were

the qualities which were Mercy's won. Lady Janet could do rigid justicebut hers was not the heart to give

itself to a stranger (and to give itself unreservedly) a second time. Grace Roseberry would be formally

Yes! There was the false hope of making the inevitable atonement by some other means than by the

What had Grace Roseberry actually lost by the wrong done to her? She had lost the salary of Lady Janet's

"companion and reader." Say that she wanted money, Mercy had her savings from the generous allowance

made to her by Lady Janet; Mercy could offer money. Or say that she wanted employment, Mercy's interest

with Lady Janet could offer employment, could offer anything Grace might ask for, if she would only come

Invigorated by the new hope, Mercy rose excitedly, weary of inaction in the empty room. She, who but a few

minutes since had shuddered at the thought of their meeting again, was now eager to devise a means of

finding her way privately to an interview with Grace. It should be done without loss of timeon that very

day, if possible; by the next day at latest. She looked round her mechanically, pondering how to reach the end

Was it fancy? or did she really see the door first open a little, then suddenly and softly close again?

Was it fancy? or did she really hear, at the same moment, a sound behind her as of persons speaking in the

She paused; and, looking back in that direction, listened intently. The soundif she had really heard itwas

no longer audible. She advanced toward the billiardroom to set her first doubt at rest. She stretched out her

hand to open the door, when the voices (recognizable now as the voices of two men) caught her ear once

Mercy started, and faintly flushed, as the second voice answered the first. She stood irresolute close to the

After an interval the second voice made itself heard again, advancing nearer to the diningroom: "Are you

there, aunt?" it asked cautiously. There was a moment's pause. Then the voice spoke for the third time,

sounding louder and nearer. "Are you there?" it reiterated; "I have something to tell you." Mercy summoned

her resolution and answered: "Lady Janet is not here." She turned as she spoke toward the conservatory door,

They looked at one another without exchanging a word on either side. The situationfor widely different

Thereas Mercy saw himwas the man whom she dreaded, the man whose actions (as she interpreted

On the surface of it, the incidents which had marked their first meeting were now exactly repeated, with the

one difference that the impulse to withdraw this time appeared to be on the man's side and not on the

"Did you expect to find Lady Janet here?" she asked, constrainedly. He answered, on his part, more

He drew back as he made the reply. She advanced desperately, with the deliberate intention of detaining him

The attempt which he had made to withdraw, the constraint in his manner when he had answered, had

instantly confirmed her in the false conviction that he, and he alone, had guessed the truth! If she was

rightif he had secretly made discoveries abroad which placed her entirely at his mercythe attempt to

induce Grace to consent to a compromise with her would be manifestly useless. Her first and foremost

interest now was to find out how she really stood in the estimation of Julian Gray. In a terror of suspense, that

turned her cold from head to foot, she stopped him on his way out, and spoke to him with the piteous

"Lady Janet is receiving some visitors," she said. "If you will wait here, she will be back directly."

The effort of hiding her agitation from him had brought a passing color into her cheeks. Worn and wasted as

she was, the spell of her beauty was strong enough to hold him against his own will. All he had to tell Lady

Janet was that he had met one of the gardeners in the conservatory, and had cautioned him as well as the

lodgekeeper. It would have been easy to write this, and to send the note to his aunt on quitting the house.

For the sake of his own peace of mind, for the sake of his duty to Horace, he was doubly bound to make the

first polite excuse that occurred to him, and to leave her as he had found her, alone in the room. He made the

attempt, and hesitated. Despising himself for doing it, he allowed himself to look at her. Their eyes met.

"If I am not in the way," he said, confusedly, "I will wait, as you kindly propose."

She noticed his embarrassment; she saw that he was strongly restraining himself from looking at her again.

Her own eyes dropped to the ground as she made the discovery. Her speech failed her; her heart throbbed

"If I look at him again" (was the thought in her mind) "I shall fall at his feet and tell him all that I have done!"

"If I look at her again" (was the thought in his mind) "I shall fall at her feet and own that I am in love with

With downcast eyes he placed a chair for her. With downcast eyes she bowed to him and took it. A dead

silence followed. Never was any human misunderstanding more intricately complete than the

Mercy's workbasket was near her. She took it, and gained time for composing herself by pretending to

arrange the colored wools. He stood behind her chair, looking at the graceful turn of her head, looking at the

rich masses of her hair. He reviled himself as the weakest of men, as the falsest of friends, for still remaining

The silence continued. The billiardroom door opened again noiselessly. The face of the listening woman

At the same moment Mercy roused herself and spoke: "Won't you sit down?" she said, softly, still not looking

He turned to get a chairturned so quickly that he saw the billiardroom door move, as Grace Roseberry

"I don't know," she answered. "I thought I saw the door open and shut again a little while ago."

He advanced at once to look into the room. As he did so Mercy dropped one of her balls of wool. He stopped

to pick it up for herthen threw open the door and looked into the billiardroom. It was empty.

Had some person been listening, and had that person retreated in time to escape discovery? The open door of

the smokingroom showed that room also to be empty. A third door was openthe door of the side hall,

leading into the grounds. Julian closed and locked it, and returned to the diningroom.

"I can only suppose," he said to Mercy, "that the billiardroom door was not properly shut, and that the

She accepted the explanation in silence. He was, to all appearance, not quite satisfied with it himself. For a

moment or two he looked about him uneasily. Then the old fascination fastened its hold on him again. Once

more he looked at the graceful turn of her head, at the rich masses of her hair. The courage to put the critical

question to him, now that she had lured him into remaining in the room, was still a courage that failed her.

She remained as busy as ever with her worktoo busy to look at him; too busy to speak to him. The silence

became unendurable. He broke it by making a commonplace inquiry after her health. "I am well enough to be

ashamed of the anxiety I have caused and the trouble I have given," she answered. "Today I have got

downstairs for the first time. I am trying to do a little work." She looked into the basket. The various

specimens of wool in it were partly in balls and partly in loose skeins. The skeins were mixed and tangled.

"Here is sad confusion!" she exclaimed, timidly, with a faint smile. "How am I to set it right again?"

"Why not?" he asked, with a momentary return of the quaint humor which she remembered so well. "You

forget that I am a curate. Curates are privileged to make themselves useful to young ladies. Let me try."

He took a stool at her feet, and set himself to unravel one of the tangled skeins. In a minute the wool was

stretched on his hands, and the loose end was ready for Mercy to wind. There was something in the trivial

action, and in the homely attention that it implied, which in some degree quieted her fear of him. She began

to roll the wool off his hands into a ball. Thus occupied, she said the daring words which were to lead him

little by little into betraying his suspicions, if he did indeed suspect the truth.

"You were here when I fainted, were you not?" Mercy began. "You must think me a sad coward, even for a

He shook his head. "I am far from thinking that, "he replied. "No courage could have sustained the shock

which fell on you. I don't wonder that you fainted. I don't wonder that you have been ill."

She paused in rolling up the ball of wool. What did those words of unexpected sympathy mean? Was he

laying a trap for her? Urged by that serious doubt, she questioned him more boldly.

"It was no holiday. I went abroad because I thought it right to make certain inquiries" He stopped there,

Her v oice sank, her fingers trembled round the ball of wool; but she managed to go on.

The caution of that reply renewed her worst suspicions of him. In sheer despair, she spoke out plainly.

"I want to know your opinion of the person who so terribly frightened me. Do you think her"

(As she said those words the branches of a shrub in the conservatory were noiselessly parted by a hand in a

black glove. The face of Grace Roseberry appeared dimly behind the leaves. Undiscovered, she had escaped

from the billiardroom, and had stolen her way into the conservatory as the safer hidingplace of the two.

Behind the shrub she could see as well as listen. Behind the shrub she waited as patiently as ever.)

"I take a more merciful view," Julian answered. "I believe she is acting under a delusion. I don't blame her: I

"You pity her?" As Mercy repeated the words, she tore off Julian's hands the last few lengths of wool left,

and threw the imperfectly wound skein back into the basket. "Does that mean," she resumed, abruptly, "that

"I am little better than a stranger to you," she rejoined, with an effort to assume a jesting tone. "You met that

person before you met with me. It is not so very far from pitying her to believing her. How could I feel sure

"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

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 Roseberryshe had wronged Julian Gray. Could she deceive him as she had

deceived the others? Could she meanly accept that implicit trust, that devoted belief? Never had she felt the

base submissions which her own imposture condemned her to undergo with a loathing of them so

overwhelming as the loathing that she felt now. In horror of herself, she turned her head aside in silence and

shrank from meeting his eye. He noticed the movement, placing his own interpretation on it. Advancing

"You don't know how your confidence touches me," she said, without looking up. "You little think how

She checked herself abruptly. Her fine tact warned her that she was speaking too warmlythat the

expression of her gratitude might strike him as being strangely exaggerated. She handed him her workbasket

"Will you put it away for me?" she asked, in her quieter tones. "I don't feel able to work just now."

His back was turned on her for a moment, while he placed the basket on a sidetable. In that moment her

mind advanced at a bound from present to future. Accident might one day put the true Grace in possession of

the proofs that she needed, and might reveal the false Grace to him in the identity that was her own. What

would he think of her then? Could she make him tell her without betraying herself? She determined to try.

"Children are notoriously insatiable if you once answer their questions, and women are nearly as bad," she

said, when Julian returned to her. "Will your patience hold out if I go back for the third time to the person

"Suppose you believed that she was wickedly bent on deceiving others for a purpose of her ownwould you

"God forbid that I should shrink from any human creature!" he answered, earnestly. "Who among us has a

She hardly dared trust herself to believe him. "You would still pity her?" she persisted, "and still feel for

He held up his hand in warning. The tones of his voice deepened, the luster of his eyes brightened. She had

stirred in the depths of that great heart the faith in which the man livedthe steady principle which guided

"No!" he cried. "Don't say that! Say that I try to love my neighbor as myself. Who but a Pharisee can believe

that he is better than another? The best among us today may, but for the mercy of God, be the worst among

us tomorrow. The true Christian virtue is the virtue which never despairs of a fellowcreature. The true

Christian faith believes in Man as well as in God. Frail and fallen as we are, we can rise on the wings of

repentance from earth to heaven. Humanity is sacred. Humanity has its immortal destiny. Who shall dare say

to man or woman, 'There is no hope in you?' Who shall dare say the work is all vile, when that work bears on

He turned away for a moment, struggling with the emotion which she had roused in him.

Her eyes, as they followed him, lighted with a momentary enthusiasmthen sank wearily in the vain regret

which comes too late. Ah! if he could have been her friend and her adviser on the fatal day when she first

turned her steps toward Mablethorpe House! She sighed bitterly as the hopeless aspiration wrung her heart.

He heard the sigh; and, turning again, looked at her with a new interest in his face.

She was still absorbed in the bitter memories of the past: she failed to hear him.

"Don't suppose I am speaking out of mere curiosity," he went on. "And pray don't answer me unless you can

"It has just struck me that you might have felt more than a common interest in the questions which you put to

me a moment since," he answered. "Were you by any chance speaking of some unhappy womannot the

Her head sank slowly on her bosom. He had plainly no suspicion that she had been speaking of herself: his

tone and manner both answered for it that his belief in her was as strong as ever. Still those last words made

His face lighted up suddenly with enthusiasm. "Go to her," he said, "and let me go with you and help you!"

"She has deceivedbasely deceivedinnocent people who trusted her. She has wrongedcruelly

For the first time Julian seated himself at her side. The interest that was now roused in him was an interest

above reproach. He could speak to Mercy without restraint; he could look at Mercy with a pure heart.

"You judge her very harshly," he said. "Do you know how she may have been tried and tempted?"

"If the person is still living, she may atone for the wrong. The time may come when this sinner, too, may win

"Could you respect her?" Mercy asked, sadly. "Can such a mind as yours understand what she has gone t

"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

"She may have had nobody near at the time to advise her, to warn her, to save her. Is that true?"

"Tempted and friendless, selfabandoned to the evil impulse of the moment, this woman may have

committed herself headlong to the act which she now vainly repents. She may long to make atonement, and

may not know how to begin. All her energies may be crushed under the despair and horror of herself, out of

which the truest repentance grows. Is such a woman as this all wicked, all vile? I deny it! She may have a

noble nature; and she may show it nobly yet. Give her the opportunity she needs, and our poor fallen

fellowcreature may take her place again among the best of ushonored, blameless, happy, once more!"

Mercy's eyes, resting eagerly on him while he was speaking, dropped again despondingly when he had done.

"There is no such future as that," she answered, "for the woman whom I am thinking of. She has lost her

"Let us understand each other," he said. "She has committed an act of deception to the injury of another

"There is her opportunity!" cried Julian. "Her future is before her. She has not done with hope!"

With clasped hands, in breathless suspense, Mercy looked at that inspiriting face, and listened to those golden

"Let her own the truth," answered Julian, "without the base fear of discovery to drive her to it. Let her do

justice to the woman whom she has wronged, while that woman is still powerless to expose her. Let her

sacrifice everything that she has gained by the fraud to the sacred duty of atonement. If she can do thatfor

conscience' sake, and for pity's saketo her own prejudice, to her own shame, to her own lossthen her

repentance has nobly revealed the noble nature that is in her; then she is a woman to be trusted, respected,

beloved! If I saw the Pharisees and fanatics of this lower earth passing her by in contempt, I would hold out

my hand to her before them all. I would say to her in her solitude and her affliction, 'Rise, poor wounded

heart! Beautiful, purified soul, God's angels rejoice over you! Take your place among the noblest of God's

In those last sentences he unconsciously repeated the language in which he had spoken, years since, to his

congregation in the chapel of the Refuge. With tenfold power and tenfold persuasion they now found their

way again to Mercy's heart. Softly, suddenly, mysteriously, a change passed over her. Her troubled face grew

beautifully still. The shifting light of terror and suspense vanished from her grand gray eyes, and left in them

There was a moment of silence between them. They both had need of silence. Julian was the first to speak

"Have I satisfied you that her opportunity is still before her?" he asked. "Do you feel, as I feel, that she has

"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

"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

She stopped him by a gesture. He took a step back into the room, and paused, observing with surprise that she

He still lingered near the door, with his eyes fixed inquiringly on her. A man of a lower nature than his, or a

man believing in Mercy less devotedly than he believed, would now have felt his first suspicion of her. Julian

was as far as ever from suspecting her, even yet. "Do you wish to be alone?" he asked, considerately. "Shall I

She looked up with a start of terror. "Leave me?" she repeated, and suddenly checked herself on the point of

saying more. Nearly half the length of the room divided them from each other. The words which she was

longing to say were words that would never pass her lips unless she could see some encouragement in his

face. "No!" she cried out to him, on a sudden, in her sore need, "don't leave me! Come back to me!"

He obeyed her in silence. In silence, on her side, she pointed to the chair near her. He took it. She looked at

him, and checked herself again; resolute to make her terrible confession, yet still hesitating how to begin. Her

woman's instinct whispered to her, "Find courage in his touch!" She said to him, simply and artlessly said to

him, "Give me encouragement. Give me strength. Let me take your hand." He neither answered nor moved.

His mind seemed to have become suddenly preoccupied; his eyes rested on her vacantly. He was on the brink

of discovering her secret; in another instant he would have found his way to the truth. In that instant,

innocently as his sister might have taken it, she took his hand. The soft clasp of her fingers, clinging round

his, roused his senses, fired his passion for her, swept out of his mind the pure aspirations which had filled it

but the moment before, paralyzed his perception when it was just penetrating the mystery of her disturbed

manner and her strange words. All the man in him trembled under the rapture of her touch. But the thought of

Horace was still present to him: his hand lay passive in hers; his eyes looked uneasily away from her.

She innocently strengthened her clasp of his hand. She innocently said to him, "Don't look away from me.

His hand returned the pressure of hers. He tasted to the full the delicious joy of looking at her. She had

broken down his last reserves of selfcontrol. The thought of Horace, the sense of honor, became obscured in

him. In a moment more he might have said the words which he would have deplored for the rest of his life, if

she had not stopped him by speaking first. "I have more to say to you," she resumed abruptly, feeling the

animating resolution to lay her heart bare before him at last; "more, far more, than I have said yet. Generous,

She attempted to throw herself on her knees at his feet. He sprung from his seat and checked her, holding her

with both his hands, raising her as he rose himself. In the words which had just escaped her, in the startling

action which had accompanied them, the truth burst on him. The guilty woman she had spoken of was

While she was almost in his arms, while her bosom was just touching his, before a word more had passed his

GRACE ROSEBERRY, still listening in the conservatory, saw the door open, and recognized the mistress of

the house. She softly drew back, and placed herself in safer hiding, beyond the range of view from the

Lady Janet advanced no further than the threshold. She stood there and looked at her nephew and her adopted

Mercy dropped into the chair at her side. Julian kept his place by her. His mind was still stunned by the

discovery that had burst on it; his eyes still rested on her in mute terror of inquiry. He was as completely

absorbed in the one act of looking at her as if they had been still alone together in the room.

Lady Janet was the first of the three who spoke. She addressed herself to her nephew.

"You were right, Mr. Julian Gray," she said, with her bitterest emphasis of tone and manner. "You ought to

have found nobody in this room on your return but me. I detain you no longer. You are free to leave my

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

"You apparently forget, Lady Janet, that you are not speaking to one of your footmen," he said. "There are

serious reasons (of which you know nothing) for my remaining in your house a little longer. You may rely

He turned again to Mercy as he said those words, and surprised her timidly looking up at him. In the instant

when their eyes met, the tumult of emotions struggling in him became suddenly stilled. Sorrow for

hercompassionating sorrowrose in the new calm and filled his heart. Now, and now only, he could read

in the wasted and noble face how she had suffered. The pity which he had felt for the unnamed woman grew

to a tenfold pity for her. The faith which he professedhonestly professedin the better nature of the

unnamed woman strengthened into a tenfold faith in her. He addressed himself again to his aunt, in a gentler

tone. "This lady," he resumed, "has something to say to me in private which she has not said yet. That is my

Still under the impression of what she had seen on entering the room, Lady Janet looked at him in angry

amazement. Was Julian actually ignoring Horace Holmcroft�s claims, in the presence of Horace

Holmcroft�s betrothed wife? She appealed to her adopted daughter. "Grace!" she exclaimed, "have you

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

Lady Janet turned to her nephew once more, and addressed him in the hardest words that she had ever spoken

"If you have any sense of decency," she said "I say nothing of a sense of honoryou will leave this house,

and your acquaintance with that lady will end here. Spare me your protests and excuses; I can place but one

"You entirely misunderstand what you saw when you opened that door," Julian answered, quietly.

"Perhaps I misunderstand the confession which you made to me not an hour ago?" retorted Lady Janet.

Julian cast a look of alarm at Mercy. "Don't speak of it!" he said, in a whisper. "She might hear you."

There was no mistaking the earnestness with which he made that reply. It proved his innocence as nothing

else could have proved it. Lady Janet drew back a steputterly bewildered; completely at a loss what to say

The silence that followed was broken by a knock at the library door. The manservantwith news, and bad

news, legibly written in his disturbed face and mannerentered the room. In the nervous irritability of the

moment, Lady Janet resented the servant's appearance as a positive offense on the part of the harmless man.

"I beg your ladyship's pardon. I wished to take the libertyI wanted to speak to Mr. Julian Gray."

The man looked uneasily at Lady Janet, hesitated, and glanced at the door, as if he wished himself well out of

"I know what has happened," she said; "that abominable woman has found her way here again. Am I right?"

This looked serious. The lodgekeeper's wife had been present while Julian had given his instructions to her

husband. She was not likely to have mistaken the identity of the person whom she had discovered.

"No, sir: she didn't get the chance, as I understand it. She is a stout woman, if you remember. The other was

too quick for her discovered her, sir, and (as the saying is) gave her the slip."

The servant pointed in the direction of the side hall. "In that part, sir. Either in the Dutch garden or the

It was plain, by this time, that the man's information was too imperfect to be practically of any use. Julian

"No, sir. Her husband has gone out to search the grounds in her place, and she is minding the gate. They sent

their boy with the message. From what I can make out from the lad, they would be thankful if they could get

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 billiardroom; that she had found time enough to

escape him on his approaching to open the door; and that she was now (in the servant's phrase) "somewhere

The matter was serious. Any mistake in dealing with it might lead to very painful results.

If Julian had correctly anticipated the nature of the confession which Mercy had been on the point of

addressing to him, the person whom he had been the means of introducing into the house waswhat she had

Taking this for granted, it was of the utmost importance that he should speak to Grace privately, before she

committed herself to any rashly renewed assertion of her claims, and before she could gain access to Lady

Janet's adopted daughter. The landlady at her lodgings had already warned him that the object which she held

steadily in view was to find her way to "Miss Roseberry" when Lady Janet was not present to take her part,

and when no gentleman were at hand to protect her. "Only let me meet her face to face" (she had said), "and I

will make her confess herself the impostor that she is!" As matters now stood, it was impossible to estimate

too seriously the mischief which might ensue from such a meeting as this. Everything now depended on

Julian's skillful management of an exasperated woman; and nobody, at that moment, knew where the woman

In this position of affairs, as Julian understood it, there seemed to be no other alternative than to make his

He looked toward Mercy's chair as he arrived at this resolution. It was at a cruel sacrifice of his own anxieties

and his own wishes that he deferred continuing the conversation with her from the critical point at which

Mercy had risen while he had been questioning the servant. The attention which she had failed to accord to

what had passed between his aunt and himself she had given to the imperfect statement which he had

extracted from the man. Her face plainly showed that she had listened as eagerly as Lady Janet had listened;

with this remarkable difference between there, that Lady Janet looked frightened, and that Lady Janet's

companion showed no signs of alarm. She appeared to be interested; perhaps anxiousnothing more.

"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.

Lady Janet listened absently. There was a certain expression in her eyes which suggested to Julian that her

mind was busy with some project of its own. He stopped as he passed Mercy, on his way out by the

billiardroom door. It cost him a hard effort to control the contending emotions which the mere act of

looking at her now awakened in him. His heart beat fast, his voice sank low, as he spoke to her.

"You shall see me again," he said. "I never was more in earnest in promising you my truest help and

She understood him. Her bosom heaved painfully; her eyes fell to the groundshe made no reply. The tears

When he turned to close the billiardroom door, he heard Lady Janet say, "I will be with you again in a

Interpreting these words as meaning that his aunt had some business of her own to attend to in the library, he

shut the door. He had just advanced into the smokingroom beyond, when he thought he heard the door open

"You have just told me not to be uneasy," said the old lady. "I am uneasy, for all that. I don't feel as sure as

you do that this woman really is in the grounds. She may be lurking somewhere in the house, and she may

"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

It was impossible for Julian to mention the reasons which now forbade him to make use of his own

precautionsin the very face of the emergency which they had been especially intended to meet. How could

he declare the true Grace Roseberry to be mad? How could he give the true Grace Roseberry into custody?

On the other hand, he had personally pledged himself (when the circumstances appeared to require it) to

place the means of legal protection from insult and annoyance at his aunt's disposal. And now, there stood

Lady Janet, unaccustomed to have her wishes disregarded by anybody, with her band extended, waiting for

What was to be done? The one way out of the difficulty appeared to be to submit for the moment. If he

succeeded in discovering the missing woman, he could easily take care that she should be subjected to no

needless indignity. If she contrived to slip into the house in his absence, he could provide against that

contingency by sending a second card privately to the police station, forbidding the officer to stir in the affair

until he had received further orders. Julian made one stipulation only before he handed his card to his aunt.

"You will not use this, I am sure, without positive and pressing necessity," he said. "But I must make one

condition. Promise me to keep my plan for communicating with the police a strict secret"

"A strict secret from Grace?" interposed Lady Janet. (Julian bowed.) "Do you suppose I want to frighten her?

Do you think I have not had anxiety enough about her already? Of course I shall keep it a secret from Grace!"

Reassured on this point, Julian hastened out into the grounds. As soon as his back was turned Lady Janet

lifted the gold pencilcase which hung at her watchchain, and wrote on her nephew's card (for the

information of the officer in plain clothes), "You are wanted at Mablethorpe House." This done, she put the

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 drawingroom door still hung on her mind. Julian had certainly convinced her that

she had misinterpreted what she had seen; but he had convinced her against her will. She had found Mercy

deeply agitated; suspiciously silent. Julian might be innocent, she admittedthere was no accounting for the

vagaries of men. But the case of Mercy was altogether different. Women did not find themselves in the arms

of men without knowing what they were about. Acquitting Julian, Lady Janet declined to acquit Mercy.

"There is some secret understanding between them," thought the old lady, "and she's to blame; the women

Mercy still waited to be spoken to; pale and quiet, silent and submissive. Lady Janetin a highly uncertain

"How much longer are you going to sit there with your mouth shut up and your eyes on the carpet? Have you

no opinion to offer on this alarming state of things? You heard what the man said to JulianI saw you

"Ha! I should hardly have given you credit for so much courage after my experience of you a week ago. I

"I am not so composed as you are. We were an excitable set in my youthand I haven't got the better of it

"I am going to summon the household. When I say the household, I mean the men; the women are no use. I

"I mean to place a manservant on guard at every entrance to the house. I am going to do it at once. Will you

"You can't be of the slightest use. I give the orders in this housenot you. I had quite another motive in

asking you to come with me. I am more considerate of you than you seem to thinkI don't like leaving you

"You don't mind? I never heard of such heroism in my lifeout of a novel! Suppose that crazy wretch

"Not too fast, my young lady! SupposeGood heavens! now I think of it, there is the conservatory. Suppose

she should be hidden in there? Julian is searching the grounds. Who is to search the conservatory?"

"I can hardly believe my own ears! Well, 'Live and learn' is an old proverb. I thought I knew your character.

"You forget, Lady Janet (if I may venture to say so), that the circumstances are changed. She took me by

"Have your own way, then. I shall do one thing, however, in case of your having overestimated your own

courage. I shall place one of the men in the library. You will only have to ring for him if anything happens.

He will give the alarmand I shall act accordingly. I have my plan," said her Ladyship, comfortably

conscious of the card in her pocket. "Don't look as if you wanted to know what it is. I have no intention of

saying anything about itexcept that it will do. Once more, and for the last timedo you stay here? or do

She respectfully opened the library door for Lady Janet's departure as she made that reply. Throughout the

interview she had been carefully and coldly deferential; she had not once lifted her eyes to Lady Janet's face.

The conviction in her that a few hours more would, in all probability, see her dismissed from the house, had

of necessity fettered every word that she spokehad morally separated her already from the injured mistress

whose love she had won in disguise. Utterly incapable of attributing the change in her young companion to

the true motive, Lady Janet left the room to summon her domestic garrison, thoroughly puzzled and (as a

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 warmhearted, quicktempered old lady. A sharp pang of pain wrung her as she thought of the

time when even the chance utterance of her name would become an unpardonable offense in Lady Janet's

But there was no shrinking in her now from the ordeal of the confession. She was not only anxiousshe was

impatient for Julian's return. Before she slept that night Julian's confidence in her should be a confidence that

"Let her own the truth, without the base fear of discovery to drive her to it. Let her do justice to the woman

whom she has wronged, while that woman is still powerless to expose her. Let her sacrifice everything that

she has gained by the fraud to the sacred duty of atonement. If she can do that, then her repentance has nobly

revealed the noble nature that is in her; then she is a woman to be trusted, respected, beloved." Those words

were as vividly present to her as if she still heard them falling from his lips. Those other words which had

followed them rang as grandly as ever in her ears: "Rise, poor wounded heart! Beautiful, purified soul, God's

angels rejoice over you! Take your place among the noblest of God's creatures!" Did the woman live who

could hear Julian Gray say that, and who could hesitate, at any sacrifice, at any loss, to justify his belief in

her? "Oh!" she thought, longingly while her eyes followed Lady Janet to the end of the library, "if your worst

fears could only be realized! If I could only see Grace Roseberry in this room, how fearlessly I could meet

She closed the library door, while Lady Janet opened the other door which led into the hall.

As she turned and looked back into the diningroom a cry of astonishment escaped her.

Thereas if in answer to the aspiration which was still in her mind; there, established in triumph on the chair

that she had just leftsat Grace Roseberry, in sinister silence, waiting for her.

RECOVERING from the first overpowering sensation of surprise, Mercy rapidly advanced, eager to say her

first penitent words. Grace stopped her by a warning gesture of the hand. "No nearer to me," she said, with a

Mercy paused. Grace's reception had startled her. She instinctively took the chair nearest to her to support

herself. Grace raised a warning hand for the second time, and issued another command: "I forbid you to be

seated in my presence. You have no right to be in this house at all. Remember, if you please, who you are,

The tone in which those words were spoken was an insult in itself. Mercy suddenly lifted her head; the angry

answer was on her lips. She checked it, and submitted in silence. "I will be worthy of Julian Gray's

confidence in me," she thought, as she stood patiently by the chair. "I will bear anything from the woman

In silence the two faced each other; alone together, for the first time since they had met in the French cottage.

The contrast between them was strange to see. Grace Roseberry, seated in her chair, little and lean, with her

dull white complexion, with her hard, threatening face, with her shrunken figure clad in its plain and poor

black garments, looked like a being of a lower sphere, compared with Mercy Merrick, standing erect in her

rich silken dress; her tall, shapely figure towering over the little creature before her; her grand head bent in

graceful submission; gentle, patient, beautiful; a woman whom it was a privilege to look at and a distinction

to admire. If a stranger had been told that those two had played their parts in a romance of real lifethat one

of them was really connected by the ties of relationship with Lady Janet Roy, and that the other had

successfully attempted to personate herhe would inevitably, if it had been left to him to guess which was

Grace broke the silence. She had waited to open her lips until she had eyed her conquered victim all over,

"Stand there. I like to look at you," she said, speaking with a spiteful relish of her own cruel words. "It's no

use fainting this time. You have not got Lady Janet Roy to bring you to. There are no gentlemen here today

to pity you and pick you up. Mercy Merrick, I have got you at last. Thank God, my turn has come! You can't

All the littleness of heart and mind which had first shown itself in Grace at the meeting in the cottage, when

Mercy told the sad story of her life, now revealed itself once more. The woman who in those past times. had

felt no impulse to take a suffering and a penitent fellowcreature by the hand was the same woman who

could feel no pity, who could spare no insolence of triumph, now. Mercy's sweet voice answered her

"I have not avoided you," she said. "I would have gone to you of my own accord if I had known that you

were here. It is my heartfelt wish to own that I have sinned against you, and to make all the atonement that I

can. I am too anxious to deserve your forgiveness to have any fear of seeing you."

Conciliatory as the reply was, it was spoken with a simple and modest dignity of manner which roused Grace

"How dare you speak to me as if you were any equal?" she burst out. "You stand there and answer me as if

you had your right and your place in this house. You audacious woman! I have my right and my place

hereand what am I obliged to do? I am obliged to hang about in the grounds, and fly from the sight of the

servants, and hide like a thief, and wait like a beggar, and all for what? For the chance of having a word with

you. Yes! you, madam! with the air of the Refuge and the dirt of the streets on you!"

It was hard to bear the reiterated insults heaped on her, but Julian's influence still made itself felt. She

"If it is your pleasure to use hard words to me," she said, "I have no right to resent them."

"You have no right to anything!" Grace retorted. "You have no right to the gown on your back. Look at

yourself, and look at Me!" Her eyes traveled with a tigerish stare over Mercy's costly silk dress. "Who gave

you that dress? who gave you those jewels? I know! Lady Janet gave them to Grace Roseberry. Are

you Grace Roseberry? That dress is mine. Take off your bracelets and your brooch. They were meant for

"You may soon have the m, Miss Roseberry. They will not be in my possession many hours longer."

"However badly you may use me, it is my duty to undo the harm that I have done. I am bound to do you

"You confess!" she said. "Do you think I am fool enough to believe that? You are one shameful brazen lie

from head to foot! Are you the woman to give up your silks and your jewels, and your position in this house,

A first faint flush of color showed itself, stealing slowly over Mercy's face; but she still held resolutely by the

good influence which Julian had left behind him. She could still say to herself, "Anything rather than

disappoint Julian Gray." Sustained by the courage which he had called to life in her, she submitted to her

martyrdom as bravely as ever. But there was an ominous change in her now: she could only submit in silence;

"You won't confess," she went on. "You have had a week to confess in, and you have not done it yet. No, no!

you are of the sort that cheat and lie to the last. I am glad of it; I shall have the joy of exposing you myself

before the whole house. I shall be the blessed means of casting you back on the streets. Oh! it will be almost

worth all I have gone through to see you with a policeman's hand on your arm, and the mob pointing at you

This time the sting struck deep; the outrage was beyond endurance. Mercy gave the woman who had again

"Miss Roseberry," she said, "I have borne without a murmur the bitterest words you could say to me. Spare

me any more insults. Indeed, indeed, I am eager to restore you to your just rights. With my whole heart I say

She spoke with trembling earnestness of tone. Grace listened with a hard smile of incredulity and a hard look

"You are a perfect picture of repentanceyou are dying to own the truth," pursued the other, satirically.

"Own it before everybody, and own it at once. Call in Lady Janetcall in Mr. Gray and Mr.

Holmcroftcall in the servants. Go down on your knees and acknowledge yourself an impostor before them

With a last desperate effort, her heart beating faster and faster, the blood burning hotter and hotter in her

"Have some compassion on me!" she pleaded. "Badly as I have behaved to you, I am still a woman like

yourself. I can't face the shame of acknowledging what I have done before the whole house. Lady Janet treats

me like a daughter; Mr. Holmcroft has engaged himself to marry me. I can't tell Lady Janet and Mr.

Holmcroft to their faces that I have cheated them out of their love. But they shall know it, for all that. I can,

Grace burst out laughing. "Aha!" she exclaimed, with a cynical outburst of gayety. "Now we have come to it

"Mr. Julian Gray! I was behind the billiardroom doorI saw you coax Mr. Julian Gray to come in!

confession loses all its horrors, and becomes quite a luxury, with Mr. Julian Gray!"

"No more, Miss Roseberry! no more! For God's sake, don't put me beside myself! You have tortured me

"You haven't been on the streets for nothing. You are a woman with resources; you know the value of having

two strings to your bow. If Mr. Holmcroft fails you, you have got Mr. Julian Gray. Ah! you sicken me. I'll see

that Mr. Holmcroft's eyes are opened; he shall know what a woman he might have married but for Me"

She checked herself; the next refinement of insult remained suspended on her lips.

The woman whom she had outraged suddenly advanced on her. Her eyes, staring helplessly upward, saw

Mercy Merrick's face, white with the terrible anger which drives the blood back on the heart, bending

"'You will see that Mr. Holmcroft's eyes are opened,'" Mercy slowly repeated; "'he shall know what a woman

She paused, and followed those words by a question which struck a creeping terror through Grace Roseberry,

The suppressed fury of look and tone which accompanied that question told, as no violence could have told it,

that the limits of Mercy's endurance had been found at last. In the guardian angel's absence the evil genius

had done its evil work. The better nature which Julian Gray had brought to life sank, poisoned by the vile

venom of a womanly spiteful tongue. An easy and a terrible means of avenging the outrages heaped on her

was within Mercy's reach, if she chose to take it. In the frenzy of her indignation she never hesitatedshe

Grace roused herself and attempted to speak. Mercy stopped her with a scornful gesture of her hand.

"I remember!" she went on, with the same fiercely suppressed rage. "You are the madwoman from the

German hospital who came here a week ago. I am not afraid of you this time. Sit down and rest yourself,

Deliberately giving her that name to her face, Mercy turned from her and took the chair which Grace had

"It means," answered Mercy, contemptuously, "that I recall every word I said to you just now. It means that I

"You are not far from the bell. Ring it. Do what you asked me to do. Call in the whole household, and ask

Mercy rose again, and fixed her flashing eyes on the woman who still defied her.

"I have had enough of you!" she said. "Leave the house while you can leave it. Stay here, and I will send for

"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 meI will

keep my dresses and my jewels and my position in the house. I deny that I have done wrong. Society has used

me cruelly; I owe nothing to Society. I have a right to take any advantage of it if I can. I deny that I have

injured you. How was I to know that you would come to life again? Have I degraded your name and your

character? I have done honor to both. I have won everybody's liking and everybody's respect. Do you think

Lady Janet would have loved you as she loves me? Not she! I tell you to your face I have filled the false

position more creditably than you could have filled the true one, and I mean to keep it. I won't give up your

She poured out those reckless words in one headlong flow which defied interruption. There was no answering

her until she was too breathless to say more. Grace seized her opportunity the moment it was within her

"You defy me?" she returned, resolutely. "You won't defy me long. I have written to Canada. My friends will

"What of it, if they do? Your friends are strangers here. I am Lady Janet's adopted daughter. Do you think she

will believe your friends? She will believe me. She will burn their letters if they write. She will forbid th e

house to them if they come. I shall be Mrs. Horace Holmcroft in a week's time. Who can shake my position?

"Find her, if you can. I never told you her name. I never told you where the Refuge was."

"Advertise in every newspaper in London. Do you think I gave a stranger like you the name I really bore in

the Refuge? I gave you the name I assumed when I left England. No such person as Mercy Merrick is known

to the matron. No such person is known to Mr. Holmcroft. He saw me at the French cottage while you were

senseless on the bed. I had my gray cloak on; neither he nor any of them saw me in my nurse's dress.

Inquiries have been made about me on the Continentand (I happen to know from the person who made

them) with no result. I am safe in your place; I am known by your name. I am Grace Roseberry; and you are

Summing up the unassailable security of her false position in those closing words, Mercy pointed

"You were hiding there, by your own confession," she said. "You know your way out by that door. Will you

At the same moment the billiardroom door opened. Julian Gray appearedreturning from his unsuccessful

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

The disturbed faces of both the women told him but too plainly that the disaster which he had dreaded had

actually happened. They had met without any third person to interfere between them. To what extremities the

hostile interview might have led it was impossible for him to guess. In his aunt's presence he could only wait

his opportunity of speaking to Mercy, and be ready to interpose if anything was ignorantly done which might

Lady Janet's course of action on entering the diningroom was in perfect harmony with Lady Janet's

Instantly discovering the intruder, she looked sharply at Mercy. "What did I tell you?" she asked. "Are you

frightened? No! not in the least frightened! Wonderful!" She turned to the servant. "Wait in the library; I may

want you again." She looked at Julian. "Leave it all to me; I can manage it." She made a sign to Horace. "Stay

where you are, and hold your tongue." Having now said all that was necessary to every one else, she

advanced to the part of the room in which Grace was standing, with lowering brows and firmly shut lips,

"I have no desire to offend you, or to act harshly toward you," her ladyship began, very quietly. "I only

suggest that your visits to my house cannot possibly lead to any satisfactory result. I hope you will not oblige

me to say any harder words than theseI hope you will understand that I wish you to withdraw."

The order of dismissal could hardly have been issued with more humane consideration for the supposed

mental infirmity of the person to whom it was addressed. Grace instantly resisted it in the plainest possible

"In justice to my father's memory and in justice to myself," she answered, "I insist on a hearing. I refuse to

withdraw." She deliberately took a chair and seated herself in the presence of the mistress of the house.

Lady Janet waited a momentsteadily controlling her temper. In the interval of silence Julian seized the

"Is this what you promised me?" he asked, gently. "You gave me your word that you would not return to

Before he could say more Lady Janet had got her temper under command. She began her answer to Grace by

"If you have not made up your mind to take my advice by the time I have walked back to that door," she said,

"I will put it out of your power to set me at defiance. I am used to be obeyed, and I will be obeyed. You force

She returned slowly toward the library. Julian attempted to interfere with another word of remonstrance. His

aunt stopped him by a gesture which said, plainly, "I insist on acting for myself." He looked next at Mercy.

Would she remain passive? Yes. She never lifted her head; she never moved from the place in which she was

standing apart from the rest. Horace himself tried to attract her attention, and tried in vain.

Arrived at the library door, Lady Janet looked over her shoulder at the little immovable black figure in the

"I won't be turned out of your ladyship's house in the presence of that impostor," she said. "I may yield to

force, but I will yield to nothing else. I insist on my right to the place that she has stolen from me. It's no use

scolding me," she added, turning doggedly to Julian. "As long as that woman is here under my name I can't

and won't keep away from the house. I warn her, in your presence, that I have written to my friends in

Canada! I dare her before you all to deny that she is the outcast and adventuress, Mercy Merrick!"

The challenge forced Mercy to take part in the proceedings in her own defense. She had pledged herself to

meet and defy Grace Roseberry on her own ground. She attempted to speakHorace stopped her.

"You degrade yourself if you answer her," he said. "Take my arm, and let us leave the room."

"Yes! Take her out!" cried Grace. "She may well be ashamed to face an honest woman. It's her place to leave

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

"Nobody's endurance will be tried much longer," said Lady Janet. She glanced at Julian, and taking from her

"Go to the police station," she said to the servant in an undertone, "and give that card to the inspector on duty.

"Stop?" repeated Lady Janet, sharply. "I have given the man his orders. What do you mean?"

"Before you send the card I wish to say a word in private to this lady," replied Julian, indicating Grace.

"When that is done," he continued, approaching Mercy, and pointedly addressing himself to her, "I shall have

a request to makeI shall ask you to give me an opportunity of speaking to you without interruption."

His tone pointed the allusion. Mercy shrank from looking at him. The signs of painful agitation began to

show themselves in her shifting color and her uneasy silence. Roused by Julian's significantly distant

reference to what had passed between them, her better impulses were struggling already to recover their

influence over her. She might, at that critical moment, have yielded to the promptings of her own nobler

natureshe might have risen superior to the galling remembrance of the insults that had been heaped upon

herif Grace's malice had not seen in her hesitation a means of referring offensively once again to her

"Pray don't think twice about trusting him alone with me," she said, with a sardonic affectation of politeness.

The jealous distrust in Horace (already awakened by Julian's request) now attempted to assert itself openl y.

"I am much obliged to you, Mr. Gray," she said, addressing Julian (but still not raising her eyes to his). "I

In those rash words she recalled the confession to which she stood pledged. In those rash words she

committed herself to keeping the position that she had usurped, in the face of the woman whom she had

Horace was silenced, but not satisfied. He saw Julian's eyes fixed in sad and searching attention on Mercy's

face while she was speaking. He heard Julian sigh to himself when she had done. He observed Julianafter a

moment's serious consideration, and a moment's glance backward at the stranger in the poor black

"Bring me that card directly," he said to the servant. His tone announced that he was not to be trifled with.

Without answering Lady Janetwho still peremptorily insisted on her right to act for herselfJulian took

the pencil from his pocketbook and added his signature to the writing already inscribed on the card. When he

"Pardon me for venturing to interfere," he said "There is a serious reason for what I have done, which I will

explain to you at a fitter time. In the meanwhile I offer no further obstruction to the course which you propose

taking. On the contrary, I have just assisted you in gaining the end that you have in view."

Lady Janet, naturally perplexed, and (with some reason, perhaps) offended as well, made no answer. She

There was silence in the room. The eyes of all the persons present turned more or less anxiously on Julian.

Mercy was vaguely surprised and alarmed. Horace, like Lady Janet, felt offended, without clearly knowing

why. Even Grace Roseberry herself was subdued by her own presentiment of some coming interference for

which she was completely unprepared. Julian's words and actions, from the moment when he had written on

the card, were involved in a mystery to which not one of the persons round him held the clew.

The motive which had animated his conduct may, nevertheless, be described in two words: Julian still held to

He had inferred, with little difficulty, from the language which Grace had used toward Mercy in his presence,

that the injured woman must have taken pitiless advantage of her position at the interview which he had

interrupted. Instead of appealing to Mercy's sympathies and Mercy's sense of rightinstead of accepting the

expression of her sincere contrition, and encouraging her to make the completest and the speediest

atonementGrace had evidently outraged and insulted her. As a necessary result, her endurance had given

The remedy for the mischief thus done was, as Julian had first seen it, to speak privately with Grace, to

soothe her by owning that his opinion of the justice of her claims had undergone a change in her favor, and

then to persuade her, in her own interests, to let him carry to Mercy such expressions of apology and regret as

With those motives, he had made his request to be permitted to speak separately to the one and the other. The

scene that had followed, the new insult offered by Grace, and the answer which it had wrung from Mercy,

had convinced him that no such interference as he had contemplated would have the slightest prospect of

The only remedy now left to try was the desperate remedy of letting things take their course, and trusting

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 of

confessing the truthand what would happen? If Julian's confidence in her was a confidence soundly placed,

she would nobly pardon the outrages that had been heaped upon her, and she would do justice to the woman

If, on the other hand, his belief in her was nothing better than the blind belief of an infatuated manif she

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 himselfknowing that Mercy had made no confession to him to which it was possible to appealhe had

signed his name without an instant's hesitation: and there he stood now, looking at the woman whose better

Horace's jealousy saw something suspiciously suggestive of a private understanding in Julian's earnest

attention and in Mercy's downcast face. Having no excuse for open interference, he made an effort to part

"You spoke just now," he said to Julian, "of wishing to say a word in private to that person." (He pointed to

"I refuse to have anything to say to him," Grace burst out, before Julian could answer. "I happen to know that

he is the last person to do me justice. He has been effectually hoodwinked. If I speak to anybody privately, it

ought to be to you. You have the greatest interest of any of them in finding out the truth."

Horace took one step forward toward her. There was a look in his face which plainly betrayed that he was

capable of turning her out of the house with his own hands. Lady Janet stopped him.

"You were right in suggesting just now that Grace had better leave the room," she said. "Let us all three go.

No. By a strange contradiction it was Horace himself who now interfered to prevent Mercy from leaving the

room. In the heat of his indignation he lost all sense of his own dignity; he descended to the level of a woman

whose intellect he believed to be deranged. To the surprise of every one present, he stepped back and took

from the table a jewelcase 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 selfesteem seized the

"Wait!" he called out, sternly. "That wretch shall have her answer. She has sense enough to see and sense

He opened the jewelcase, 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,

Julian watched her in breathless suspense. Would she sustain the ordeal through which Horace had innocently

Yes! In the insolent presence of Grace Roseberry, what was there now that she could not sustain? Her pride

was in arms. Her lovely eyes lighted up as only a woman's eyes can light up when they see jewelry. Her

grand head bent gracefully to receive the necklace. Her face w armed into color; her beauty rallied its charms.

Her triumph over Grace Roseberry was complete! Julian's head sank. For one sad moment he secretly asked

"Your husband puts these pearls on your neck, love," he said, proudly, and paused to look at her. "Now," he

added, with a contemptuous backward glance at Grace, "we may go into the library. She has seen, and she

He believed that he had silenced her. He had simply furnished her sharp tongue with a new sting.

"You will hear, and you will see, when my proofs come from Canada," she retorted. "You will hear that your

wife has stolen my name and my character! You will see your wife dismissed from this house!"

Lady Janet caught the electric infection of anger in the air of the room. She, too, turned on Grace. She, too,

Horace followed Lady Janet. He was beside himself. He fixed his pitiless eyes on Grace, and echoed the

She was silenced, she was daunted at last. The treble accusation revealed to her, for the first time, the

frightful suspicion to which she had exposed herself. She shrank back with a low cry of horror, and struck

against a chair. She would have fallen if Julian had not sprung forward and caught her.

Lady Janet led the way into the library. She opened the door startedand suddenly stepped aside, so as to

He was not a gentleman; he was not a workman; he was not a servant. He was vilely dressed, in glossy black

broadcloth. His frockcoat hung on him instead of fitting him. His waistcoat was too short and too tight over

the chest. His trousers were a pair of shapeless black bags. His gloves were too large for him. His

highlypolished boots creaked detestably whenever he moved. He had odiously watchful eyeseyes 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 selfpossessed when he was silent. A lurking air of secret service enveloped the fellow, like an

atmosphere of his own, from head to foot. He looked all round the magnificent room without betraying either

surprise or admiration. He closely investigated every person in it with one glance of his cunningly watchful

eyes. Making his bow to Lady Janet, he silently showed her, as his introduction, the card that had summoned

him. And then he stood at ease, selfrevealed in his own sinister identitya police officer in plain clothes.

Nobody spoke to him. Everybody shrank inwardly as if a reptile had crawled into the room.

He looked backward and forward, perfectly unembarrassed, between Julian and Horace.

Julian led Grace to a seat. Her eyes were fixed on the man. She trembledshe whispered, "Who is he?"

"Wait there," he said, pointing to a chair in the most distant corner of the room. "I will speak to you directly."

The man advanced to the chair, marching to the discord of his creaking boots. He privately valued the carpet

at so much a yard as he walked over it. He privately valued the chair at so much the dozen as he sat down on

it. He was quite at his ease: it was no matter to him whether he waited and did nothing, or whether he pried

into the private character of every one in the room, as long as he was paid for it.

Even Lady Janet's resolution to act for herself was not proof against the appearance of the policeman in plain

clothes. She left it to her nephew to take the lead. Julian glanced at Mercy before he stirred further in the

She felt his eye on her while her own eyes were looking at the man. She turned her head hesitatedand

suddenly approached Julian. Like Grace Roseberry, she was trembling. Like Grace Roseberry, she whispered,

Horace left Lady Janet, and joined Mercy and Julianimpatient of the private colloquy between them.

Julian drew back a little, understanding Horace perfectly. He looked round at Grace. Nearly the whole length

of the spacious room divided them from the place in which she was sitting. She had never moved since he

had placed her in a chair. The direst of all terrors was in possession of herterror of the unknown. There was

no fear of her interfering, and no fear of her hearing what they said so long as they were careful to speak in

Horace looked across the room at Grace, and answered, "He is here to relieve us of that woman."

Mercy started, and looked at Julian. He was still watching the slightest changes in her face. She looked back

"How can you ask the question?" said Horace, irritably. "To be placed under restraint, of course."

Again Mercy turned to Julian. There was horror now, as well as surprise, in her face. "Oh!" she said to him,

Julian left it to Horace to answer. Every facility in him seemed to be still absorbed in watching Mercy's face.

"I do," he rejoined. "The workhouse first, perhapsand then the madhouse. What is there to surprise you in

that? You yourself told her to her face she was mad. Good Heavens! how pale you are! What is the matter?"

She turned to Julian for the third time. The terrible alternative that was offered to her had showed itself at

last, without reserve or disguise. Restore the identity that you have stolen, or shut her up in a madhouseit

rests with you to choose! In that form the situation shaped itself in her mind. She chose on the instant. Before

she opened her lips the higher nature in her spoke to Julian, in her eyes. The steady inner light that he had

seen in them once already shone in them again, brighter and purer than before. The conscience that he had

fortified, the soul that he had saved, looked at him and said, Doubt us no more!

Those were her first words. She spoke (pointing to the police officer) in clear, ringing, resolute tones, audible

Julian's hand stole unobserved to hers, and told her, in its momentary pressure, to count on his brotherly

sympathy and help. All the other persons in the room looked at her in speechless surprise. Grace rose from

her chair. Even the man in plain clothes started to his feet. Lady Janet (hurriedly joining Horace, and fully

sharing his perplexity and alarm) took Mercy impulsively by the arm, and shook it, as if to rouse her to a

sense of what she was doing. Mercy held firm; Mercy resolutely repeated what she had said: "Send that man

Lady Janet lost all her patience with her. "What has come to you?" she asked, sternly. "Do you know what

you are saying? The man is here in your interest, as well as in mine; the man is here to spare you, as well as

me, further annoyance and insult. And you insist insist, in my presenceon his being sent away! What

"You shall know what it means, Lady Janet, in half an hour. I don't insistI only reiterate my entreaty. Let

Julian stepped aside (with his aunt's eyes angrily following him) and spoke to the police officer. "Go back to

The meanly vigilant eyes of the man in plain clothes traveled sidelong from Julian to Mercy, and valued her

beauty as they had valued the carpet and the chairs. "The old story," he thought. "The nicelooking woman is

always at the bottom of it; and, sooner or later, the nicelooking woman has her way." He marched back

across the room, to the discord of his own creaking boots, bowed, with a villainous smile which put the worst

Lady Janet's high breeding restrained her from saying anything until the police officer was out of hearing.

"I presume you are in the secret of this?" she said. "I suppose you have some reason for setting my authority

"I have never yet failed to respect your ladyship," Julian answered. "Before long you will know that I am not

Lady Janet looked across the room. Grace was listening eagerly, conscious that events had taken some

"Is it part of your new arrangement of my affairs," her ladyship continued, "that this person is to remain in the

The terror that had daunted Grace had not lost all hold of her yet. She left it to Julian to reply. Before he

could speak Mercy crossed the room and whispered to her, "Give me time to confess it in writing. I can't own

it before themwith this round my neck." She pointed to the necklace. Grace cast a threatening glance at

Mercy answered Lady Janet's question. "I beg your ladyship to permit her to remain until the half hour is

Lady Janet raised no further obstacles. For something in Mercy's face, or in Mercy's tone, seemed to have

silenced her, as it had silenced Grace. Horace was the next who spoke. In tones of suppressed rage and

suspicion he addressed himself to Mercy, standing fronting him by Julian's side.

"Am I included," he asked, "in the arrangement which engages you to explain your extraordinary conduct in

His hand had placed his mother's wedding present round Mercy's neck. A sharp pang wrung her as she looked

at Horace, and saw how deeply she had already distressed and offended him. The tears rose in her eyes; she

"If you please," was all she could say, before the cruel swelling at her heart rose and silenced her.

Horace's sense of injury refused to be soothed by such simple submission as this.

"I dislike mysteries and innuendoes," he went on, harshly. "In my family circle we are accustomed to meet

each other frankly. Why am I to wait half an hour for an explanation which might be given now? What am I

Even Julian's selfpossession failed him when his aunt repeated that cruelly plain question. How would

"You have asked me what you are to wait for," she said to Horace, quietly and firmly. "Wait to hear

"Pardon meyour ladyship does not know. I am the only person who can inform you."

"I have begged you, Lady Janet, to give me half an hour," she went on. "In half an hour I solemnly engage

myself to produce Mercy Merrick in this room. Lady Janet Roy, Mr. Horace Holmcroft, you are to wait for

Steadily pledging herself in those terms to make her confession, she unclasped the pearls from her neck, put

them away in their cases and placed it in Horace's hand. "Keep it," she said, with a momentary faltering in her

Horace took the case in silence; he looked and acted like a man whose mind was paralyzed by surprise. His

hand moved mechanically. His eyes followed Mercy with a vacant, questioning look. Lady Janet seemed, in

her different way, to share the strange oppression that had fallen on him. A vague sense of dread and distress

hung like a cloud over her mind. At that memorable moment she felt her age, she looked her age, as she had

Lady Janet mutely granted the request. Mercy's last look, before she went out, was a look at Grace. "Are you

satisfied now?" the grand gray eyes seemed to say, mournfully. Grace turned her head aside, with a quick,

petulant action. Even her narrow nature opened for a moment unwillingly, and let pity in a little way, in spite

"You will see that she is allowed a room to wait in? You will warn her yourself when the half hour has

"Well done! Nobly done!" he whispered. "All my sympathy is with youall my help is yours."

Her eyes looked at him, and thanked him, through her gathering tears. His own eyes were dimmed. She

passed quietly down the room, and was lost to him before he had shut the door again.

She had secured one half hour of retirement in her own room, designing to devote that interval to the writing

No recent change in her position had, as yet, mitigated her horror of acknowledging to Horace and to Lady

Janet that she had won her way to their hearts in disguise. Through Julian only could she say the words which

After all that had happened, from the time when Lady Janet's appearance had interrupted them, she would

have felt relief rather than embarrassment in personally opening her heart to the man who had so delicately

understood her, who had so faithfully befriended her in her sorest need. But the repeated betrayals of

Horace's jealous suspicion of Julian warned her that she would only be surrounding herself with new

difficulties, and be placing Julian in a position of painful embarrassment, if she admitted him to a private

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

These instructions contemplated the communication of her letter to Lady Janet and to Horace in the library,

while Mercyselfconfessed as the missing woman whom she had pledged herself to produceawaited in

the adjoining room whatever sentence it pleased them to pronounce on her. Her resolution not to screen

herself behind Julian from any consequences which might follow the confession had taken root in her mind

from the moment when Horace had harshly asked her (and when Lady Janet had joined him in asking) why

she delayed her explanation, and what she was keeping them waiting for. Out of the very pain which those

questions inflicted, the idea of waiting her sentence in her own person in one room, while her letter to Julian

was speaking for her in another, had sprung to life. "Let them break my heart if they like," she had thought to

herself, in the selfabasement of that bitter moment; "it will be no more than I have deserved."

She locked her door and opened her writingdesk. Knowing what she had to do, she tried to collect herself

The effort was in vain. Those persons who study writing as an art are probably the only persons who can

measure the vast distance which separates a conception as it exists in the mind from the reduction of that

conception to form and shape in words. The heavy stress of agitation that had been laid on Mercy for hours

together had utterly unfitted her for the delicate and difficult process of arranging the events of a narrative in

their due sequence and their due proportion toward each other. Again and again she tried to begin her letter,

and again and again she was baffled by the same hopeless confusion of ideas. She gave up the struggle in

A sense of sinking at her heart, a weight of hysterical oppression on her bosom, warned her not to leave

She turned instinctively, for a temporary employment of some kind, to the consideration of her own future.

Here there were no intricacies or entanglements. The prospect began and ended with her return to the Refuge,

if the matron would receive her. She did no injustice to Julian Gray; that great heart would feel for her, that

kind hand would be held out to her, she knew. But what would happen if she thoughtlessly accepted all that

his sympathy might offer? Scandal would point to her beauty and to his youth, and would place its own vile

interpretation on the purest friendship that could exist between them. And he would be the sufferer, for

he had a charactera clergyman's characterto lose. No. For his sake, out of gratitude to him, the farewell

The precious minutes were passing. She resolved to write to the matron and ask if she might hope to be

forgiven and employed at the Refuge again. Occupation over the letter that was easy to write might have its

fortifying effect on her mind, and might pave the way for resuming the letter that was hard to write. She

waited a moment at the window, thinking of the past life to which she was soon to return, before she took up

Her window looked eastward. The dusky glare of lighted London met her as her eyes rested on the sky. It

seemed to beckon her back to the horror of the cruel streetsto point her way mockingly to the bridges over

the black riverto lure her to the top of the parapet, and the dreadful leap into God's arms, or into

She turned, shuddering, from the window. "Will it end in that way," she asked herself, "if the matron says

"DEAR MADAMSo 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 hardhearted, ungrateful woman.

"I have been leading a false life; I have not been fit to write to you before today. Now, when I am doing

what I can to atone to those whom I have injurednow, when I repent with my whole heartmay I ask

leave to return to the friend who has borne with me and helped me through many miserable years? Oh,

"Will you let me own everything to you? Will you forgive me when you know what I have done? Will you

take me back into the Refuge, if you have any employment for me by which I may earn my shelter and my

"Before the night comes I must leave the house from which I am now writing. I have nowhere to go to. The

little money, the few valuable possessions I have, must be left behind me: they have been obtained under

false pretenses; they are not mine. No more forlorn creature than I am lives at this moment. You are a

"I am a good nurse, as you know, and I am a quick worker with my needle. In one way or the other can you

"I could also teach, in a very unpretending way. But that is useless. Who would trust their children to a

woman without a character? There is no hope for me in this direction. And yet I am so fond of children! I

think I could be, not happy again, perhaps, but content with my lot, if I could be associated with them in

some way. Are there not charitable societies which are trying to help and protect destitute children wandering

about the streets? I think of my own wretched childhoodand oh! I should so like to be employed in saving

other children from ending as I have ended. I could work, for such an object as that, from morning to night,

and never feel weary. All my heart would be in it; and I should have this advantage over happy and

prosperous womenI should have nothing else to think of. Surely they might trust me with the poor little

starving wanderers of the streetsif you said a word for me? If I am asking too much, please forgive me. I

"There is only one thing more. My time here is very short. Will you please reply to this letter (to say yes or

"The name by which you know me is not the name by which I have been known here. I must beg you to

address the telegram to 'The Reverend Julian Gray, Mablethorpe House, Kensington.' He is here, and he will

show it to me. No words of mine can describe what I owe to him. He has never despaired of me he has

saved me from myself. God bless and reward the kindest, truest, best man I have ever known!

"I have no more to say, except to ask you to excuse this long letter, and to believe me your grateful servant,

She signed and inclosed the letter, and wrote the address. Then, for the first time, an obstacle which she ought

There was no time to forward her letter in the ordinary manner by post. It must be taken to its destination by a

private messenger. Lady Janet's servants had hitherto been, one and all, at her disposal. Could she presume to

employ them on her own affairs, when she might be dismissed from the house, a disgraced woman, in half an

hour's time? Of the two alternatives it seemed better to take her chance, and present herself at the Refuge

While she was still considering the question she was startled by a knock at her door. On opening it she

"From my lady, miss," said the woman, giving her the note. "There is no answer."

Mercy stopped her as she was about to leave the room. The appearance of the maid suggested an inquiry to

her. She asked if any of the servants were likely to be going into town that afternoon.

"Yes, miss. One of the grooms is going on horseback, with a message to her ladyship's coachmaker."

The Refuge was close by the coachmaker's place of business. Under the circumstances, Mercy was

emboldened to make use of the man. It was a pardonable liberty to employ his services now.

"Will you kindly give the groom that letter for me?" she said. "It will not take him out of his way. He has

The woman willingly complied with the request. Left once more by herself, Mercy looked at the little note

It was the first time that her benefactress had employed this formal method of communicating with her when

they were both in the house. What did such a departure from established habits mean? Had she received her

notice of dismissal? Had Lady Janet's quick intelligence found its way already to a suspicion of the truth?

Mercy's nerves were unstrung. She trembled pitiably as she opened the folded note.

It began without a form of address, and it ended without a signature. Thus it ran:

"I must request you to delay for a little while the explanation which you have promised me. At my age,

painful surprises are very trying things. I must have time to compose myself, before I can hear what you have

to say. You shall not be kept waiting longer than I can help. In the meanwhile everything will go on as usual.

My nephew Julian, and Horace Holmcroft, and the lady whom I found in the diningroom, will, by my

desire, remain in the house until I am able to meet them, and to meet you, again."

Had Lady Janet really guessed the truth? or had she only surmised that her adopted daughter was connected

in some discreditable manner with the mystery of "Mercy Merrick"? The line in which she referred to the

intruder in the diningroom as "the lady" showed very remarkably that her opinions had undergone a change

in that quarter. But was the phrase enough of itself to justify the inference that she had actually anticipated

the nature of Mercy's confession? It was not easy to decide that doubt at the momentand it proved to be

equally difficult to throw any light on it at an aftertime. To the end of her life Lady Janet resolutely refused to

communicate to any one the conclusions which she might have privately formed, the griefs which she might

Amid much, however, which was beset with uncertainty, one thing at least was clear. The time at Mercy's

disposal in her own room had been indefinitely prolonged by Mercy's benefactress. Hours might pass before

the disclosure to which she stood committed would be expected from her. In those hours she might surely

compose her mind sufficiently to be able to write her letter of confession to Julian Gray.

Once more she placed the sheet of paper before her. Resting her head on her hand as she sat at the table, she

tried to trace her way through the labyrinth of the past, beginning with the day when she had met Grace

Roseberry in the French cottage, and ending with the day which had brought them face to face, for the second

She remarked, as she pursued the retrospect, how strangely Chance, or Fate, had paved the way for the act of

If they had met under ordinary circumstances, neither Mercy nor Grace would have trusted each other with

the confidences which had been exchanged between them. As the event had happened, they had come

together, under those extraordinary circumstances of common trial and common peril, in a strange country,

which would especially predispose two women of the same nation to open their hearts to each other. In no

other way could Mercy have obtained at a first interview that fatal knowledge of Grace's position and Grace's

affairs which had placed temptation before her as the necessary consequence that followed the bursting of the

Advancing from this point through the succeeding series of events which had so naturally and yet so

strangely favored the perpetration of the fraud, Mercy reached the later period when Grace had followed her

to England. Here again she remarked, in the second place, how Chance, or Fate, had once more paved the

way for that second meeting which had confronted them with one another at Mablethorpe House.

She had, as she well remembered, attended at a certain assembly (convened by a charitable society) in the

character of Lady Janet's representative, at Lady Janet's own request. For that reason she had been absent

from the house when Grace had entered it. If her return had been delayed by a few minutes only, Julian

would have had time to take Grace out of the room, and the terrible meeting which had stretched Mercy

senseless on the floor would never have taken place. As the event had happened, the period of her absence

had been fatally shortened by what appeared at the time to be, the commonest possible occurrence. The,

persons assembled at the society's rooms had disagreed so seriously on the business which had brought them

together as to render it necessary to take the ordinary course of adjourning the proceedings to a future day.

And Chance, or Fate, had so timed that adjournment as to bring Mercy back into the diningroom exactly at

the moment when Grace Roseberry insisted on being confronted with the woman who had taken her place.

She had never yet seen the circumstances in this sinister light. She was alone in her room, at a crisis in her

Little by little she felt the enervating influences let loose on her, in her lonely position, by her new train of

thought. Little by little her heart began to sink under the stealthy chill of superstitious dread. Vaguely horrible

presentiments throbbed in her with her pulses, flowed through her with her blood. Mystic oppressions of

hidden disaster hovered over her in the atmosphere of the room. The cheerful 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 own cold hands covering her face, without knowing

Still helpless, under the horror that held her, she suddenly heard footstepsa man's footstepsin the

corridor outside. At other times the sound would have startled her: now it broke the spell. The footsteps

suggested life, companionship, human interpositionno matter of what sort. She mechanically took up her

She still felt shaken. She was hardly mistress of herself yet. A faint cry of alarm escaped her at the sound of

the knock. Before it could be repeated she had rallied her courage, and had opened the door.

His ruddy complexion had turned pale. His hair (of which he was especially careful at other times) was in

disorder. The superficial polish of his manner was gone; the undisguised man, sullen, distrustful, irritated to

the last degree of endurance, showed through. He looked at her with a watchfully suspicious eye; he spoke to

"I have not left my room," she answered. "I know that Lady Janet has deferred the explanation which I had

"Has nobody told you what Lady Janet did after you left us? Has nobody told you that she politely placed her

own boudoir at the disposal of the very woman whom she had ordered half an hour before to leave the house?

Do you really not know that Mr. Julian Gray has himself conducted this suddenlyhonored guest to her place

of retirement? and that I am left alone in the midst of these changes, contradictions, and mysteriesthe only

"It is surely needless to ask me these questions," said Mercy, gently. "Who could possibly have told me what

"You are strangely forgetful today," he said. "Surely your friend Mr. Julian Gray might have told you? I am

"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

"You are entirely mistaken," she said, warmly. "You are ungratefully doubting your best and truest friend. I

say nothing of myself. You will soon discover why I patiently submit to suspicions which other women

There had hitherto been some little distance between them. Mercy had listened, waiting on the threshold of

her door; Horace had spoken, standing against the opposite wall of the corridor. When he said his last words

he suddenly stepped forward, and (with something imperative in the gesture) laid his hand on her arm. The

"You shall know what I mean," he replied. "A woman who has grossly outraged and insulted youwhose

only excuse is that she is madis detained in the house at your desire, I might almost say at your command,

when the police officer is waiting to take her away. I have a right to know what this means. I am engaged to

marry you. If you won't trust other people, you are bound to explain yourself to Me. I refuse to wait for Lady

Janet's convenience. I insist (if you force me to say so)I insist on knowing the real nature of your

connection with this affair. You have obliged me to follow you here; it is my only opportunity of speaking to

you. You avoid me; you shut yourself up from me in your own room. I am not your husband yetI have no

right to follow you in. But there are other rooms open to us. The library is at our disposal, and I will take care

that we are not interrupted. I am now going there, and I have a last question to ask. You are to be my wife in

To hesitate was, in this case, literally to be lost. Mercy's sense of justice told her that Horace had claimed no

Her prompt and frank compliance with his wishes surprised and touched him. He took her hand.

She had endured all that his angry sense of injury could say. His gratitude wounded her to the quick. The

bitterest moment she had felt yet was the moment in which he raised her hand to his lips, and murmured

tenderly, "My own true Grace!" She could only sign to him to leave her, and hurry back into her own room.

Her first feeling, when she found herself alone again, was wonderwonder that it should never have

occurred to her, until he had himself suggested it, that her betrothed husband had the foremost right to her

confession. Her horror at owning to either of them that she had cheated them out of their love had hitherto

placed Horace and Lady Janet on the same level. She now saw for the first time that there was no comparison

between the claims which they respectively had on her. She owned an allegiance to Horace to which Lady

Janet could assert no right. Cost her what it might to avow the truth to him with her own lips, the cruel

Without a moment's hesitation she put away her writing materials. It amazed her that she should ever have

thought of using Julian Gray as an interpreter between the man to whom she was betrothed and herself.

Julian's sympathy (she thought) must have made a strong impression on her indeed to blind her to a duty

She had asked for five minutes of delay before she followed Horace. It was too long a time.

Her one chance of finding courage to crush him with the dreadful revelation of who she really was, of what

she had really done, was to plunge headlong into the disclosure without giving herself time to think. The

Even at that terrible moment the most ineradicable of all a woman's instinctsthe instinct of personal

selfrespectbrought her to a pause. She had passed through more than one terrible trial since she had

dressed to go downstairs. Remembering this, she stopped mechanically, retraced her steps, and looked at

There was no motive of vanity in what she now did. The action was as unconscious as if she had buttoned an

unfastened glove, or shaken out a crumpled dress. Not the faintest idea crossed her mind of looking to see if

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!

IN the great emergencies of life we feel, or we act, as our dispositions incline us. But we never think. Mercy's

mind was a blank as she descended the stairs. On her way down she was conscious of nothing but the one

headlong impulse to get to the library in the shortest possible space of time. Arrived at the door, the impulse

capriciously left her. She stopped on the mat, wondering why she had hurried herself, with time to spare. Her

heart sank; the fever of her excitement changed suddenly to a chill as she faced the closed door, and asked

Her own hand answered her. She lifted it to turn the handle of the lock. It dropped again helplessly at her

The sense of her own irresolution wrung from her a low exclamation of despair. Faint as it was, it had

apparently not passed unheard. The door was opened from withinand 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

She looked at him, in vacant surprise, doubting whether she had heard him aright.

"It will not be for long," he went on. "I am far too anxious to hear what you have to tell me to submit to any

(From Lady Janet! What could Lady Janet want with him, at a time when she was bent on composing herself

"I ought to have said two messages," Horace proceeded. "The first was given to me on my way downstairs.

Lady Janet wished to see me immediately. I sent an excuse. A second message followed. Lady Janet would

accept no excuse. If I refused to go to her I should be merely obliging her to come to me. It is impossible to

risk being interrupted in that way; my only alternative is to get the thing over as soon as possible. Do you

"No. Whatever it is, she shall not keep me long away from you. You will be quite alone here; I have warned

Mercy's first sensation was a sensation of reliefsoon lost in a feeling of shame at the weakness which could

welcome any temporary relief in such a position as hers. The emotion thus roused merged, in its turn, into a

sense of impatient regret. "But for Lady Janet's message," she thought to herself, "I might have known my

The slow minutes followed each other drearily. She paced to and fro in the library, faster and faster, under the

intolerable irritation, the maddening uncertainty, of her own suspense. Ere long, even the spacious room

seemed to be too small for her. The sober monotony of the long booklined shelves oppressed and offended

her. She threw open the door which led into the diningroom, and dashed in, eager for a change of objects,

At the first step she checked herself; rooted to the spot, under a sudden revulsion of feeling which quieted her

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 Gray.

Mercy was standing with her back to the light; her face being necessarily hidden in deep shadow. He

recognized her by her figure, and by the attitude into which it unconsciously fell. That unsought grace, that

lithe long beauty of line, belonged to but one woman in the house. He rose, and approached her.

"I have been wishing to see you," he said, "and hoping that accident might bring about some such meeting as

He offered her a chair. Mercy hesitated before she took her seat. This was their first meeting alone since Lady

Janet had interrupted her at the moment when she was about to confide to Julian the melancholy story of the

past. Was he anxious to seize the opportunity of returni ng to her confession? The terms in which he had

"I feel the deepest interest in hearing all that you have still to confide to me," he answered. "But anxious as I

"I am afraid I must own that I do wish it," Mercy rejoined. "Not on my accountbut because my time is at

"Could you give me those few minutes?" Julian asked. "I have something on my side to say to you which I

He spoke with a certain depression of tone which was not associated with her previous experience of him. His

face looked prematurely old and careworn in the red light of the fire. Something had plainly happened to

"I willingly offer you all the time that I have at my own command," Mercy replied. "Does what you have to

He gave her no direct reply. "What I have to tell you of Lady Janet," he said, gravely, "is soon told. So far as

Even the heavy weight of oppression caused by the impending interview with Horace failed to hold its place

"Come into the lighted room," she said, faintly. "It is too terrible to hear you say that in the dark."

Julian followed her into the library. Her limbs trembled under her. She dropped into a chair, and shrank under

"Lady Janet knows all!" she repeated, with her head on her breast, and the tears falling slowly over her

"I have said nothing to Lady Janet or to any one. Your confidence is a sacred confidence to me, until you

"Not a word. She has looked at you with the vigilant eyes of love; she has listened to you with the quick

hearing of loveand she has found her own way to the truth. She will not speak of it to me she will not

speak of it to any living creature. I only know now how dearly she loved you. In spite of herself she clings to

you still. Her life, poor soul, has been a barren one; unworthy, miserably unworthy, of such a nature as hers.

Her marriage was loveless and childless. She has had admirers, but never, in the higher sense of the word, a

friend. All the best years of her life have been wasted in the unsatisfied longing for something to love. At the

end of her life You have filled the void. Her heart has found its youth again, through You. At her ageat any

ageis such a tie as this to be rudely broken at the mere bidding of circumstances? No! She will suffer

anything, risk anything, forgive anything, rather than own, even to herself, that she has been deceived in you.

There is more than her happiness at stake; there is pride, a noble pride, in such love as hers, which will ignore

the plainest discovery and deny the most unanswerable truth. I am firmly convincedfrom my own

knowledge of her character, and from what I have observed in her todaythat she will find some excuse

for refusing to hear your confession. And more than that, I believe (if the exertion of her influence can do it)

that she will leave no means untried of preventing you from acknowledging your true position here to any

living creature. I take a serious responsibility on myself in telling you thisand I don't shrink from it. You

ought to know, and you shall know, what trials and what temptations may yet lie before you."

She felt that there was a necessity for her speaking to him. He was plainly not aware that Lady Janet had

already written to her to defer her promised explanation. This circumstance was in itself a confirmation of the

opinion which he had expressed. She ought to mention it to him; she tried to mention it to him. But she was

not equal to the effort. The few simple words in which he had touched on the tie that bound Lady Janet to her

"You may wonder at my speaking so positively," he continued, "with nothing better than my own conviction

to justify me. I can only say that I have watched Lady Janet too closely to feel any doubt. I saw the moment

in which the truth flashed on her, as plainly as I now see you. It did not disclose itself graduallyit burst on

her, as it burst on me. She suspected nothingshe was frankly indignant at your sudden interference and

your strange languageuntil the time came in which you pledged yourself to produce Mercy Merrick. Then

(and then only) the truth broke on her mind, trebly revealed to her in your words, your voice, and your look.

Then (and then only) I saw a marked change come over her, and remain in her while she remained in the

room. I dread to think of what she may do in the first reckless despair of the discovery that she has made. I

distrustthough God knows I am not naturally a suspicious manthe most apparently trifling events that

are now taking place about us. You have held nobly to your resolution to own the truth. Prepare yourself,

Mercy lifted her head. Fear took the place of grief in her eyes, as they rested in startled inquiry on Julian's

"I will leave it to events to answer that question," he said. "You will not have long to wait. In the meantime I

have put you on your guard." He stooped, and spoke his next words earnestly, close at her ear. "Hold fast by

the admirable courage which you have shown thus far," he went on. "Suffer anything rather than suffer the

degradation of yourself. Be the woman whom I once spoke ofthe woman I still have in my mindwho

can nobly reveal the noble nature that is in her. And never forget this my faith in you is as firm as ever!"

"I am pledged to justify your faith in me," she said. "I have put it out of my own power to yield. Horace has

"Has Horace himself asked it of you?" he inquired. "He, at least, has no suspicion of the truth."

"Horace has appealed to my duty to him as his betrothed wife," she answered. "He has the first claim to my

confidencehe resents my silence, and he has a right to resent it. Terrible as it will be to open his eyes to the

She was looking at Julian while she spoke. The old longing to associate with the hard trial of the confession

the one man who had felt for her, and believed in her, revived under another form. If she could only know,

while she was saying the fatal words to Horace, that Julian was listening too, she would be encouraged to

meet the worst that could happen! As the idea crossed her mind, she observed that Julian was looking toward

the door through which they had lately passed. In an instant she saw the means to her end. Hardly waiting to

hear the few kind expressions of sympathy and approval which he addressed to her, she hinted timidly at the

"I want you to be near me while I am speaking to Horace," she said. "It will give me courage if I can feel that

I am speaking to you as well as to him. I can count on your sympathyand sympathy is so precious to me

now! Am I asking too much, if I ask you to leave the door unclosed when you go back to the diningroom?

Think of the dreadful trialto him as well as to me! I am only a woman; I am afraid I may sink under it, if I

In those simple words she tried her powers of persuasion on him for the first time.

Between perplexity and distress Julian was, for the moment, at a loss how to answer her. The love for Mercy

which he dared not acknowledge was as vital a feeling in him as the faith in her which he had been free to

avow. To refuse anything that she asked of him in her sore needand, more even than that, to refuse to hear

the confession which it had been her first impulse to make to himthese were cruel sacrifices to his sense of

what was due to Horace and of what was due to himself. But shrink as he might, even from the appearance of

deserting her, it was impossible for him (except under a reserve which was almost equivalent to a denial) to

"All that I can do I will do," he said. "The doors shall be left unclosed, and I will remain in the next room, on

this condition, that Horace knows of it as well as you. I should be unworthy of your confidence in me if I

consented to be a listener on any other terms. You understand that, I am sure, as well as I do."

She had never thought of her proposal to him in this light. 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 cheeks as

she thanked him. He delicately relieved her from her embarrassment by putting a question which naturally

The reply more than astonished Julian; it seemed almost to alarm him. He returned to Mercy's chair; he said

"This confirms my worst fears," he said. "Have you had any communication with Lady Janet?"

"Did I not tell you," he said, "that she would find some excuse for refusing to hear your confession? She

begins by delaying it, simply to gain time for something else which she has it in her mind to do. When did

"Horace told me that Lady Janet had offered Miss Roseberry the use of her boudoir."

"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 selfif she had

any better self to address. I own I had doubts of my successjudging by what I had already seen of her. My

doubts were confirmed. In the ordinary intercourse of life I should merely have thought her a commonplace,

uninteresting woman. Seeing her as I saw her while we were alonein other words, penetrating below the

surfaceI have never, in all my sad experience, met with such a hopelessly narrow, mean, and low nature as

hers. Understanding, as she could not fail to do, what the sudden change in Lady Janet's behavior toward her

really meant, her one idea was to take the cruelest possible advantage of it. So far from feeling any

consideration for you, she was only additionally imbittered toward you. She protested against your being

permitted to claim the merit of placing her in her right position here by your own voluntary avowal of the

truth. She insisted on publicly denouncing you, and on forcing Lady Janet to dismiss you, unheard, before the

whole household! 'Now I can have my revenge! At last Lady Janet is afraid of me!' Those were her own

wordsI am almost ashamed to repeat themthose, on my honor, were her own words! Every possible

humiliation to be heaped on you; no consideration to be shown for Lady Janet's age and Lady Janet's position;

nothing, absolutely nothing, to be allowed to interfere with Miss Roseberry's vengeance and Miss Roseberry's

triumph! There is this woman's shameless view of what is due to her, as stated by herself in the plainest

terms. I kept my temper; I did all I could to bring her to a better frame of mind. I might as well have

pleadedI won't say with a savage; savages are sometimes accessible to remonstrance, if you know how to

reach themI might as well have pleaded with a hungry animal to abstain from eating while food was within

its reach. I had just given up the hopeless effort in disgust, when Lady Janet's maid appeared with a message

for Miss Roseberry from her mistress: 'My lady's compliments, ma'am, and she will be glad to see you at your

Another surprise! Grace Roseberry invited to an interview with Lady Janet! It would have been impossible to

"She instantly rose," Julian proceeded. "'I won't keep her ladyship waiting a moment,' she said; 'show me the

way.' She signed to the maid to go out of the room first, and then turned round and spoke to me from the

door. I despair of describing the insolent exultation of her manner. I can only repeat her words: 'This is

exactly what I wanted! I had intended to insist on seeing Lady Janet: she saves me the trouble. I am infinitely

obliged to her.' With that she nodded to me, and closed the door. I have not seen her, I have not heard of her,

since. For all I know, she may be still with my aunt, and Horace may have found her there when he entered

"It is impossible even to guess. When you found me in the diningroom I was considering that very question.

I cannot imagine that any neutral ground can exist on which it is possible for Lady Janet and this woman to

meet. In her present frame of mind she will in all probability insult Lady Janet before she has been five

minutes in the room. I own I am completely puzzled. The one conclusion I can arrive at is that the note which

my aunt sent to you, the private interview with Miss Roseberry which has followed, and the summons to

Horace which has succeeded in its turn, are all links in the same chain of events, and are all tending to that

Mercy held up her hand for silence. She looked toward the door that opened on the hall; had she heard a

"You will soon know it now," said Julian. "It is impossible that our present uncertainty can last much longer."

He turned away, intending to go back to the room in which she had found him. Looking at her situation from

a man's point of view, he naturally assumed that the best service he could now render to Mercy would be to

leave her to prepare herself for the interview with Horace. Before he had taken three steps away from her she

showed him the difference between the woman's point of view and the man's. The idea of considering

beforehand what she should say never entered her mind. In her horror of being left by herself at that critical

moment, she forgot every other consideration. Even the warning remembrance of Horace's jealous distrust of

Julian passed away from her, for the moment, as completely as if it never had a place in her memory. "Don't

She rose impulsively while she spoke, as if to follow him into the diningroom, if he persisted in leaving her.

A momentary expression of doubt crossed Julian's face as he retraced his steps and signed to her to be seated

a gain. Could she be depended on (he asked himself) to sustain the coming test of her resolution, when she

had not courage enough to wait for events in a room by herself? Julian had yet to learn that a woman's

courage rises with the greatness of the emergency. Ask her to accompany you through a field in which some

harmless cattle happen to be grazing, and it is doubtful, in nine cases out of ten, if she will do it. Ask her, as

one of the passengers in a ship on fire, to help in setting an example of composure to the rest, and it is certain,

in nine cases out of ten, that she will do it. As soon as Julian had taken a chair near her, Mercy was calm

The talk between them dropped there. They sat together in silence, with their eyes fixed on the door, waiting

After the lapse of a few minutes their attention was attracted by a sound outside in the grounds. A carriage of

The carriage stopped; the bell rang; the front door was opened. Had a visitor arrived? No voice could be

heard making inquiries. No footsteps but the servant's footsteps crossed the hall. Along pause followed, the

carriage remaining at the door. Instead of bringing some one to the house, it had apparently arrived to take

The next event was the return of the servant to the front door. They listened again. Again no second footstep

was audible. The door was closed; the servant recrossed the hall; the carriage was driven away. Judging by

"If any person has gone away in the carriage," Julian went on, "that person can hardly have been a man, or we

The conclusion which her companion had just drawn from the noiseless departure of the supposed visitor

Julian left the room, and returned again, after a brief absence, with signs of grave anxiety in his face and

"I told you I dreaded the most trifling events that were passing about us," he said. "An event, which is far

from being trifling, has just happened. The carriage which we heard approaching along the drive turns out to

They resumed their seats, waiting, as they had waited already, with their eyes on the library door.

THE narrative leaves Julian and Mercy for a while, and, ascending to the upper regions of the house, follows

The maid had delivered her mistress's note to Mercy, and had gone away again on her second errand to Grace

Roseberry in her boudoir. Lady Janet was seated at her writingtable, waiting for the appearance of the

woman whom she had summoned to her presence. A single lamp difused its mild light over the books,

pictures, and busts round her, leaving the further end of the room, in which the bed was placed, almost lost in

obscurity. The works of art were all portraits; the books were all presentation copies from the authors. It was

Lady Janet's fancy to associate her bedroom with memorials of the various persons whom she had known in

the long course of her lifeall of them more or less distinguished, most of them, by this time, gathered with

She sat near her writingtable, lying back in her easychairthe living realization of the picture which

Julian's description had drawn. Her eyes were fixed on a photographic likeness of Mercy, which was so

raised upon a little gilt easel as to enable her to contemplate it under the full light of the lamp. The bright,

mobile old face was strangely and sadly changed. The brow was fixed; the mouth was rigid; the whole face

would have been like a mask, molded in the hardest forms of passive resistance and surpressed rage, but for

the light and life still thrown over it by the eyes. There was something unutterably touching in the keen

hungering tenderness of the look which they fixed on the portrait, intensified by an underlying expression of

fond and patient reproach. The danger which Julian so wisely dreaded was in the rest of the face; the love

which he had so truly described was in the eyes alone. They still spoke of the cruelly profaned affection

which had been the one immeasurable joy, the one inexhaustible hope of Lady Janet's closing life. The brow

expressed nothing but her obstinate determination to stand by the wreck of that joy, to rekindle the dead ashes

of that hope. The lips were only eloquent of her unflinching resolution to ignore the hateful present and to

save the sacred past. "My idol may be shattered, but none of you shall know it. I stop the march of discovery;

I extinguish the light of truth. I am deaf to your words; am blind to your proofs. At seventy years old, my idol

The silence in the bedroom was broken by a murmuring of women's voices outside the door.

Lady Janet instantly raised herself in the chair and snatched the photograph off the easel. She laid the portrait

face downward, among some papers on the table, then abruptly changed her mind, and hid it among the thick

folds of lace which clothed her neck and bosom. There was a world of love in the action itself, and in the

sudden softening of the eyes which accompanied it. The next moment Lady Janet's mask was on. Any

superficial observer who had seen her now would have said, "This is a hard woman!"

She advanced rapidly, with a defiant assurance in her manner, and a lofty carriage of her head. She sat down

in the chair, to which Lady Janet silently pointed, with a thump; she returned Lady Janet's grave bow with a

nod and a smile. Every movement and every look of the little, worn, whitefaced, shabbily dressed woman

"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

"You would have felt it your duty to request an interview?" Lady Janet repeated, very quietly. "Why?"

The tone in which that one last word was spoken embarrassed Grace at the outset. It established as great a

distance between Lady Janet and herself as if she had been lifted in her chair and conveyed bodily to the

"I am surprised that your ladyship should not understand me," she said, struggling to conceal her confusion.

Lady Janet remained perfectly unmoved. "I do not understand you," she answered, just as quietly as ever.

Grace's temper came to her assistance. She recovered the assurance which had marked her first appearance on

"In that case," she resumed, "I must enter into particulars, in justice to myself. I can place but one

interpretation on the extraordinary change in your ladyship's behavior to me downstairs. The conduct of that

abominable woman has at last opened your eyes to the deception that has been practiced on you. For some

reason of your own, however, you have not yet chosen to recognize me openly. In this painful position

something is due to my own selfrespect. I cannot, and will not, permit Mercy Merrick to claim the merit of

restoring me to my proper place in this house. After what I have suffered it is quite impossible for me to endu

re that. I should have requested an interview (if you had not sent for me) for the express purpose of claiming

this person's immediate expulsion from the house. I claim it now as a proper concession to Me. Whatever you

or Mr. Julian Gray may do, I will not tamely permit her to exhibit herself as an interesting penitent. It is really

a little too much to hear this brazen adventuress appoint her own time for explaining herself. It is too

deliberately insulting to see her sail out of the roomwith a clergyman of the Church of England opening

the door for heras if she was laying me under an obligation! I can forgive much, Lady Janetincluding

the terms in which you thought it decent to order me out of your house. I am quite willing to accept the offer

of your boudoir, as the expression on your part of a better frame of mind. But even Christian Charity has its

limits. The continued presence of that wretch under your roof is, you will permit me to remark, not only a

Lady Janet was not even pretending to attend to her. Lady Janet, with a deliberate rudeness entirely foreign to

her usual habits, was composedly busying herself in arranging the various papers scattered about the table.

Some she tied together with little morsels of string; some she placed under paperweights; some she

deposited in the fantastic pigeonholes of a little Japanese cabinetworking 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,

"Is your ladyship's purpose in sending for me to treat me with studied rudeness?" Grace retorted, angrily.

"My purpose in sending for you is to say something as soon as you will allow me the opportunity."

The impenetrable composure of that reply took Grace completely by surprise. She had no retort ready. In

sheer astonishment she waited silently with her eyes riveted on the mistress of the house.

Lady Janet put down her papers, and settled herself comfortably in the easychair, preparatory to opening the

"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

"My question is a kindness, if you will only understand it as it is intended. I don't complain of your not

understanding it. I don't even hold you responsible for any one of the many breaches of good manners which

you have committed since you have been in this room. I was honestly anxious to be of some service to you,

Expressing herself in the most perfect temper in those terms, Lady Janet resumed the arrangement of her

papers, and became unconscious once more of the presence of any second person in the room.

Grace opened her lips to reply with the utmost intemperance of an angry woman, and thinking better of it,

controlled herself. It was plainly useless to take the violent way with Lady Janet Roy. Her age and her social

position were enough of themselves to repel any violence. She evidently knew that, and trusted to it. Grace

resolved to meet the enemy on the neutral ground of politeness, as the most promising ground that she could

"If I have said anything hasty, I beg to apologize to your ladyship," she began. "May I ask if your only object

in sending for me was to inquire into my pecuniary affairs, with a view to assisting me?"

"Nothing whatever. I am weary of hearing of Mercy Merrick. Have you any more questions to ask me?"

"I wish to ask your ladyship whether you propose to recognize me in the presence of your household as the

"I have already recognized you as a lady in embarrassed circumstances, who has peculiar claims on my

consideration and forbearance. If you wish me to repeat those words in the presence of the servants (absurd as

"Lady Janet!" she said; "this won't do. I must request you to express yourself plainly. You talk of my peculiar

"It will be painful to both of us if we enter into details," replied Lady Janet. "Pray don't let us enter into

"I ask you in plain words," she went on, "do you acknowledge that you have been deceived by an adventuress

who has personated me? Do you mean to restore me to my proper place in this house?"

"If you persist in returning to your delusion," she said, "you will oblige me to persist in returning to my

"Your delusion is expressed in the questions you have just put to me. Your delusion constitutes your peculiar

claim on my forbearance. Nothing you can say or do will shake my forbearance. When I first found you in

the diningroom, I acted most improperly; I lost my temper. I did worse; I was foolish enough and imprudent

enough to send for a police officer. I owe you every possible atonement (afflicted as you are) for treating you

in that cruel manner. I offered you the use of my boudoir, as part of my atonement. I sent for you, in the hope

that you would allow me to assist you, as part of my atonement. You may behave rudely to me, you may

speak in the most abusive terms of my adopted daughter; I will submit to anything, as part of my atonement.

So long as you abstain from speaking on one painful subject, I will listen to you with the greatest pleasure.

"I begin to understand your ladyship," she said. "You are ashamed to acknowledge that you have been grossly

imposed upon. Your only alternative, of course, is to ignore everything that has happened. Pray count on

my forbearance. I am not at all offendedI am merely amused. It is not every day that a lady of high rank

exhibits herself in such a position as yours to an obscure woman like me. Your humane consideration for me

dates, I presume, from the time when your adopted daughter set you the example, by ordering the police

Lady Janet's composure was proof even against this assault on it. She gravely accepted Grace's inquiry as a

"I am not at all surprised," she replied, "to find that my adopted daughter's interference has exposed her to

misrepresentation. She ought to have remonstrated with me privately before she interfered. But she has one

faultshe is too impulsive. I have never, in all my experience, met with such a warmhearted person as she

is. Always too considerate of others; always too forgetful of herself! The mere appearance of the police

officer placed you in a situation to appeal to her compassion, and her impulses carried her away as usual. My

Grace changed her tone once more. She was quick enough to discern that Lady Janet was a match for her

"We have had enough of this," she said. "It is time to be serious. Your adopted daughter (as you call her) is

"I accept your silence, Lady Janet," she said, "as an acknowledgment of your deliberate resolution to suppress

the truth. You are evidently determined to receive the adventuress as the true woman; and you don't scruple

to face the consequences of that proceeding, by pretending to my face to believe that I am mad. I will not

allow myself to be impudently cheated out of my rights in this way. You will hear from me again madam,

She walked toward the door. This time Lady Janet answered, as readily and as explicitly as it was possible to

"I don't pretend to much knowledge of the subject," she said; "but I should be surprised indeed if I discovered

that you had any claim on me which the law could enforce. However, let us suppose that you can set the law

in action. You know as well as I do that the only motive power which can do that ismoney. I am rich; fees,

costs, and all the rest of it are matters of no sort of consequence to me. May I ask if you are in the same

The question silenced Grace. So far as money was concerned, she was literally at the end of her resources.

Her only friends were friends in Canada. After what she had said to him in the boudoir, it would be quite

useless to appeal to the sympathies of Julian Gray. In the pecuniary sense, and in one word, she was

absolutely incapable of gratifying her own vindictive longings. And there sat the mistress of Mablethorpe

"Suppose you sit down again?" she suggested. "The course of our interview seems to have brought us back to

the question that I asked you when you came into my room. Instead of threatening me with the law, suppose

you consider the propriety of permitting me to be of some use to you. I am in the habit of assisting ladies in

embarrassed circumstances, and nobody knows of it but my stewardwho keeps the accountsand myself.

Once more, let me inquire if a little advance of the pecuniary sort (delicately offered) would be acceptable to

Grace returned slowly to the chair that she had left. She stood by it, with one hand grasping the top rail, and

"You will send me back to my papers," rejoined Lady Janet. "How obstinate you are!"

Grace's hand closed tighter and tighter round the rail of the chair. Without witnesses, without means, without

so much as a refugethanks to her own coarse cruelties of language and conduct in the sympathies of

others, the sense of her isolation and her helplessness was almost maddening at that final moment. A woman

of finer sensibilities would have instantly left the room. Grace's impenetrably hard and narrow mind impelled

her to meet the emergency in a very different way. A last base vengeance, to which Lady Janet had

voluntarily exposed herself, was still within her reach. "For the present," she thought, "there is but one way of

"Pray make some allowances for me," she said. "I am not obstinateI am only a little awkward at matching

the audacity of a lady of high rank. I shall improve with practice. My own language is, as I am painfully

aware, only plain English. Permit me to withdraw it, and to substitute yours. What advance is your ladyship

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 herthere was no disputing itinto treating an

injured woman harshly. Hateful as Grace Roseberry might be, her father had left her, in his last moments,

with Lady Janet's full concurrence, to Lady Janet's care. But for Mercy she would have been received at

Mablethorpe House as Lady Janet's companion, with a salary of one hundred pounds a year. On the other

hand, how long (with such a temper as she had revealed) would Grace have remained in the service of her

protectress? She would probably have been dismissed in a few weeks, with a year's salary to compensate her,

and with a recommendation to some suitable employment. What would be a fair compensation now? Lady

Janet decided that five years' salary immediately given, and future assistance rendered if necessary, would

represent a fit remembrance of the late Colonel Roseberry's claims, and a liberal pecuniary acknowledgment

of any harshness of treatment which Grace might have sustained at her hands. At the same time, and for the

further satisfying of her own conscience, she determined to discover the sum which Grace herself would

consider sufficient by the simple process of making Grace herself propose the terms.

"It is impossible for me to make you an offer," she said, "for this reasonyour need of money will depend

"I cannot altogether undertake to advise you," Lady Janet replied. "I can only suppose that you will scarcely

remain in England, where you have no friends. Whether you go to law with me or not, you will surely feel the

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

"Your ladyship is quite right," she said. "I shall certainly not remain in England. I shall consult my

friendsand," she added, mentally, "go to law with you afterward, if I possibly can, with your own money!"

"You will return to Canada," Lady Janet proceeded; "and your prospects there will be, probably, a little

uncertain at first. Taking this into consideration, at what amount do you estimate, in your own mind, the

"May I count on your ladyship's, kindness to correct me if my own ignorant calculations turn out to be

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."

In spite of herself, Grace's rising color betrayed her ungovernable excitement. From her earliest childhood

she had been accustomed to see shillings and sixpences carefully considered before they were parted with.

She had never known her father to possess so much as five golden sovereigns at his own disposal

(unencumbered by debt) in all her experience of him. The atmosphere in which she had lived and breathed

was the allstifling one of genteel poverty. There was something horrible in the greedy eagerness of her eyes

as they watched Lady Janet, to see if she was really sufficiently in earnest to give away five hundred pounds

Grace's hungry eyes devoured the golden line, "Pay to myself or bearer five hundred pounds," and verified

the signature beneath, "Janet Roy." Once sure of the money whenever she chose to take it, the native

meanness of her nature instantly asserted itself. She tossed her head, and let the check lie on the table, with an

Lady Janet leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. The very sight of Grace Roseberry sickened her. Her

mind filled suddenly with the image of Mercy. She longed to feast her eyes again on that grand beauty, to fill

"And your ladyship's servants are at my orders, if I have occasion to employ them?"

Lady Janet suddenly opened her eyes. "The whole household is at your orders," she cried, furiously. "Leave

Grace was far from being offended. If anything, she was gratified there was a certain triumph in having

stung Lady Janet into an open outbreak of temper. She insisted forthwith on another condition.

"In the event of my deciding to receive the check," she said, "I cannot, consistently with my own

selfrespect, permit it to be delivered to me otherwise than inclosed. Your ladyship will (if necessary) be so

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 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

She returned to her chair. Her mood changed as she sat down againher heart was with Mercy once more.

"Oh, my love!" she murmured "how low I have stooped, how miserably I have degraded myselfand all for

You!" The bitterness of the retrospect was unendurable. The inbred force of the woman's nature took refuge

from it in an outburst of defiance and despair. "Whatever she has done, that wretch deserves it! Not a living

creature in this house shall say she has deceived me. She has not deceived meshe loves me! What do I care

whether she has given me her true name or not! She has given me her true heart. What right had Julian to play

upon her feelings and pry into her secrets? My poor, tempted, tortured child! I won't hear her confession. Not

another word shall she say to any living creature. I am mistressI will forbid it at once!" She snatched a

sheet of notepaper from the case; hesitated, and threw it from her on the table. "Why not send for my

darling?" she thought. "Why write?" She hesitated once more, and resigned the idea. "No! I can't trust

She took up the sheet of paper again, and wrote her second message to Mercy. This time the note began

"MY DEAR CHILDI have had time to think and compose myself a little, since I last wrote, requesting you

to defer the explanation which you had promised me. I already understand (and appreciate) the motives which

led you to interfere as you did downstairs, and I now ask you to entirely abandon the explanation. It will, I am

sure, be painful to you (for reasons of your own into which I have no wish to inquire) to produce the person

of whom you spoke, and as you know already, I myself am weary of hearing of her. Besides, there is really

no need now for you to explain anything. The stranger whose visits here have caused us so much pain and

anxiety will trouble us no more. She leaves England of her own free will, after a conversation with me which

has perfectly succeeded in composing and satisfying her. Not a word more, my dear, to me, or to my nephew,

or to any other human creature, of what has happened in the diningroom today. When we next meet, let it

be understood between us that the past is henceforth and forever buried to oblivion. This is not only the

earnest requestit is, if necessary, the positive command, of your mother and friend, JANET ROY.

"P.S.I shall find opportunities (before you leave your room) of speaking separately to my nephew and to

Horace Holmcroft. You need dread no embarrassment, when you next meet them. I will not ask you to

answer my note in writing. Say yes to the maid who will bring it to you, and I shall know we understand each

After sealing the envelope which inclosed these lines, Lady Janet addressed it, as usual, to "Miss Grace

Roseberry." She was just rising to ring the bell, when the maid appeared with a message from the boudoir.

The woman's tones and looks showed plainly that she had been made the object of Grace's insolent

Lady Janet, frowning contemptuously, interrupted the message at the outset . "I know what the person

" She has sent one of the menservants, my lady, for a cab. If your ladyship had only heard how she spoke to

Lady Janet intimated by a sign that she would rather not hear. She at once inclosed the check in an undirected

Dismissing Grace Roseberry from all further consideration, Lady Janet sat, with her letter to Mercy in her

hand, reflecting on her position, and on the efforts which it might still demand from her. Pursuing this train of

thought, it now occurred to her that accident might bring Horace and Mercy together at any moment, and that,

in Horace's present frame of mind, he would certainly insist on the very explanation which it was the

foremost interest of her life to suppress. The dread of this disaster was in full possession of her when the maid

The maid withdrew on her second errand. Lady Janet rose restlessly, and closed the open window. Her

impatient desire to make sure of Horace so completely mastered her that she left her room, and met the

woman in the corridor on her return. Receiving Horace's message of excuse, she instantly sent back the

peremptory rejoinder, "Say that he will oblige me to go to him, if be persists in refusing to come to me. And,

stay!" she added, remembering the undelivered letter. "Send Miss Roseberry's maid here; I want her."

Left alone again, Lady Janet paced once or twice up and down the corridorthen grew suddenly weary of

the sight of it, and went back to her room. The two maids returned together. One of them, having announced

Horace's submission, was dismissed. The other was sent to Mercy's room with Lady Janet's letter. In a minute

or two the messenger appeared again, with the news that she had found the room empty.

Lady Janet reflected for a moment. If Horace presented himself without any needless delay, the plain

inference would he that she had succeeded in separating him from Mercy. If his appearance was suspiciously

deferred, she decided on personally searching for Mercy in the reception rooms on the lower floor of the

Another minute brought Lady Janet's suspense to an end. She heard the welcome sound of a knock at her

Horace did not accept the invitation. "Excuse me," he said, "if I mention that I am rather in a hurry."

"And I have reasons," Lady Janet rejoined, "for wishing to speak to you about Grace before you see her;

Their eyes met as Lady Janet answered in those terms. Horace observed signs of agitation in her, which he

now noticed for the first time. His face darkened with an expression of sullen distrustand he took the chair

THE narrative leaves Lady Janet and Horace Holmcroft together, and returns to Julian and Mercy in the

An interval passeda long interval, measured by the impatient reckoning of suspenseafter the cab which

had taken Grace Roseberry away had left the house. The minutes followed each other; and still the warning

sound of Horace's footsteps was not heard on the marble pavement of the hall. By common (though

unexpressed) consent, Julian and Mercy avoided touching upon the one subject on which they were now both

interested alike. With their thoughts fixed secretly in vain speculation on the nature of the interview which

was then taking place in Lady Janet's room, they tried to speak on topics indifferent to both of themtried,

and failed, and tried again. In a last and longest pause of silence between them, the next event happened. The

Was it Horace? Nonot even yet. The person who had opened the door was only Mercy's maid.

Giving her message in those terms, the woman produced from the pocket of her apron Lady Janet's second

letter to Mercy, with a strip of paper oddly pinned round the envelope. Mercy detached the paper, and found

on the inner side some lines in pencil, hurriedly written in Lady Janet's hand. They ran thus.

"Don't lose a moment in reading my letter. And mind this, when H. returns to youmeet him firmly: say

Enlightened by the warning words which Julian had spoken to her, Mercy was at no loss to place the right

interpretation on those strange lines. Instead of immediately opening the letter, she stopped the maid at the

library door. Julian's suspicion of the most trifling events that were taking place in the house had found its

way from his mind to hers. "Wait!" she said. "I don't understand what is going on upstairs; I want to ask you

"If you please, miss, her ladyship ordered me to take the letter to you some little time since. You were not in

"My lady rang for me, miss. Before I could knock at her door she came out into the corridor with that morsel

"Yes, miss. Her ladyship wrote on the paper in a great hurry, and told me to pin it round the letter that I had

left in your room. I was to take them both together to you, and to let nobody see me. 'You will find Miss

Roseberry in the library' (her ladyship says), 'and run, run, run! there isn't a moment to lose!' Those were her

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

"To own the truth, miss, I heard Mr. Holmcroft in my lady's room. His voice sounded as if he was angry. I

may say they were both angryMr. Holmcroft and my lady." (She turned to Julian.) "And just before her

ladyship came out, sir, I heard your name, as if it was you they were having words about. I can't say exactly

what it was; I hadn't time to hear. And I didn't listen, miss; the door was ajar; and the voices were so loud

It was useless to detain the woman any longer. Having given her leave to withdraw, Mercy turned to Julian.

"The answer to your question may be there," he said. "Read the letter while you have the chance. And if I can

With a strange reluctance she opened the envelope. With a sinking heart she read the lines in which Lady

Janet, as "mother and friend," commanded her absolutely to suppress the confession which she had pledged

herself to make in the sacred interests of justice and truth. A low cry of despair escaped her, as the cruel

complication in her position revealed itself in all its unmerited hardship. "Oh, Lady Janet, Lady Janet!" she

thought, "there was but one trial more left in my hard lotand it comes to me from you!"

She handed the letter to Julian. He took it from her in silence. His pale complexion turned paler still as he

"To my mind," he said, "Lady Janet herself sets all further doubt at rest. Her letter tells me what she wanted

He did not immediately answer her. He sat down again in the chair by her side, and pointed to the letter.

"She has strengthened my resolution," Mercy answered. "She has added a new bitterness to my remorse."

She did not mean it harshly, but the reply sounded harshly in Julian's ears. It stirred the generous impulses,

which were the strongest impulses in his nature. He who had once pleaded with Mercy for compassionate

consideration for herself now pleaded with her for compassionate consideration for Lady Janet. With

"Don't judge her harshly," he said. "She is wrong, miserably wrong. She has recklessly degraded herself; she

has recklessly tempted you. Still, is it generousis it even justto hold her responsible for deliberate sin?

She is at the close of her days; she can feel no new affection; she can never replace you. View her position in

that light, and you will see (as I see) that it is no base motive which has led her astray. Think of her wounded

"I do say it!" she answered. "Not forgivinglyit is I who have need of forgiveness. I say it gratefully when I

He took her hand for the first time. He looked, guiltlessly looked, at her downcast face. He spoke as he had

spoken at the memorable interview between them which had made a new woman of her.

"I can imagine no crueler trial," he said, "than the trial that is now before you. The benefactress to whom you

owe everything asks nothing from you but your silence. The person whom you have wronged is no longer

present to stimulate your resolution to speak. Horace himself (unless I am entirely mistaken) will not hold

you to the explanation that you have promised. The temptation to keep your false position in this house is, I

do not scruple to say, all but irresistible. Sister and friend! can you still justify my fa ith in you? Will you still

She lifted her head, with the steady light of resolution shining again in her grand, gray eyes. Her low, sweet

"You will do justice to the woman whom you have wrongedunworthy as she is; powerless as she is to

"You will sacrifice everything you have gained by the fraud to the sacred duty of atonement? You will suffer

anythingeven though you offend the second mother who has loved you and sinned for you rather than

His voice had not trembled yet. It failed him now. His next words were spoken in faint whispering tonesto

"Thank God for this day!" he said. "I have been of some service to one of the noblest of God's creatures!"

Some subtle influence, as he spoke, passed from his hand to hers. It trembled through her nerves; it entwined

itself mysteriously with the finest sensibilities in her nature; it softly opened her heart to a first vague

surmising of the devotion that she had inspired in him. A faint glow of color, lovely in its faintness, stole over

her face and neck. Her breathing quickened tremblingly . She drew her hand away from him, and sighed

He rose suddenly to his feet and left her, without a word or a look, walking slowly down the length of the

room. When he turned and came back to her, his face was composed; he was master of himself again.

Mercy was the first to speak. She turned the conversation from herself by reverting to the proceedings in

"You spoke of Horace just now," she said, "in terms which surprised me. You appeared to think that he

would not hold me to my explanation. Is that one of the conclusions which you draw from Lady Janet's

"Most assuredly," Julian answered. "You will see the conclusion as I see it if we return for a moment to

Mercy interrupted him there. "Can you guess," she asked, "how Lady Janet prevailed upon her to go?"

"I hardly like to own it," said Julian. "There is an expression in the letter which suggests to me that Lady

"Let us return to Horace. Miss Roseberry once out of the house, but one serious obstacle is left in Lady

"He is an obstacle in this sense. He is under an engagement to marry you in a week's time; and Lady Janet is

determined to keep him (as she is determined to keep every one else) in ignorance of the truth. She will do

that without scruple. But the inbred sense of honor in her is not utterly silenced yet. She cannot, she dare not,

let Horace make you his wife under the false impression that you are Colonel Roseberry's daughter. You see

the situation? On the one hand, she won't enlighten him. On the other hand, she cannot allow him to marry

you blindfold. In this emergency what is she to do? There is but one alternative that I can discover. She must

persuade Horace (or she must irritate Horace) into acting for himself, and breaking off the engagement on his

"Look again at her letter," Julian rejoined. "It tells, you plainly that you need fear no embarrassment when

you next meet Horace. If words mean anything, those words mean that he will not claim from you the

confidence which you have promised to repose in him. On what condition is it possible for him to abstain

from doing that? On the one condition that you have ceased to represent the first and foremost interest of his

"Try to look at it," he answered, ''from Lady Janet's point of view. Do you suppose she sees anything

derogatory to her in attempting to break off the marriage? I will answer for it, she believes she is doing you a

kindness. In one sense it would be a kindness to spare you the shame of a humiliating confession, and to save

you (possibly) from being rejected to your face by the man you love. In my opinion, the thing is done already.

I have reasons of my own for believing that my aunt will succeed far more easily than she could anticipate.

"I mean by Horace's temper, Horace's unworthy distrust of the interest that I feel in you."

She instantly understood him. And more than that, she secretly admired him for the scrupulous delicacy with

which he had expressed himself. Another man would not have thought of sparing her in that way. Another

"For the reason that I have just mentioned," he said, "Horace will be easily irritated into taking a course

which, in his calmer moments, nothing would induce him to adopt. Until I heard what your maid said to you I

had thought (for your sake) of retiring before he joined you here. Now I know that my name has been

introduced, and has made mischief upstairs, I feel the necessity (for your sake again) of meeting Horace and

his temper face to face before you see him. Let me, if I can, prepare him to hear you without any angry

feeling in his mind toward you. Do you object to retire to the next room for a few minutes in the event of his

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

"His prolonged absence makes me doubt it," Julian replied. "In my belief, the marriage is broken off. He may

The instant the opinion was uttered, it was practically contradicted by the man himself. Horace opened the

HE stopped just inside the door. His first look was for Mercy; his is second look was for Julian.

"I knew it!" he said, with an assumption of sardonic composure. "If I could only have persuaded Lady Janet

to bet, I should have won a hundred pounds." He advanced to Julian, with a sudden change from irony to

"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,

"If you cannot speak without insulting one of us," she said, "permit me to request that you will not address

"Pray don't alarm yourselfI am pledged to be scrupulously civil to both of you," he said. "Lady Janet only

allowed me to leave her on condition of my promising to behave with perfect politeness. What else can I do?

I have two privileged people to deal witha parson and a woman. The parson's profession protects him, and

the woman's sex protects her. You have got me at a disadvantage, and you both of you know it. I beg to

"You have forgotten more than that," said Julian. "You have forgotten that you were born a gentleman and

bred a man of honor. So far as I am concerned, I don't ask you to remember that I am a clergymanI obtrude

my profession on nobodyI only ask you to remember your birth and your breeding. It is quite bad enough

to cruelly and unjustly suspect an old f riend who has never forgotten what he owes to you and to himself.

But it is still more unworthy of you to acknowledge those suspicions in the hearing of a woman whom your

It was impossible for Mercy to look at them, as she was looking now, without drawing the inevitable

comparison between the manly force and dignity of Julian and the womanish malice and irritability of

Horace. A last faithful impulse of loyalty toward the man to whom she had been betrothed impelled her to

part them, before Horace had hopelessly degraded himself in her estimation by contrast with Julian.

Mercy turned to Julian, with a look which said plainly, "Pity us both, and leave us!"

"Add to all your other kindnesses to me," she answered. "Wait for me in that room."

"You promise to let me know it if I can be of the smallest service to you?" he said.

"Yes, yes!" She followed him as he withdrew, and added, rapidly, in a whisper, "Leave the door ajar!"

He made no answer. As she returned to Horace he entered the diningroom. The one concession he could

make to her he did make. He closed the door so noiselessly that not even her quick hearing could detect that

"I have promised you an explanation of my conduct," she said, in accents that trembled a little in spite of

"I have a question to ask you before you do that," he rejoined. "Can you speak the truth?"

"I will give you an opportunity. Are you or are you not in love with Julian Gray?"

"I have never been unfaithful to you, Horace, even in thought. If I had not been true to you, should I feel my

He smiled bitterly. "I have my own opinion of your fidelity and of his honor," he said. "You couldn't even

send him into the next room without whispering to him first. Never mind that now. At least you know that

Mercy's power of endurance began to fail her. Not even Grace Roseberry had spoken more insultingly to her

of Julian than Horace was speaking now. "Whoever says that of Mr. Julian Gray, lies!" she answered,

"She may not have said it in so many words; but she never denied it when I said it. I reminded her of the time

when Julian Gray first heard from me that I was going to marry you: he was so overwhelmed that he was

barely capable of being civil to me. Lady Janet was present, and could not deny it. I asked her if she had

observed, since then, signs of a confidential understanding between you two. She could not deny the signs. I

asked if she had ever found you two together. She could not deny that she had found you together, this very

day, under circumstances which justified suspicion. Yes! yes! Look as angry as you like! you don't know

what has been going on upstairs. Lady Janet is bent on breaking off our engagementand Julian Gray is at

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,"

"Then I will tell you. Lady Janet is a stanch friend of yours, there is no denying that. She wished to inform

me that she had altered her mind about your promised explanation of your conduct. She said, 'Reflection has

convinced me that no explanation is required; I have laid my positive commands on my adopted daughter that

"Now observe! I waited till she had finished, and then I said, 'What have I to do with this?' Lady Janet has

one meritshe speaks out. 'You are to do as I do,' she answered. 'You are to consider that no explanation is

required, and you are to consign the whole matter to oblivion from this time forth.' 'Are you serious?' I asked.

'Quite serious.' 'In that case I have to inform your ladyship that you insist on more than you may suppose: you

insist on my breaking my engagement to Miss Roseberry. Either I am to have the explanation that she has

promised me, or I refuse to marry her.' How do you think Lady Janet took that? She shut up her lips, and she

spread out her hands, and she looked at me as much as to say, 'Just as you please! Refuse if you like; it's

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

"I will not trouble you much longer," he resumed. "I said to Lady Janet, 'Be so good as to answer me in plain

words. Do you still insist on closing Miss Roseberry's lips?' 'I still insist,' she answered. 'No explanation is

required. If you are base enough to suspect your betrothed wife, I am just enough to believe in my adopted

daughter.' I repliedand I beg you will give your best attention to what I am now going to sayI replied to

that, 'It is not fair to charge me with suspecting her. I don't understand her confidential relations with Julian

Gray, and I don't understand her language and conduct in the presence of the police officer. I claim it as my

right to be satisfied on both those pointsin the character of the man who is to marry her.' There was my

answer. I spare you all that followed. I only repeat what I said to Lady Janet. She has commanded you to be

silent. If you obey her commands, I owe it to myself and I owe it to my family to release you from your

He had mastered his temper at last: he spoke with dignity, and he spoke to the point. His position was

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

His infatuated jealousy of Julian (fatally misinterpreting her agitation) distrusted her at the very outset. She

had limited herself to clearing up the one question of her interference with the officer of justice. The other

question of her relations with Julian she had deliberately passed over. Horace instantly drew his own

"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

"I have told you already," he said. "I don't understand your confidential relations with Julian Gray."

"Don't return to tha t!" she cried, with an irrepressible outbreak of disgust. "Don't, for God's sake, make me

His obstinacy only gathered fresh encouragement from that appeal to his better sense.

She had resolved to bear anything from him as her fit punishment for the deception of which she had been

guilty. But it was not in womanhood (at the moment when the first words of her confession were trembling

on her lips) to endure Horace's unworthy suspicion of her. She rose from her seat and met his eye firmly.

"I refuse to degrade myself, and to degrade Mr. Julian Gray, by answering you," she said

Consider what you are doing," he rejoined. Change your mind, before it is too late!"

Those resolute words, that steady resistance, seemed to infuriate him. He caught her roughly by the arm.

The loud threatening tone in which he had spoken penetrated through the closed door of the diningroom.

He had just set foot in the room, when there was a knock at the other doorthe door that opened on the hall.

One of the menservants appeared, with a telegraphic message in his hand. Mercy was the first to see it. It

She signed to the man to withdraw, and herself gave the telegram to Julian. "It is addressed to you, at my

request," she said. "You will recognize the name of the person who sends it, and you will find a message in it

The message inside was expressed in these terms: "I am as deeply interested in her as you are. Say that I have

received her letter, and that I welcome her back to the Refuge with all my heart. I have business this evening

The message explained itself. Of her own freewill she had made the expiation complete! Of her own

freewill she was going back to the martyrdom of her old life! Bound as he knew himself to be to let no

compromising word or action escape him in the presence of Horace, the irrepressible expression of Julian's

admiration glowed in his eyes as they rested on Mercy. Horace detected the look. He sprang forward and

Maddened with rage, he lifted his hand threateningly. "Give it to me!" he repeated between his set teeth, "or it

Julian gave it. She turned, and offered it to Horace, looking at him with a steady eye, holding it out to him

Julian's generous nature pitied the man who had insulted him. Julian's great heart only remembered the friend

She neither answered nor moved. Nothing stirred the horrible torpor of her resignation to her fate. She knew

Horace's hand answered him with a contemptuous gesture. Horace's eyes devoured, word by word, the

He looked up when he had read it through. There was a ghastly change in his face as he turned it on Mercy.

She stood between the two men like a statue. The life in her seemed to have died out, except in her eyes. Her

The silence was only broken by the low murmuring of Julian's voice. His face was hidden in his handshe

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.

Without a change in her face, without a movement in her limbs, she spoke the fatal words:

"I have come from a Refuge, and I am going back to a Refuge. Mr. Horace Holmcroft, I am Mercy Merrick."

The moments passedand not one of the three moved. The moments passedand not one of the three

spoke. Insensibly the words of supplication died away on Julian's lips. Even his energy failed to sustain him,

tried as it now was by the crushing oppression of suspense. The first trifling movement which suggested the

idea of change, and which so brought with it the first vague sense of relief, came from Mercy. Incapable of

sustaining the prolonged effort of standing, she drew back a little and took a chair. No outward manifestation

of emotion escaped her. There she satwith the deathlike torpor of resignation in her facewaiting her

sentence in silence from the man at whom she had hurled the whole terrible confession of the truth in one

Julian lifted his head as she moved. He looked at Horace. and advancing a few steps, looked again. There was

"What more have I to say to him?" she asked, in faint, weary tones. "Did I not tell him everything when I told

The natural sound of her voice might have failed to affect Horace. The altered sound of it roused him. He

approached Mercy's chair, with a dull surprise in his face, and put his hand, in a weak, wavering way, on her

shoulder. In that position he stood for a while, looking down at her in silence.

The one idea in him that found its way outward to expression was the idea of Julian. Without moving his

hand, without looking up from Mercy, he spoke for the first time since the shock had fallen on him.

He considered a little before he replied. His hand left Mercy's shoulder, and went up to his headthen

dropped at his side. His next words were spoken in a sadly helpless, bewildered way.

"I have an idea, Julian, that I have been somehow to blame. I said some hard words to you. It was a little

while since. I don't clearly remember what it was all about. My temper has been a good deal tried in this

house; I have never been used to the sort of thing that goes on heresecrets and mysteries, and hateful

lowlived quarrels. We have no secrets and mysteries at home. And as for quarrels ridiculous! My mother

and my sisters are highly bred women (you know them); gentlewomen, in the best sense of the word. When I

am with them I have no anxieties. I am not harassed at home by doubts of who people are, and confusion

about names, and so on. I suspect the contrast weighs a little on my mind and upsets it. They make me

oversuspicious 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

"Just look at me," he said. "Does it strike you that I am at all wrong in my mind? Tell me the truth, old

He considered again after that reply, his eyes remaining anxiously fixed on Julian's face.

"My nerves are a little shaken," he repeated. "That is true; I feel they are shaken. I should like, if you don't

mind, to make sure that it's no worse. Will you help me to try if my memory is all right?"

"Ah! you are a good fellow, Julianand a clearheaded 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?"

"The troubles came in with the coming of a woman from Germany, a stranger to us, who behaved very

"The woman carried matters with a high hand. She claimed Colonel RoseberryI wish to be strictly

accurateshe claimed the late Colonel Roseberry as her father. She told a tiresome story about her having

been robbed of her papers and her name by an impostor who had personated her. She said the name of the

impostor was Mercy Merrick. And she afterward put the climax to it all: she pointed to the lady who is

engaged to be my wife, and declared that she was Mercy Merrick. Tell me again, is that right or wrong?"

Julian answered him as before. He went on, speaking more confidently and more excitedly than he had

"Now attend to this, Julian. I am going to pass from my memory of what happened a week ago to my

memory of what happened five minutes since. You were present; I want to know if you heard it too." He

paused, and, without taking his eyes off Julian, pointed backward to Mercy. "There is the lady who is

engaged to marry me," he resumed. "Did I, or did I not, hear her say that she had come out of a Refuge, and

that she was going back to a Refuge? Did I, or did I not, hear her own to my face that her name was Mercy

Merrick? Answer me, Julian. My good friend, answer me, for the sake of old times."

His voice faltered as he spoke those imploring words. Under the dull blank of his face there appeared the first

signs of emotion slowly forcing its way outward. The stunned mind was reviving faintly. Julian saw his

opportunity of aiding the recovery, and seized it. He took Horace gently by the arm, and pointed to Mercy.

She had not once interrupted them while they had been speaking: she had changed her position again, and

that was all. There was a writingtable at the side of her chair; her outstretched arms rested on it. Her head

had dropped on her arms, and her face was hidden. Julian's judgment had not misled him; the utter

selfabandonment 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

"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

Julian led Horace to a seat, and silently waited by him until he had recovered his selfcontrol. He gratefully

took the kind hand that had sustained him: he said, simply, almost boyishly, "Thank you, Julian. I am better

"The time has come," he said. "Tell him alltruly, unreservedly, as you would tell it to me."

She shuddered as he spoke. "Have I not told him enough?" she asked. "Do you want me to break his heart?

"No, no! I can't listen to it! I daren't listen to it!" he cried, and rose to leave the room.

Julian had taken the good work in hand: he never faltered over it for an instant. Horace had loved herhow

dearly Julian now knew for the first time. The bare possibility that she might earn her pardon if she was

allowed to plead her own cause was a possibility still left. To let her win on Horace to forgive her, was death

to the love that still filled his heart in secret. But he never hesitated. With a resolution which the weaker man

"For her sake, and for your sake, you shall not condemn her unheard," he said to Horace, firmly. "One

temptation to deceive you after another has tried her, and she has resisted them all. With no discovery to fear,

with a letter from the benefactress who loves her commanding her to be silent, with everything that a woman

values in this world to lose, if she owns what she has donethis woman, for the truth's sake, has spoken the

truth. Does she deserve nothing at your hands in return for that? Respect her, Horaceand hear her."

"You have allowed me to guide you so far," he said. "Will you allow me to guide you still?"

Her eyes sank before his; her bosom rose and fell rapidly. His influence over her maintained its sway. She

"Tell him,'' Julian proceeded, in accents of entreaty, not of command"tell him what your life has been. Tell

him how you were tried and tempted, with no friend near to speak the words which might have saved you.

He attempted to lead her across the room to the place which Horace occupied. But her submission had its

limits. Halfway to the place she stopped, and refused to go further. Julian offered her a chair. She declined

to take it. Standing with one hand on the back of the chair, she waited for the word from Horace which would

permit her to speak. She was resigned to the ordeal. Her face was calm; her mind was clear. The hardest of all

humiliations to endurethe humiliation of acknowledging her nameshe had passed through. Nothing

remained but to show her gratitude to Julian by acceding to his wishes, and to ask pardon of Horace before

they parted forever. In a little while the Matron would arrive at the house and then it would be over.

Unwillingly Horace looked at her. Their eyes met. He broke out suddenly with something of his former

"I can't realize it even now!" he cried. "Is it true that you are not Grace Roseberry? Don't look at me! Say in

All the weakness of Horace's character disclosed itself when she made that reply.

"Infamous!" he exclaimed. "What excuse can you make for the cruel deception you have practiced on me?

She accepted his reproaches with unshaken resignation. "I have deserved it!" was all she said to herself, "I

"Wait till you are sure there is no excuse for her, Horace," he said, quietly. "Grant her justice, if you can grant

He advanced toward the door of the diningroom. Horace's weakness disclosed itself once more.

"Don't leave me alone with her!" he burst out. "The misery of it is more than I can bear!"

Julian looked at Mercy. Her face brightened faintly. That momentary expression of relief told him how truly

he would be befriending her if he consented to remain in the room. A position of retirement was offered to

him by a recess formed by the central baywindow of the library. If he occupied this place, they could see or

"I will stay with you, Horace, as long as you wish me to be here." Having answered in those terms, he

stopped as he passed Mercy, on his way to the window. His quick and kindly insight told him that he might

still be of some service to her. A hint from hi m might show her the shortest and the easiest way of making

her confession. Delicately and briefly he gave her the hint. "The first time I met you," he said, "I saw that

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

"MR. JULIAN GRAY has asked me to tell him, and to tell you, Mr. Holmcroft, how my troubles began.

"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 servantsthe groom who rode out with her. She suffered, poor creature, the usual

penalty of such conduct as hers. After a short time she and her husband were separatedon the condition of

her sacrificing to the man whom she had married the whole of the little fortune that she possessed in her right.

"Gaining her freedom, my mother had to gain her daily bread next. Her family refused to take her back. She

"She was earning a bare living in this way, when my father accidentally met with her. He was a man of high

rank, proud of his position, and well known in the society of that time for his many accomplishments and his

refined tastes. My mother's beauty fascinated him. He took her from the strolling players, and surrounded her

"I don't know how long they lived together. I only know that my father, at the time of my first recollections,

had abandoned her. She had excited his suspicions of her fidelitysuspicions 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 didI can only repeat what she said. My father left her absolutely penniless. He never saw her again; and

"She was back again among the strolling players when I first remember her. It was not an unhappy time for

me. I was the favorite pet and plaything of the poor actors. They taught me to sing and to dance at an age

when other children are just beginning to learn to read. At five years old I was in what is called 'the

profession,' and had made my poor little reputation in booths at country fairs. As early as that, Mr. Holmcroft,

I had begun to live under an assumed namethe prettiest name they could invent for me 'to look well in the

bills.' It was sometimes a hard struggle for us, in bad seasons, to keep body and soul together. Learning to

sing and dance in public often meant learning to bear hunger and cold in private, when I was apprenticed to

the stage. And yet I have lived to look back on my days with the strolling players as the happiest days of my

"I was ten years old when the first serious misfortune that I can remember fell upon me. My mother died,

worn out in the prime of her life. And not long afterward the strolling company, brought to the end of its

"I was left on the world, a nameless, penniless outcast, with one fatal inheritanceGod 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 starvedout players. Two of them (husband and wife) obtained engagements

in another company, and I was included in the bargain The new manager by whom I was employed was a

drunkard and a brute. One night I made a trifling mistake in the course of the performancesand I was

savagely beaten for it. Perhaps I had inherited some of my father's spiritwithout, I hope, also inheriting my

father's pitiless nature. However that may be, I resolved (no matter what became of me) never again to serve

the man who had beaten me. I unlocked the door of our miserable lodging at daybreak the next morning; and,

"My mother had confided to me, in her last moments, my father's name and the address of his house in

London. 'He may feel some compassion for you' (she said), 'though he feels none for me: try him.' I had a few

shillings, the last pitiful remains of my wages, in my pocket; and I was not far from London. But I never went

near my father: child as I was, I would have starved and died rather than go to him. I had loved my mother

dearly; and I hated the man who had turned his back on her when she lay on her deathbed. It made no

"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 childwhen the child has never sat on his knee, and never had a kiss or a present from

him? If we had met in the street, we should not have known each other. Perhaps in afterdays, when I was

starving in London, I may have begged of my father without knowing it; and he may have thrown his

daughter a penny to get rid of her, without knowing it either! What is there sacred in the relations between

father and child, when they are such relations as these? Even the flowers of the field cannot grow without

light and air to help them! How is a child's love to grow, with nothing to help it?

"My small savings would have been soon exhausted, even if I had been old enough and strong enough to

protect them myself. As things were, my few shillings were taken from me by gypsies. I had no reason to

complain. They gave me food and the shelter of their tents, and they made me of use to them in various ways.

After a while hard times came to the gypsies, as they had come to the strolling players. Some of them were

imprisoned; the rest were dispersed. It was the season for hopgathering at the time. I got employment

"I have no wish to weary and pain you by dwelling on this part of my childhood in detail. It will be enough if

I tell you that I sank lower and lower until I ended in selling matches in the street. My mother's legacy got me

many a sixpence which my matches would never have charmed out of the pockets of strangers if I had been

an ugly child. My face. which was destined to be my greatest misfortune in afteryears, was my best friend in

"Is there anything, Mr. Holmcroft, in the life I am now trying to describe which reminds you of a day when

"I surprised and offended you, I remember; and it was not possible for me to explain my conduct at the time.

Do you recollect the little wandering girl, with the miserable faded nosegay in her hand, who ran after us, and

begged for a halfpenny? I shocked you by bursting out crying when the child asked us to buy her a bit of

bread. Now you know why I was so sorry for her. Now you know why I offended you the next day by

breaking an engagement with your mother and sisters, and going to see that child in her wretched home. After

what I have confessed, you will admit that my poor little sister in adversity had the first claim on me.

"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 fellowcreatures. They have only to break the lawand

they make a public appearance in a court of justice. If the circumstances connected with their offense are of

an interesting kind, they gain a second advantage: they are advertised all over England by a report in the

"Yes! even I have my knowledge of the law. I know that it completely overlooked me as long as I respected

it. But on two different occasions it became my best frie nd when I set it at defiance! My first fortunate

"It was evening time. I was half dead with starvation; the rain was falling; the night was coming on. I

beggedopenly, loudly, as only a hungry child can beg. An old lady in a carriage at a shop door complained

of my importunity. The policeman did his duty. The law gave me a supper and shelter at the stationhouse

that night. 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

everything else) that I had never applied to him for help, in resentment of his treatment of my mother. This

incident was new, I suppose; it led to the appearance of my 'case' in the newspapers. The reporters further

served my interests by describing me as 'pretty and interesting.' Subscriptions were sent to the court. A

benevolent married couple, in a respectable sphere of life, visited the workhouse to see me. I produced a

favorable impression on themespecially 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 goodnatured man. It ended

"I have always felt the aspiration, no matter how low I may have fallen, to struggle upward to a position

above me; to rise, in spite of fortune, superior to my lot in life. Perhaps some of my father's pride may be at

the root of this restless feeling in me. It seems to be a part of my nature. It brought me into this houseand it

will go with me out of this house. Is it my curse or my blessing? I am not able to decide.

"On the first night when I slept in my new home I said to myself, 'They have taken me to be their servant: I

will be something more than thatthey shall end in taking me for their child.' Before I had been a week in

the house I was the wife's favorite companion in the absence of her husband at his place of business. She was

a highly accomplished woman, greatly her husband's superior in cultivation, and, unfortunately for herself,

also his superior in years. The love was all on her side. Excepting certain occasions on which he roused her

jealousy, they lived together on sufficiently friendly terms. She was one of the many wives who resign

themselves to be disappointed in their husbandsand he was one of the many husbands who never know

what their wives really think of them. Her one great happiness was in teaching me. I was eager to learn; I

made rapid progress. At my pliant age I soon acquired the refinements of language and manner which

characterized my mistress. It is only the truth to say that the cultivation which has made me capable of

"For three happy years I lived under that friendly roof. I was between fifteen and sixteen years of age, when

the fatal inheritance from my mother cast its first shadow on my life. One miserable day the wife's motherly

love for me changed in an instant to the jealous hatred that never forgives. Can you guess the reason? The

"I was innocent; I was blameless. He owned it himself to the clergyman who was with him at his death. By

"He was at an age (when I was under his care) when men are usually supposed to regard women with

tranquillity, if not with indifference. It had been the habit of years with me to look on him as my second

father. In my innocent ignorance of the feeling which really inspired him, I permitted him to indulge in little

paternal familiarities with me, which inflamed his guilty passion. His wife discovered himnot I. No words

can describe my astonishment and my horror when the first outbreak of her indignation forced on me the

knowledge of the truth. On my knees I declared myself guiltless. On my knees I implored her to do justice to

my purity and my youth. At other times the sweetest and the most considerate of women, jealousy had now

transformed her to a perfect fury. She accused me of deliberately encouraging him; she declared she would

turn me out of the house with her own hands. Like other easytempered 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

selfcontrol, on his side. He openly told her that life was worth nothing to him without me. He openly

avowed his resolution to go with me when I left the house. The maddened woman seized him by the armI

saw that, and saw no more. I ran out into the street, panicstricken. 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 ofa small shop, kept by the

widowed sister of one of our servants. Here I obtained shelter for the night. The next day he discovered me.

He made his vile proposals; he offered me the whole of his fortune; he declared his resolution, say what I

might, to return the next day. That night, by help of the good woman who had taken care of me under

cover of the darkness, as if I had been to blame!I was secretly removed to the East End of London, and

placed under the charge of a trustworthy person who lived, in a very humble way, by letting lodgings.

"Here, in a little back garret at the top of the house, I was thrown again on the world an age when it was

doubly perilous for me to be left to my own resources to earn the bread I ate and the roof that covered me.

"I claim no credit to myselfyoung as I was, placed as I was between the easy life of Vice and the hard life

of Virtuefor acting as I did. The man simply horrified me: my natural impulse was to escape from him. But

let it be remembered, before I approach the saddest part of my sad story, that I was an innocent girl, and that I

"Forgive me for dwelling as I have done on my early years. I shrink from speaking of the events that are still

"In losing the esteem of my first benefactress, I had, in my friendless position, lost all hold on an honest

lifeexcept 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 needlewomen.

It is needless for me to tell you how miserably work of that sort is remunerated: you have read about it in the

newspapers. As long as my health lasted I contrived to live and to keep out of debt. Few girls could have

resisted as long as I did the slowlypoisoning influences of crowded workroom, insufficient nourishment,

and almost total privation of exercise. My life as a child had been a life in the open air: it had helped to

strengthen a constitution naturally hardy, naturally free from all taint of hereditary disease. But my time came

at last. Under the cruel stress laid on it my health gave way. I was struck down by low fever, and sentence

was pronounced on me by my fellowlodgers: 'Ah, poor thing, her troubles will soon be at an end!'

"The prediction might have proved trueI might never have committed the errors and endured the sufferings

"But it was my good, or my evil, fortuneI dare not say whichto have interested in myself and my

sorrows an actress at a suburban theatre, who occupied the room under mine. Except when her stage duties

took her away for two or three hours in the evening, this noble creature never left my bedside. Ill as she could

afford it, her purse paid my inevitable expenses while I lay helpless. The landlady, moved by her example,

accepted half the weekly rent of my room. The doctor, with the Christian kindness of his profession, would

take no fees. All that the tenderest care could accomplish was lavished on me; my youth and my constitution

"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 stageespecially as my childish training had given me, in some

"I had only one motive for shrinking from an appearance at the theatrebut it was strong enough to induce

me to submit to any alternative that remained, no matter how hopeless it might be. If I showed myself on the

public stage, my discovery by the man from whom I had escaped would be only a question of time. I knew

him to be habitually a playgoer and a subscriber to a theatrical newspaper. I had even heard him speak of

the theatre to which my friend was attached, and compare it advantageously with places of amusement of far

higher pretensions. Sooner or later, if I joined the company he would be certain to go and see 'the new

actress.' The bare thought of it reconciled me to returning to my needle. Before I was strong enough to endure

the atmosphere of the crowded workroom I obtained permission, as a favor, to resume my occupation at

"Surely my choice was the choice of a virtuous girl? And yet the day when I returned to my needle was the

"I had now not only to provide for the wants of the passing hourI had my debts to pay. It was only to be

done by toiling harder than ever, and by living more poorly than ever. I soon paid the penalty, in my

weakened state, of leading such a life as this. One evening my head turned suddenly giddy; my heart

throbbed frightfully. I managed to open the window, and to let the fresh air into the room, and I felt better.

But I was not sufficiently recovered to be able to thread my needle. I thought to myself, 'If I go out for half an

hour, a little exercise may put me right again.' I had not, as I suppose, been out more than ten minutes when

the attack from which I had suffered in my room was renewed. There was no shop near in which I could take

refuge. I tried to ring the bell of the nearest house door. Before I could reach it I fainted in the street.

"How long hunger and weakness left me at the mercy of the first stranger who might pass by, it is impossible

"When I partially recovered my senses I was conscious of being under shelter somewhere, and of having a

wineglass containing some cordial drink held to my lips by a man. I managed to swallowI don't know

how little, or how much. The stimulant had a very strange effect on me. Reviving me at first, it ended in

"When I next recovered myself, the day was breaking. I was in a bed in a strange room. A nameless terror

seized me. I called out. Three or four women came in, whose faces betrayed, even to my inexperienced eyes,

the shameless infamy of their lives. I started up in the bed. I implored them to tell me where I was, and what

"Spare me! I can say no more. Not long since you heard Miss Roseberry call me an outcast from the streets.

Now you knowas God is my judge I am speaking the truth!now you know what made me an outcast,

"Give me a few minutes," she said, in low, pleading tones. "If I try to go on now, I am afraid I shall cry."

She took the chair which Julian had placed for her, turning her face aside so that neither of the men could see

it. One of her hands was pressed over her bosom, the other hung listlessly at her side.

Julian rose from the place that he had occupied. Horace neither moved nor spoke. His head was on his breast:

the traces of tears on his cheeks owned mutely that she had touched his heart. Would he forgive her? Julian

In silence he took the hand which hung at her side. In silence he lifted it to his lips and kissed it, as her

brother might have kissed it. She started, but she never looked up. Some strange fear of discovery seemed to

possess her. "Horace?" she whispered, timidly. Julian made no reply. He went back to his place, and allowed

The sacrifice was immense enoughfeeling toward her as he feltto be worthy of the man who made it.

A few minutes had been all she asked for. In a few minutes she turned toward them again. Her sweet voice

"What was it possible for a friendless girl in my position to do, when the full knowledge of the outrage had

"If I had possessed near and dear relatives to protect and advise me, the wretches into whose hands I had

fallen might have felt the penalty of the law. I knew no more of the formalities which set the law in motion

than a child. But I had another alternative (you will say). Charitable societies would have received me and

helped me, if I had stated my case to them. I knew no more of the charitable societies than I knew of the law.

At least, then, I might have gone back to the honest people among whom I had lived? When I received my

freedom, after the interval of some days, I was ashamed to go back to the honest people. Helplessly and

hopelessly, without sin or choice of mine, I drifted, as thousands of other women have drifted, into the life

"You, who have your solicitors to inform you of legal remedies and your newspapers, circulars, and active

friends to sound the praises of charitable institutions continually in your earsyou, who possess these

advantages, have no idea of the outer world of ignorance in which your lost fellowcreatures live. They know

nothing (unless they are rogues accustomed to prey on society) of your benevolent schemes to help them. The

purpose of public charities, and the way to discover and apply to them, ought to be posted at the corner of

every street. What do we know of public dinners and eloquent sermons and neatly printed circulars? Every

now and then the ease of some forlorn creature (generally of a woman) who has committed suicide, within

five minutes' walk, perhaps, of an institution which would have opened its doors to her, appears in the

newspapers, shocks you dreadfully, and is then forgotten again. Take as much pains to make charities and

asylums known among the people without money as are taken to make a new play, a new journal, or a new

medicine known among the people with money and you will save many a lost creature who is perishing now.

"You will forgive and understand me if I say no more of this period of my life. Let me pass to the new

incident in my career which brought me for the second time before the public notice in a court of law.

"Sad as my experience has been, it has not taught me to think ill of human nature. I had found kind hearts to

feel for me in my former troubles; and I had friendsfaithful, selfdenying, generous friendsamong my

sisters in adversity now. One of these poor women (she has gone, I am glad to think, from the world that used

her so hardly) especially attracted my sympathies. She was the gentlest, the most unselfish creature I have

ever met with. We lived together like sisters. More than once in the dark hours when the thought of

selfdestruction comes to a desperate woman, the image of my poor devoted friend, left to suffer alone, rose

in my mind and restrained me. You will hardly understand it, but even we had our happy days. When she or I

had a few shillings to spare, we used to offer one another little presents, and enjoy our simple pleasure in

giving and receiving as keenly as if we had been the most reputable women living.

"One day I took my friend into a shop to buy her a ribbononly 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.

"Next to me, as I stood at the counter with my companion, was a gaudilydressed woman, looking at some

handkerchiefs. The handkerchiefs were finely embroidered, but the smart lady was hard to please. She

tumbled them up dis dainfully in a heap, and asked for other specimens from the stock in the shop. The man,

in clearing the handkerchiefs out of the way, suddenly missed one. He was quite sure of it, from a peculiarity

in the embroidery which made the handkerchief especially noticeable. I was poorly dressed, and I was close

to the handkerchiefs. After one look at me he shouted to the superintendent: 'Shut the door! There is a thief in

"The door was closed; the lost handkerchief was vainly sought for on the counter and on the floor. A robbery

"I was searched, and the handkerchief was discovered on me. The woman who had stood next to me, on

finding herself threatened with discovery, had no doubt contrived to slip the stolen handkerchief into my

pocket. Only an accomplished thief could have escaped detection in that way without my knowledge. It was

useless, in the face of the facts, to declare my innocence. I had no character to appeal to. My friend tried to

speak for me; but what was she? Only a lost woman like myself. My landlady's evidence in favor of my

honesty produced no effect; it was against her that she let lodgings to people in my position. I was

prosecuted, and found guilty. The tale of my disgrace is now complete, Mr. Holmcroft. No matter whether I

"The matron of the prison was the next person who took an interest in me. She reported favorably of my

behavior to the authorities and when I had served my time (as the phrase was among us) she gave me a letter

to the kind friend and guardian of my later yearsto the lady who is coming here to take me back with her to

"From this time the story of my life is little more than the story of a woman's vain efforts to recover her lost

"The matron, on receiving me into the Refuge, frankly acknowledged that there were terrible obstacles in my

way. But she saw that I was sincere, and she felt a good woman's sympathy and compassion for me. On my

side, I did not shrink from beginning the slow and weary journey back again to a reputable life from the

humblest startingpointfrom domestic service. After first earning my new character in the Refuge, I

obtained a trial in a respectable house. I worked hard, and worked uncomplainingly; but my mother's fatal

legacy was against me from the first. My personal appearance excited remark; my manners and habits were

not the manners and habits of the women among whom my lot was cast. I tried one place after

anotheralways with the same results. Suspicion and jealousy I could endure; but I was defenseless when

curiosity assailed me in its turn. Sooner or later inquiry led to discovery. Sometimes the servants threatened

to give warning in a bodyand I was obliged to go. Sometimes, where there was a young man in the family,

scandal pointed at me and at himand again I was obliged to go. If you care to know it, Miss Roseberry can

tell you the story of those sad days. I confided it to her on the memorable night when we met in the French

cottage; I have no heart repeat it now. After a while I wearied of the hopeless struggle. Despair laid its hold

on meI lost all hope in the mercy of God. More than once I walked to one or other of the bridges, and

looked over the parapet at the river, and said to myself 'Other women have done it: why shouldn't I?'

"You saved me at that time, Mr. Grayas you have saved me since. I was one of your congregation when

you preached in the chapel of the Refuge You reconciled others besides me to our hard pilgrimage. In their

"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

"I passed through a month of probation in a London hospital. A week after that I wore the red cross of the

Geneva ConventionI was appointed nurse in a French ambulance. When you first saw me, Mr. Holmcroft,

I still had my nurse's dress on, hidden from you and from everybody under a gray cloak.

"I have not tried to make the worst of my trials and troubles in telling you what my life has been. I have

honestly described it for what it was when I met with Miss Roseberrya life without hope. May you never

know the temptation that tried me when the shell struck its victim in the French cottage! There she

laydead! Her name was untainted. Her future promised me the reward which had been denied to the honest

efforts of a penitent woman. My lost place in the world was offered back to me on the one condition that I

stooped to win it by a fraud. I had no prospect to look forward to; I had no friend near to advise me and to

save me; the fairest years of my womanhood had been wasted in the vain struggle to recover my good name.

Such was my position when the possibility of personating Miss Roseberry first forced itself on my mind.

Impulsively, recklessly wickedly, if you likeI seized the opportunity, and let you pass me through the

German lines under Miss Roseberry's name. Arrived in England, having had time to reflect, I made my first

and last effort to draw back before it was too late. I went to the Refuge, and stopped on the opposite side of

the street, looking at it. The old hopeless life of irretrievable disgrace confronted me as I fixed my eyes on the

familiar door; the horror of returning to that life was more than I could force myself to endure. An empty cab

passed me at the moment. The driver held up his hand. In sheer despair I stopped him, and when he said

"Of what I have suffered in secret since my own successful deception established me under Lady Janet's care

I shall say nothing. Many things which must have surprised you in my conduct are made plain to you by this

time. You must have noticed long since that I was not a happy woman. Now you know why.

"My confession is made; my conscience has spoken at last. You are released from your promise to meyou

are free. Thank Mr. Julian Gray if I stand here selfaccused of the offense, that I have committed, before the

Her eyes still rested on Horace. After hearing what he had heard could he resist that gentle, pleading look?

Would he forgive her? A while since Julian had seen tears on his cheeks, and had believed that he felt for her.

For the last timeat the crisis of her lifeJulian spoke for her. He had never loved her as he loved her at

that moment; it tried even his generous nature to plead her cause with Horace against himself. But he had

promised her, without reserve, all the help that her truest friend could offer. Faithfully and manfully he

"She has told you to thank me, if her conscience has spoken. Thank the noble nature which answered when I

called upon it! Own the priceless value of a woman who can speak the truth. Her heartfelt repentance is a joy

in heaven. Shall it not plead for her on earth? Honor her, if you are a Christian! Feel for her, if you are a

Mercy's eyes turned tearfully on Julian. His heart was the heart that felt for her! His words were the words

which comforted and pardoned her! When she looked back again at Horace, it was with an effort. His last

hold on her was lost. In her inmost mind a thought rose unbiddena thought which was not to be repressed.

She advanced a step toward him ; it was not possible, even yet, to completely forgot the past. She held out her

"Before we part forever," she said to him, "will you take my hand as a token that you forgive me?"

He hesitated. He half lifted his hand. The next moment the generous impulse died away in him. In its place

came the mean fear of what might happen if he trusted himself to the dangerous fascination of her touch. His

At the moment when he opened the door Julian's contempt for him burst its way through all restraints.

As the words escaped him he looked back at Mercy. She had turned aside from both of themshe had retired

to a distant part of the library The first bitter foretaste of what was in store for her when she faced the world

again had come to her from Horace! The energy which had sustained her thus far quailed before the dreadful

prospectdoubly dreadful to a womanof obloquy and contempt. She sank on her knees before a little

couch in the darkest corner of the room. "O Christ, have mercy on me!" That was her prayerno more.

Julian followed her. He waited a little. Then his kind hand touched her; his friendly voice fell consolingly on

"Rise, poor wounded heart! Beautiful, purified soul, God's angels rejoice over you! Take your place among

He raised her as he spoke. All her heart went out to him. She caught his handshe 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 lonelyand you are so good to me!"

She tried to leave him. It was uselessher 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 lipshe looked again, and checked

it. No, not at that moment; not when she was helpless and ashamed; not when her weakness might make her

yield, only to regret it at a later time. The great heart which had spared her and felt for her from the first

"Don't think of your future life just yet," he said, gently. "I have something to propose when rest and quiet

have restored you." He opened the nearest doorthe door of the diningroomand went out.

The servants engaged in completing the decoration of the dinnertable noticed, when "Mr. Julian" entered the

room, that his eyes were "brighter than ever." He looked (they remarked) like a man who "expected good

news." They were inclined to suspectthough he was certainly rather young for itthat her ladyship's

There are limits, in the physical organization of man, to the action of pain. When suffering has reached a

given point of intensity the nervous sensibility becomes incapable of feeling more. The rule of Nature, in this

respect, applies not only to sufferers in the body, but to sufferers in the mind as well. Grief, rage, terror, have

also their appointed limits. The moral sensibility, like the nervous sensibility, reaches its period of absolute

The capacity for suffering in Mercy had attained its term. Alone in the library, she could feel the physical

relief of repose; she could vaguely recall Julian's parting words to her, and sadly wonder what they

She recovered herself sufficiently to be able to look at her watch and to estimate the lapse of time that might

yet pass before Julian returned to her as he had promised. While her mind was still languidly following this

train of thought she was disturbed by the ringing of a bell in the hall, used to summon the servant whose

duties were connected with that part of the house. In leaving the library, Horace had gone out by the door

which led into the hall, and had failed to close it. She plainly heard the belland a moment later (more

She started to her feet. Lady Janet's letter was still in the pocket of her apronthe letter which imperatively

commanded her to abstain from making the very confession that had just passed her lips! It was near the

dinner hour, and the library was the favorite place in which the mistress of the house and her guests

assembled at that time. It was no matter of doubt; it was an absolute certainty that Lady Janet had only

The alternative for Mercy lay between instantly leaving the library by the diningroom dooror remaining

where she was, at the risk of being sooner or later compelled to own that she had deliberately disobeyed her

benefactress. Exhausted by what she had already suffered, she stood trembling and irresolute, incapable of

Lady Janet's voice, clear and resolute, penetrated into the room. She was reprimanding the servant who had

"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

(Never had Lady Janet's voice sounded so sternly in Mercy's ear as it sounded now. If she spoke with that

tone of severity to a servant who had neglected a lamp, what had her adopted daughter to expect when she

discovered that her entreaties and her commands had been alike set at defiance?)

Having administered her reprimand, Lady Janet had not done with the servant yet. She had a question to put

Mercy returned to the couch. She could stand no longer; she had not even resolution enough left to lift her

Lady Janet came in more rapidly than usual. She advanced to the couch, and tapped Mercy playfully on the

Her tone was as playfully affectionate as the action which had accompanied her words. In speechless

Always remarkable for the taste and splendor of her dress, Lady Janet had on this occasion surpassed herself.

There she stood revealed in her grandest velvet, her richest jewelry, her finest lacewith no one to entertain

at the dinnertable but the ordinary members of the circle at Mablethorpe House. Noticing this as strange to

begin with, Mercy further observed, for the first time in her experience, that Lady Janet's eyes avoided

meeting hers. The old lady took her place companionably on the couch; she ridiculed her "lazy child's" plain

dress, without an ornament of any sort on it, with her best grace; she affectionately put her arm round Mercy's

waist, and rearranged with her own hand the disordered locks of Mercy's hairbut the instant Mercy herself

looked at her, Lady Janet's eyes discovered something supremely interesting in the familiar objects that

How were these changes to be interpreted? To what possible conclusion did they point?

Julian's profounder knowledge of human nature, if Julian had been present, might have found a clew to the

mystery. He might have surmised (incredible as it was) that Mercy's timidity before Lady Janet was fully

reciprocated by Lady Janet's timidity before Mercy. It was even so. The woman whose immovable

composure had conquered Grace Roseberry's utmost insolence in the hour of her triumphthe woman who,

without once flinching, had faced every other consequence of her resolution to ignore Mercy's true position in

the housequailed for the first time when she found herself face to face with the very person for who m she

had suffered and sacrificed so much. She had shrunk from the meeting with Mercy, as Mercy had shrunk

from the meeting with her. The splendor of her dress meant simply that, when other excuses for delaying the

meeting downstairs had all been exhausted, the excuse of a long, and elaborate toilet had been tried next.

Even the moments occupied in reprimanding the servant had been moments seized on as the pretext for

another delay. The hasty entrance into the room, the nervous assumption of playfulness in language and

manner, the evasive and wandering eyes, were all referable to the same cause. In the presence of others, Lady

Janet had successfully silenced the protest of her own inbred delicacy and inbred sense of honor. In the

presence of Mercy, whom she loved with a mother's lovein the presence of Mercy, for whom she had

stooped to deliberate concealment of the truthall that was high and noble in the woman's nature rose in her

and rebuked her. What will the daughter of my adoption, the child of my first and last experience of maternal

love, think of me, now that I have made myself an accomplice in the fraud of which she is ashamed? How

can I look her in the face, when I have not hesitated, out of selfish consideration for my own tranquillity, to

forbid that frank avowal of the truth which her finer sense of duty had spontaneously bound her to make?

Those were the torturing questions in Lady Janet's mind, while her arm was wound affectionately round

Mercy's waist, while her fingers were busying themselves familiarly with the arrangement of Mercy's hair.

Thence, and thence only, sprang the impulse which set her talking, with an uneasy affectation of frivolity, of

any topic within the range of conversation, so long as it related to the future, and completely ignored the

"The winter here is unendurable," Lady Janet began. "I have been thinking, Grace, about what we had better

Mercy started. Lady Janet had called her "Grace." Lady Janet was still deliberately assuming to be innocent

" No," resumed her ladyship, affecting to misunderstand Mercy's movement, "you are not to go up now and

dress. There is no time, and I am quite ready to excuse you. You are a foil to me, my dear. You have reached

the perfection of shabbiness. Ah! I remember when I had my whims and fancies too, and when I looked well

in anything I wore, just as you do. No more of that. As I was saying, I have been thinking and planning what

we are to do. We really can't stay here. Cold one day, and hot the nextwhat a climate! As for society, what

do we lose if we go away? There is no such thing as society now. Assemblies of welldressed mobs meet at

each other's houses, tear each other's clothes, tread on each other's toes. If you are particularly lucky, you sit

on the staircase, you get a tepid ice, and you hear vapid talk in slang phrases all round you. There is modern

society. If we had a good opera, it would be something to stay in London for. Look at the programme for the

season on that tablepromising as much as possible on paper, and performing as little as possible on the

stage. The same works, sung by the same singers year after year, to the same stupid peoplein 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

Lady Janet, more quickly yet, looked away at the programme of the operahouse. Still the same melancholy

false pretenses! still the same useless and cruel delay! Incapable of enduring the position now forced upon

her, Mercy put her hand into the pocket of her apron, and drew from it Lady Janet's letter.

"Will your ladyship forgive me," she began, in faint, faltering tones, "if I venture on a painful subject? I

hardly dare acknowledge" In spite of her resolution to speak out plainly, the memory of past love and past

kindness prevailed with her; the next words died away on her lips. She could only hold up the letter.

Lady Janet declined to see the letter. Lady Janet suddenly became absorbed in the arrangement of her

"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 opinionI am weary of my own

magnificence; I long to be living in one snug little room, with one servant to wait on me. I'll tell you what we

will do. We will go to Paris, in the first place. My excellent Migliore, prince of couriers, shall be the only

person in attendance. He shall take a lodging for us in one of the unfashionable quarters of Paris. We will

rough it, Grace (to use the slang phrase), merely for a change. We will lead what they call a 'Bohemian life.' I

know plenty of writers and painters and actors in Paristhe liveliest society in the world, my dear, until one

gets tired of them. We will dine at the restaurant, and go to the play, and drive about in shabby little hired

carriages. And when it begins to get monotonous (which it is only too sure to do!) we will spread our wings

and fly to Italy, and cheat the winter in that way. There is a plan for you! Migliore is in town. I will send to

"I entreat your ladyship to pardon me," she resumed. "I have something serious to say. I am afraid"

"I understand. You are afraid of crossing the Channel, and you don't like to acknowledge it. Pooh! The

passage barely lasts two hours; we will shut ourselves up in a private cabin. I will send at oncethe courier

"Lady Janet, I must submit to my hard lot. I cannot hope to associate myself again with any future plans of

"What! you are afraid of our 'Bohemian life' in Paris? Observe this, Grace! If there is one thing I hate more

than another, it is 'an old head on young shoulders.' I say no more. Ring the bell."

"This cannot go on, Lady Janet! No words can say how unworthy I feel of your kindness, how ashamed I

"Upon my honor, my dear, I agree with you. You ought to be ashamed, at your age, of making me get up to

Her obstinacy was immovable; she attempted to rise from the couch. But one choice was left to Mercy. She

The manservant came in. He had his little lettertray in his hand, with a card on it, and a sheet of paper

"Send one of the grooms to him on horseback; I am in a hurry. The courier is to come here without fail

"The lady is waiting in the morningroom, miss. She wished me to say she has time to spare, and she will

Mercy read the name on the card. The matron had arrived! She looked at the letter next. It appeared to be a

printed circular, with some lines in pencil added on the empty page. Printed lines and written lines swam

before her eyes. She felt, rather than saw, Lady Janet's attention steadily and suspiciously fixed on her. With

the matron's arrival the foredoomed end of the flimsy false pretenses and the cruel delays had come.

"You appear to be agitated. Does your visitor bring bad news? Is there anything that I can do for you?"

"You can addimmeasurably add, madam to all your past kindness, if you will only bear with me and

"I will try to explain . Whatever else you may think of me, Lady Janet, for God's sake don't think me

"I dislike explanations," she said, sharply. "Nobody ought to know that better than you. Perhaps the lady's

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 cardconsidereddecided that it was a name quite unknown to herand

"A lady connected with a Refuge?" she said, speaking to herself; "and calling here by appointmentif I

remember the servant's message? A strange time to choose, if she has come for a subscription!"

She paused. Her brow contracted; her face hardened. A word from her would now have brought the interview

to its inevitable end, and she refused to speak the word. To the last moment she persisted in ignoring the

truth! Placing the card on the couch at her side, she pointed with her long yellowwhite forefinger to the

"May I beg that your ladyship will read it for me?" she saidand placed the matron's letter in Lady Janet's

It was a printed circular announcing a new development in the charitable work of the Refuge. Subscribers

were informed that it had been decided to extend the shelter and the training of the institution (thus far

devoted to fallen women alone) so as to include destitute and helpless children found wandering in the

streets. The question of the number of children to be thus rescued and protected was left dependent, as a

matter of course, on the bounty of the friends of the Refuge, the cost of the maintenance of each child being

stated at the lowest possible rate. A list of influential persons who had increased their subscriptions so as to

cover the cost, and a brief statement of the progress already made with the new work, completed the appeal,

The lines traced in pencil (in the matron's handwriting) followed on the blank page.

"Your letter tells me, my dear, that you would likeremembering your own childhoodto be employed

when you return among us in saving other poor children left helpless on the world. Our circular will inform

you that I am able to meet your wishes. My first errand this evening in your neighborhood was to take charge

of a poor childa little girlwho stands sadly in need of our care. I have ventured to bring her with me,

thinking she might help to reconcile you to the coming change in your life. You will find us both waiting to

go back with you to the old home. I write this instead of saying it, hearing from the servant that you are not

alone, and being unwilling to intrude myself, as a stranger, on the lady of the house."

Lady Janet read the penciled lines, as she had read the printed sentences, aloud. Without a word of comment

she laid the letter where she had laid the card; and, rising from her seat, stood for a moment in stern silence,

looking at Mercy. The sudden change in her which the letter had producedquietly as it had taken

placewas terrible to see. On the frowning brow, in the flashing eyes, on the hardened lips, outraged love

and outraged pride looked down on the lost woman, and said, as if in words, You have roused us at last.

"If that letter means anything,'' she said, "it means you are about to leave my house. There can be but one

"Don't interrupt me. Have you told Horace Holmcroft what my letter positively forbade you to communicate,

either to him or to any living creature? I want no protestations and excuses. Answer me instantly, and answer

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 kneesher outstretched hands touched Lady Janet's

dress. Lady Janet sharply drew her dress away, and sternly repeated her last words.

She had owned it at last! To this end Lady Janet had submitted to Grace Roseberry; had offended Horace

Holmcroft; had stooped, for the first time in her life, to concealments and compromises that degraded her.

After all that she had sacrificed and suffered, there Mercy knelt at her feet, selfconvicted of violating her

commands, trampling on her feelings, deserting her house! And who was the woman who had done this? The

same woman who had perpetrated the fraud, and who had persisted in the fraud until her benefactress had

descended to become her accomplice. Then, and then only, she had suddenly discovered that it was her

In proud silence the great lady met the blow that had fallen on her. In proud silence she turned her back on

Mercy made her last appeal to the kind friend whom she had offendedto the second mother whom she had

"Lady Janet! Lady Janet! Don't leave me without a word. Oh, madam, try to feel for me a little! I am

returning to a life of humiliationthe shadow of my old disgrace is falling on me once more. We shall never

meet again. Even though I have not deserved it, let my repentance plead with you! Say you forgive me!"

Unforgiven by Horace, unforgiven by Lady Janet! She put her hands to her burning head and tried to think.

Oh, for the cool air of the night! Oh, for the friendly shelter of the Refuge! She could feel those sad longings

She rang the belland shrank back the instant she had done it. Had she any right to take that liberty? She

ought to have thought of it before she rang. Habitall habit. How many hundreds of times she had rung the

The servant came in. She amazed the man she spoke to him so timidly: she even apologized for troubling

"I am sorry to disturb you. Will you be so kind as to say to the lady that I am ready for her?"

"Wait to give that message," said a voice behind them, "until you hear the bell rung again."

Mercy looked round in amazement. Julian had returned to the library by the diningroom door.

"Mr. Gray!" she exclaimed, "why have you delayed my message? If you knew all, you would know that it is

"Lady Janet has been here in your absence. I can't speak of itmy heart feels crushedI can bear no more.

Briefly as she had replied, she had said enough. Julian's knowledge of Lady Janet's character told him what

had happened. His face showed plainly that he was disappointed as well as distressed.

"I had hoped to have been with you when you and my aunt met, and to have prevented this," he said. "Believe

me, she will atone for all that she may have harshly and hastily done when she has had time to think. Try not

to regret it, if she has made your hard sacrifice harder still. She has only raised you the highershe has

additionally ennobled you and endeared you in my estimation. Forgive me if I own this in plain words. I

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 everand 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.

She tried to leave him, and ring the bell. He held her hand firmly, and drew her closer to him.

"Don't say that!" he exclaimed. "I can't bear to hear it. Don't call the Refuge your home!"

"I have come here to tell you. I said, if you remember, I had something to propose."

She felt the fervent pressure of his hand; she saw the mounting enthusiasm flashing in his eyes. Her weary

mind roused itself a little. She began to tremble under the electric influence of his touch.

"You know what I have done: it is your work," she answered, humbly. "Why return to it now?"

"I return to it for the last time; I return to it with a purpose which you will soon understand. You have

abandoned your marriage engagement; you have forfeited Lady Janet's love; you have ruined all your worldly

prospects; you are now returning, selfdevoted, to a life which you have yourself described as a life without

hope. And all this you have done of your own freewillat a time when you are absolutely secure of your

position in the housefor the sake of speaking the truth. Now tell me, is a woman who can make that

sacrifice a woman who will prove unworthy of the trust if a man places in her keeping his honor and his

She understood him at last. She broke away from him with a cry. She stood with her hands clasped, trembling

He gave her no time to think. The words poured from his lips without conscious will or conscious effort of

"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

She drew back from him further and further, with a wild imploring gesture of her hand.

"No! no!" she cried. "Think of what you are saying! think of what you would sacrifice! It cannot, must not

His face darkened with a sudden dread. His head fell on his breast. His voice sank so low that she could

He smiled sadly. "You have enlightened me. I had forgotten that it doesn't follow, because I love you, that

A faint tinge of color rose on her facethen left it again paler than ever. Her eyes looked downward timidly

"How can I say so?" she answered, simply. Where is the woman in my place whose heart could resist you?"

He eagerly advanced; he held out his arms to her in breathless, speechless joy. She drew back from him once

"Am I fit to be your wife?" she asked. ''Must I remind you of what you owe to your high position, your

spotless integrity, your famous name? Think of all that you have done for me, and then think of the black

ingratitude of it if I ruin you for life by consenting to our marriageif I selfishly, cruelly, wickedly, drag you

"I raise you to my level when I make you my wife," he answered. "For Heaven's sake do me justice! Don't

refer me to the world and its opinions. It rests with you, and you alone, to make the misery or the happiness

of my life. The world! Good God! what can the world give me in exchange for You?'

"Oh, have pity on my weakness!" she cried. "Kindest, best of men, help me to do my hard duty toward you! It

is so hard, after all that I have sufferedwhen my heart is yearning for peace and happiness and love!" She

checked herself, shuddering at the words that had escaped her. "Remember how Mr. Holmcroft has used me!

Remember how Lady Janet has left me! Remember what I have told you of my life! The scorn of every

creature you know would strike at you through me. No! no! no! Not a word more. Spare me! pity me! leave

Her voice failed her; sobs choked her utterance. He sprang to her and took her in his arms. She was incapable

of resisting him; but there was no yielding in her. Her head lay on his bosom, passivehorribly passive, like

"Mercy! My darling! We will go awaywe will leave Englandwe will take refuge among new people in a

new worldI will change my nameI will break with relatives, friends, everybody. Anything, anything,

He suddenly released her; he reeled back like a man staggered by a blow, and dropped into a chair. Before

she had uttered a word he saw the terrible resolution in her faceDeath, rather than yield to her own

She stood with her hands lightly clasped in front of her. Her grand head was raised; her soft gray eyes shone

again undimmed by tears. The storm of emotion had swept over her and had passed away A sad tranquillity

was in her face; a gentle resignation was in her voice. The calm of a martyr was the calm that confronted him

"A woman who has lived my life, a woman who has suffered what I have suffered, may love youas I love

youbut 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

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

actionsso modestly, so tenderly performed! As the last lingering pressure of her fingers left him, Julian

The servant answered the bell. At the moment he opened the door a woman's voice was audible in the hall

The child appearedthe same forlorn little creature who had reminded Mercy of her own early years on the

There was no beauty in this child; no halo of romance brightened the commonplace horror of her story. She

came cringing into the room, staring stupidly at the magnificence all round herthe daughter of the London

streets! the pet creation of the laws of political economy! the savage and terrible product of a wornout

system of government and of a civilization rotten to its core! Cleaned for the first time in her life, fed

sufficiently for the first time in her life, dressed in clothes instead of rags for the first time in her life, Mercy's

sister in adversity crept fearfully over the beautiful carpet, and stopped wonderstruck before the marbles of

Mercy turned from Julian to meet the child. The woman's heart, hungering in its horrible isolation for

something that it might harmlessly love, welcomed the rescued waif of the streets as a consolation sent from

God. She caught the stupefied little creature up in her arms. "Kiss me!" she whispered, in the reckless agony

of the moment. "Call me sister!" The child stared, vacantly. Sister meant nothing to her mind but an older girl

She put the child down again, and turned for a last look at the man whose happiness she had wrecked in

He had never moved. His head was down; his face was hidden. She went back to hi m a few steps.

He held out his hand to her without looking up. Sorely as she had wounded him, his generous nature

"God bless and comfort you," he said, in broken tones. "The earth holds no nobler woman than you."

She knelt and kissed the kind hand that pressed hers for the last time. "It doesn't end with this world," she

whispered: "there is a better world to come!" Then she rose, and went back to the child. Hand in hand the two

citizens of the Government of Godoutcasts of the government of Manpassed slowly down the length of

the room. Then out into the hall. Then out into the night. The heavy clang of the closing door tolled the knell

But the orderly routine of the houseinexorable as deathpursued its appointed course. As the clock struck

the hour the dinnerbell rang. An interval of a minute passed, and marked the limit of delay. The butler

Julian looked up. The empty room met his eyes. Something white lay on the carpet close by him. It was her

handkerchiefwet with her tears. He took it up and pressed it to his lips. Was that to be the last of her? Had

The native energy of the man, arming itself with all the might of his love, kindled in him again. No! While

life was in him, while time was before him, there was the hope of winning her yet!

He reflected for a moment. His own influence had failed. Through what other influence could he now hope to

reach her? As the question crossed his mind the light broke on him. He saw the way back to herthrough the

"I HASTEN to thank you, dear Miss Roseberry, for your last kind letter, received by yesterday's mail from

Canada. Believe me, I appreciate your generous readiness to pardon and forget what I so rudely said to you at

a time when the arts of an adventuress had blinded me to the truth. In the grace which has forgiven me I

recognize the inbred sense of justice of a true lady. Birth and breeding can never fail to assert themselves: I

"You ask me to keep you informed of the progress of Julian Gray's infatuation, and of the course of conduct

"If you had not favored me by explaining your object, I might have felt some surprise at receiving from a

lady in your position such a request as this. But the motives by which you describe yourself as being actuated

are beyond dispute. The existence of Society, as you truly say, is threatened by the present lamentable

prevalence of Liberal ideas throughout the length and breadth of the land. We can only hope to protect

ourselves against impostors interested in gaining a position among persons of our rank by becoming in some

sort (unpleasant as it may be) familiar with the arts by which imposture too frequently succeeds. If we wish to

know to what daring lengths cunning can go, to what pitiable selfdelusion credulity can consent, we must

watch the proceedingseven while we shrink from themof a Mercy Merrick and a Julian Gray.

"In taking up my narrative again where my last letter left off, I must venture to set you right on one point.

"Certain expressions which have escaped your pen suggest to me that you blame Julian Gray as the cause of

Lady Janet's regrettable visit to the Refuge the day after Mercy Merrick had left her house. This is not quite

correct. Julian, as you will presently see, has enough to answer for without being held responsible for errors

of judgment in which he has had no share. Lady Janet (as she herself told me) went to the Refuge of her own

freewill to ask Mercy Merrick's pardon for the language which she had used on the previous day. 'I passed a

night of such misery as no words can describe'this, I assure you, is what her ladyship really said to

me'thinking over what my vile pride and selfishness and obstinacy had made me say and do. I would have

gone down on my knees to beg her pardon if she would have let me. My first happy moment was when I won

"You will, I am sure, agree with me that such extravagance as this is to be pitied rather than blamed. How sad

to see the decay of the faculties with advancing age! It is a matter of grave anxiety to consider how much

longer poor Lady Janet can be trusted to manage her own affairs. I shall take an opportunity of touching on

"I am straying from my subject. Andis it not strange?I am writing to you as confidentially as if we were

"To return to Julian Gray. Innocent of instigating his aunt's first visit to the Refuge, he is guilty of having

induced her to go there for the second time the day after I had dispatched my last letter to you. Lady Janet's

object on this occasion was neither more nor less than to plead her nephew's cause as humble suitor for the

hand of Mercy Merrick. Imagine the descent of one of the oldest families in England inviting an adventuress

in a Refuge to honor a clergyman of the Church of England by becoming his wife! In what times do we live!

My dear mother shed tears of shame when she heard of it. How you would love and admire my mother!

"I dined at Mablethorpe House, by previous appointment, on the day when Lady Janet returned from her

"'Thank God!' I felt it fervently, and I said it fervently. Lady Janet laid down her knife and fork, and fixed one

"'It may not be your fault, Horace,' she said, 'if your nature is incapable of comprehending what is great and

generous in other natures higher than yours. But the least you can do is to distrust your own capacity of

appreciation. For the future keep your opinions (on questions which you don't understand) modestly to

yourself. I have a tenderness for you for your father's sake; and I take the most favorable view of your

conduct toward Mercy Merrick. I humanely consider it the conduct of a fool.' (Her own words, Miss

Roseberry. I assure you once more, her own words.) 'But don't trespass too far on my indulgencedon't

insinuate again that a woman who is good enough (if she died this night) to go to heaven, is not good enough

"I expressed to you my conviction a little way back that it was doubtful whether poor Lady Janet would be

much longer competent to manage her own affairs. Perhaps you thought me hasty then? What do you think

"It was, of course, useless to reply seriously to the extraordinary reprimand that I had received. Besides, I was

really shocked by a decay of principle which proceeded but too plainly from decay of the mental powers. I

made a soothing and respectful reply, and I was favored in return with some account of what had really

happened at the Refuge. My mother and my sisters were disgusted when I repeated the particulars to them.

"The interesting penitent (expecting Lady Janet's visit) was, of course, discovered in a touching domestic

position! She had a foundling baby asleep on her lap; and she was teaching the alphabet to an ugly little

vagabond girl whose acquaintance she had first made in the street. Just the sort of artful tableau vivant to

"You will understand what followed, when Lady Janet opened her matrimonial negotiation. Having perfected

herself in her part, Mercy Merrick, to do her justice, was not the woman to play it badly. The most

magnanimous sentiments flowed from her lips. She declared that her future life was devoted to acts of

charity, typified, of course, by the foundling infant and the ugly little girl. However she might personally

suffer, whatever might be the sacrifice of her own feelingsobserve how artfully this was put, to insinuate

that she was herself in love with him!she could not accept from Mr. Julian Gray an honor of which she

was unworthy. Her gratitude to him and her interest in him alike forbade her to compromise his brilliant

future by consenting to a marriage which would degrade him in the estimation of all his friends. She thanked

him (with tears); she thanked Lady Janet (with more tears); but she dare not, in the interests of his honor and

his happiness, accept the hand that he offered to her. God bless and comfort him; and God help her to bear

"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 wordSettlements! 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.

"In due course of time the lady's decision was communicated to Julian Gray. He took leave of his senses on

the spot. Can you believe it? he has resigned his curacy! At a time when the church is thronged every

Sunday to hear him preach, this madman shuts the door and walks out of the pulpit. Even Lady Janet was not

far enough gone in folly to abet him in this. She remonstrated, like the rest of his friends. Perfectly useless!

He had but one answer to everything they could say: 'My career is closed.' What stuff!

"You will ask, naturally enough, what this perverse man is going to do next. I don't scruple to say that he is

bent on committing suicide. Pray do not be alarmed! There is no fear of the pistol, the rope, or the river.

"This is strong language, I know. You shall hear what the facts are, and judge for yourself.

''Having resigned his curacy, his next proceeding was to offer his services, as volunteer, to a new missionary

enterprise on the West Coast of Africa. The persons at the head of the mission proved, most fortunately, to

have a proper sense of their duty. Expressing their conviction of the value of Julian's assistance in the most

handsome terms, they made it nevertheless a condition of entertaining his proposal that he should submit to

examination by a competent medical man. After some hesitation he consented to this. The doctor's report was

conclusive. In Julian's present state of health the climate of West Africa would in all probability kill him in

"Foiled in his first attempt, he addressed himself next to a London Mission. Here it was impossible to raise

"He is now workingin other words, he is now deliberately risking his lifein the Mission to Green

Anchor Fields. The district known by this name is situated in a remote part of London, near the Thames. It is

notoriously infested by the most desperate and degraded set of wretches in the whole metropolitan

population, and it is so thickly inhabited that it is hardly ever completely free from epidemic disease. In this

horrible place, and among these dangerous people, Julian is now employing himself from morning to night.

None of his old friends ever see him. Since he joined the Mission he has not even called on Lady Janet Roy.

"My pledge is redeemedthe facts are before you. Am I wrong in taking my gloomy view of the prospect? I

cannot forget that this unhappy man was once my friend, and I really see no hope for him in the future.

Deliberately selfexposed to the violence of ruffians and the outbreak of disease, who is to extricate him

from his shocking position? The one person who can do it is the person whose association with him would be

his ruinMercy Merrick. Heaven only knows what disasters it may be my painful duty to communicate to

"I have very little to say on either head. After what I have sufferedmy feelings trampled on, my confidence

betrayedI am as yet hardly capable of deciding what I shall do. Returning to my old professionto the

armyis out of the question, in these leveling days, when any obscure person who can pass an examination

may call himself my brother officer, and may one day, perhaps, command me as my superior in rank. If I

think of any career, it is the career of diplomacy. Birth and breeding have not quite disappeared as essential

qualifications in that branch of the public service. But I have decided nothing as yet.

"My mother and sisters, in the event of your returning to England, desire me to say that it will afford them the

greatest pleasure to make your acquaintance. Sympathizing with me, they do not forget what you too have

suffered. A warm welcome awaits you when you pay your first visit at our house. Most truly yours,

"DEAR MR. HOLMCROFTI snatch a few moments from my other avocations to thank you for your most

interesting and delightful letter. How well you describe, how accurately you judge! If Literature stood a little

higher as a profession, I should almost advise youbut no! if you entered Literature, how could

"Between ourselves, I always thought Mr. Julian Gray an overrated man. I will not say he has justified my

opinion. I will only say I pity him. But, dear Mr. Holmcroft, how can you, with your sound judgment, place

the sad alternatives now before him on the same level? To die in Green Anchor Fields, or to fall into the

clutches of that vile wretchis there any comparison between the two? Better a thousand times die at the

"As I have written the creature's name, I may addso as to have all the sooner done with the subjectthat I

shall look with anxiety for your next letter. Do not suppose that I feel the smallest curiosity about this

degraded and designing woman. My interest in her is purely religious. To persons of my devout turn of mind

she is an awful warning. When I feel Satan near meit will be such a means of grace to think of Mercy

"Poor Lady Janet! I noticed those signs of mental decay to which you so feelingly allude at the last interview

I had with her in Mablethorpe House. If you can find an opportunity, will you say that I wish her well, here

and hereafter? and will you please add that I do not omit to remember her in my prayers?

"There is just a chance of my visiting England toward the close of the autumn. My fortunes have changed

since I wrote last. I have been received as reader and companion by a lady who is the wife of one of our high

judicial functionaries in this part of the world. I do not take much interest in him; he is what they call a

'selfmade man.' His wife is charming. Besides being a person of highly intellectual tastes, she is greatly her

husband's superioras you will understand when I tell you that she is related to the Gommerys of Pommery;

not the Pommerys of Gommery, who (as your knowledge of our old families will inform you) only claim

"In the elegant and improving companionship which I now enjoy I should feel quite happy but for one

drawback. The climate of Canada is not favorable to my kind patroness, and her medical advisers recommend

her to winter in London. In this event, I am to have t he privilege of accompanying her. Is it necessary to add

that my first visit will be paid at your house? I feel already united by sympathy to your mother and your

sisters. There is a sort of freemasonry among gentlewomen, is there not? With best thanks and remembrances,

and many delightful anticipations of your next letter, believe me, dear Mr. Holmcroft,

"MY DEAR MISS ROSEBERRYPray excuse my long silence. I have waited for mail after mail, in the

hope of being able to send you some good news at last. It is useless to wait longer. My worst forebodings

have been realized: my painful duty compels me to write a letter which will surprise and shock you.

"Let me describe events in their order as they happened. In this way I may hope to gradually prepare your

"About three weeks after I wrote to you last, Julian Gray paid the penalty of his headlong rashness. I do not

mean that he suffered any actual violence at the hands of the people among whom he had cast his lot. On the

contrary, he succeeded, incredible as it may appear, in producing a favorable impression on the ruffians about

him. As I understand it, they began by respecting his courage in venturing among them alone; and they ended

in discovering that he was really interested in promoting their welfare. It is to the other peril, indicated in my

last letter, that he has fallen a victimthe peril of disease. Not long after he began his labors in the district

fever broke out. We only heard that Julian had been struck down by the epidemic when it was too late to

remove him from the lodging that he occupied in the neighborhood. I made inquiries personally the moment

"In this alarming state of things poor Lady Janet, impulsive and unreasonable as usual, insisted on leaving

"Finding it impossible to persuade her of the folly of removing from home and its comforts at her age, I felt it

my duty to accompany her. We found accommodation (such as it was) in a riverside inn, used by

shipcaptains and commercial travelers. I took it on myself to provide the best medical assistance, Lady

Janet's insane prejudices against doctors impelling her to leave this important part of the arrangements

"It is needless to weary you by entering into details on the subject of Julian's illness.

"The fever pursued the ordinary course, and was characterized by the usual intervals of delirium and

exhaustion succeeding each other. Subsequent events, which it is, unfortunately, necessary to relate to you,

leave me no choice but to dwell (as briefly as possible) on the painful subject of the delirium. In other cases

the wanderings of feverstricken 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

"The doctors naturally made inquiries as to this absent person. I was obliged (in confidence) to state the

"The eminent physician whom I had called in to superintend the treatment behaved admirably. Though he has

risen from the lower order of the people, he has, strange to say, the instincts of a gentleman. He thoroughly

understood our trying position, and felt all the importance of preventing such a person as Mercy Merrick

from seizing the opportunity of intruding herself at the bedside. A soothing prescription (I have his own

authority for saying it) was all that was required to meet the patient's case. The local doctor, on the other

hand, a young man (and evidently a redhot radical), proved to be obstinate, and, considering his position,

insolent as well. 'I have nothing to do with the lady's character, and with your opinion of it,' he said to me. 'I

have only, to the best of my judgment, to point out to you the likeliest means of saving the patient's life. Our

art is at the end of its resources. Send for Mercy Merrick, no matter who she is or what she is. There is just a

chanceespecially if she proves to be a sensible person and a good nursethat he may astonish you all by

recognizing her. In that case only, his recovery is probable. If you persist in disregarding his entreaties, if you

"Lady Janet was, most unluckily, present when this impudent opinion was delivered at the bedside.

"Need I tell you the sequel? Called upon to choose between the course indicated by a physician who is

making his five thousand a year, and who is certain of the next medical baronetcy, and the advice volunteered

by an obscure general practitioner at the East End of London, who is not making his five hundred a

yearneed I stop to inform you of her ladyship's decision? You know her; and you will only too well

"Two hours laterI give you my word of honor I am not exaggeratingMercy Merrick was established at

"The excuse, of course, was that it was her duty not to let any private scruples of her own stand in the way,

when a medical authority had declared that she might save the patient's life. You will not be surprised to hear

that I withdrew from the scene. The physician followed my exampleafter having written his soothing

prescription, and having been grossly insulted by the local practitioner's refusing to make use of it. I went

back in the doctor's carriage. He spoke most feelingly and properly. Without giving any positive opinion, I

could see that he had abandoned all hope of Julian's recovery. 'We are in the hands of Providence, Mr.

"I have hardly the heart to go on. If I studied my own wishes, I should feel inclined to stop here.

"Let me, at least, hasten to the end. In two or three days' time I received my first intelligence of the patient

and his nurse. Lady Janet informed me that he had recognized her. When I heard this I felt prepared for what

was to come. The next report announced that he was gaining strength, and the next that he was out of danger.

Upon this Lady Janet returned to Mablethorpe House. I called there a week agoand heard that he had been

removed to the seaside. I called yesterdayand 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 Societythat 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 invitationlist. The servants have their orders, if he presumes

"I am unhappily only too certain that I am correct in writing to you of this disgraceful marriage as of a settled

thing. Lady Janet went the length of showing me the lettersone from Julian, the other from the woman

herself. Fancy Mercy Merrick in correspondence with Lady Janet Roy! addressing her as 'My dear Lady

"I had not the patience to read either of the letters through. Julian's tone is the tone of a Socialist; in my

opinion his bishop ought to be informed of it. As for her she plays her part just as cleverly with her pen as she

played it with her tongue. 'I cannot disguise from myself that I am wrong in yielding. . . . Sad forebodings fill

my mind when I think of the future. . . . I feel as if the first contemptuous look that is cast at my husband will

destroy my happiness, though it may not disturb him. . . . As long as I was parted from him I could control my

own weakness, I could accept my hard lot. But how can I resist him after having watched for weeks at his

bedside; after having seen his first smile, and heard his first grateful words t o me while I was slowly helping

"There is the tone which she takes through four closely written pages of nauseous humility and claptrap

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

"Farewell for the present. I am too rudely shaken in my most cherished convictions, I am too depressed and

disheartened, to write more. All good wishes go with you, dear Miss Roseberry, until we meet.

. . . ."A month today since we were married! I have only one thing to say: I would cheerfully go through all

that I have suffered to live this one month over again. I never knew what happiness was until now. And better

still, I have persuaded Mercy that it is all her doing. I have scattered her misgivings to the winds; she is

obliged to submit to evidence, and to own that she can make the happiness of my life.

"We go back to London tomorrow. She regrets leaving the tranquil retirement of this remote seaside

placeshe dreads change. I care nothing for it. It is all one to me where I go, so long as my wife is with me."

"The first cloud has risen. I entered the room unexpectedly just now, and found her in tears.

"With considerable difficulty I persuaded her to tell me what had happened. Are there any limits to the

mischief that can be done by the tongue of a foolish woman? The landlady at my lodgings is the woman, in

this case. Having no decided plans for the future as yet, we returned (most unfortunately, as the event has

proved) to the rooms in London which I inhabited in my bachelor days. They are still mine for six weeks to

come, and Mercy was unwilling to let me incur the expense of taking her to a hotel. At breakfast this morning

I rashly congratulated myself (in my wife's hearing) on finding that a much smaller collection than usual of

letters and cards had accumulated in my absence. Breakfast over, I was obliged to go out. Painfully sensitive,

poor thing, to any change in my experience of the little world around me which it is possible to connect with

the event of my marriage, Mercy questioned the landlady, in my absence, about the diminished number of my

visitors and my correspondents. The woman seized the opportunity of gossiping about me and my affairs, and

my wife's quick perception drew the right conclusion unerringly. My marriage has decided certain wise heads

of families on discontinuing their social relations with me. The facts, unfortunately, speak for themselves.

People who in former years habitually called upon me and invited meor who, in the event of my absence,

habitually wrote to me at this seasonhave abstained with a remarkable unanimity from calling, inviting, or

"It would have been sheer waste of timeto say nothing of its also implying a want of confidence in my

wifeif I had attempted to set things right by disputing Mercy's conclusion. I could only satisfy her that not

so much as the shadow of disappointment or mortification rested on my mind. In this way I have, to some

extent, succeeded in composing my poor darling. But the wound has been inflicted, and the wound is felt.

"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 convictionsin preference to taking the wellmeant advice of

"All my little success in life has been gained in the pulpit. I am what is termed a popular preacherbut I

have never, in my secret self, felt any exultation in my own notoriety, or any extraordinary respect for the

means by which it has been won. In the first place, I have a very low idea of the importance of oratory as an

intellectual accomplishment. There is no other art in which the conditions of success are so easy of

attainment; there is no other art in the practice of which so much that is purely superficial passes itself off

habitually for something that claims to be profound. Then, again, how poor it is in the results which it

achieves! Take my own case. How often (for example) have I thundered with all my heart and soul against

the wicked extravagance of dress among womenagainst 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

agethe habitual corruptions and dishonesties of commerce, in high places and in low! What good have I

done? I have delighted the very people whom it was my object to rebuke. 'What a charming sermon!' 'More

eloquent than ever!' 'I used to dread the sermon at the other churchdo you know, I quite look forward to it

now.' That is the effect I produce on Sunday. On Monday the women are off to the milliners to spend more

money than ever; the city men are off to business to make more money than everwhile my grocer, loud in

my praises in his Sunday coat, turns up his weekday sleeves and adulterates his favorite preacher's sugar as

"I have often, in past years, felt the objections to pursuing my career which are here indicated. They were

bitterly present to my mind when I resigned my curacy, and they strongly influence me now.

"I am weary of my cheaply won success in the pulpit. I am weary of society as I find it in my time. I felt

some respect for myself, and some heart and hope in my works among the miserable wretches in Green

Anchor Fields. But I can not, and must not, return among them: I have no right, now, to trifle with my health

and my life. I must go back to my preaching, or I must leave England. Among a primitive people, away from

the citiesin the far and fertile West of the great American continentI might live happily with my wife,

and do good among my neighbors, secure of providing for our wants out of the modest little income which is

almost useless to me here. In the life which I thus picture to myself I see love, peace, health, and duties and

occupations that are worthy of a Christian man. What prospect is before me if I take the advice of my friends

and stay here? Work of which I am weary, because I have long since ceased to respect it; petty malice that

strikes at me through my wife, and mortifies and humiliates her, turn where she may. If I had only myself to

think of, I might defy the worst that malice can do. But I have Mercy to think ofMercy, whom I love better

than my own life! Women live, poor things, in the opinions of others. I have had one warning already of what

my wife is likely to suffer at the hands of my 'friends'Heaven forgive me for misusing the word! Shall I

deliberately expose her to fresh mortifications?and this for the sake of returning to a career the rewards of

which I no longer prize? No! We will both be happywe will both be free! God is merciful, Nature is kind,

Love is true, in the New World as well as the Old. To the New World we will go!"

"I hardly know whether I have done right or wrong. I mentioned yesterday to Lady Janet the cold reception of

"My aunt looks at the matter from her own peculiar point of view, and makes light of it accordingly. 'You

never did, and never will, understand Society, Julian,' said her ladyship. 'These poor stupid people simply

don't know what to do. They are waiting to be told by a person of distinction whether they are, or are not, to

recognize your marriage. In plain English, they are waiting to be led by Me. Consider it done. I will lead

"I thought my aunt was joking. The event of today has shown me that she is terribly in earnest. Lady Janet

has issued invitations for one of her grand balls at Mablethorpe House; and sh e has caused the report to be

circulated everywhere that the object of the festival is 'to celebrate the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Julian Gray!'

"I at first refused to be present. To my amazement, however, Mercy sides with my aunt. She reminds me of

all that we both owe to Lady Janet; and she has persuaded me to alter my mind. We are to go to the ballat

"The meaning of this, as I interpret it, is that my poor love is still pursued in secret by the dread that my

marriage has injured me in the general estimation. She will suffer anything, risk anything, believe anything,

to be freed from that one haunting doubt. Lady Janet predicts a social triumph; and my wife's despairnot

my wife's convictionaccepts the prophecy. As for me, I am prepared for the result. It will end in our going

to the New World, and trying Society in its infancy, among the forests and the plains. I shall quietly prepare

for our departure, and own what I have done at the right timethat is to say, when the ball is over."

"I have met with the man for my purposean old college friend of mine, now partner in a firm of

"One of their vessels sails for America, from the port of London, in a fortnight, touching at Plymouth. By a

fortunate coincidence, Lady Janet's ball takes place in a fortnight. I see my way.

"Helped by the kindness of my friend, I have arranged to have a cabin kept in reserve, on payment of a small

deposit. If the ball ends (as I believe it will) in new mortifications for Mercydo what they may, I defy them

to mortify meI have only to say the word by telegraph, and we shall catch the ship at Plymouth.

"I know the effect it will have when I break the news to her, but I am prepared with my remedy. The pages of

my diary, written in past years, will show plainly enough that it is not she who is driving me away from

England. She will see the longing in me for other work and other scenes expressing itself over and over again

"Mercy's ball dressa present from kind Lady Janetis finished. I was allowed to see the first trial, or

preliminary rehearsal, of this work of art. I don't in the least understand the merits of silk and lace; but one

"The same day I called on Lady Janet to thank her, and encountered a new revelation of the wayward and

"She was on the point of tearing up a letter when I went into her room. Seeing me, she suspended her purpose

and handed me the letter. It was in Mercy's handwriting. Lady Janet pointed to a passage on the last page.

'Tell your wife, with my love,' she said, 'that I am the most obstinate woman of the two. I positively refuse to

read her, as I positively refuse to listen to her, whenever she attempts to return to that one subject. Now give

me the letter back.' I gave it back, and saw it torn up before my face. The 'one subject' prohibited to Mercy as

sternly as ever is still the subject of the personation of Grace Roseberry! Nothing could have been more

naturally introduced, or more delicately managed, than my wife's brief reference to the subject. No matter.

The reading of the first line was enough. Lady Janet shut her eyes and destroyed the letterLady Janet is

determined to live and die absolutely ignorant of the true story of 'Mercy Merrick.' What unanswerable

riddles we are! Is it wonderful if we perpetually fail to understand one another?"

"It is done and over. Society has beaten Lady Janet. I have neither patience nor time to write at length of it.

"We were rather late in arriving at the ball. The magnificent rooms were filling fast. Walking through them

with my wife, she drew my attention to a circumstance which I had not noticed at the time. 'Julian,' she said,

'look round among the lades, and tell me if you see anything strange.' As I looked round the band began

playing a waltz. I observed that a few people only passed by us to the dancingroom. I noticed next that of

those few fewer still were young. At last it burst upon me. With certain exceptions (so rare as to prove the

rule), there were no young girls at Lady Janet's ball. I took Mercy at once back to the receptionroom. 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 grandmothersbut, in place

of their unmarried daughters, elaborate excuses, offered with a shameless politeness wonderful to see. Yes!

This was how the matrons in high life had got over the difficulty of meeting Mrs. Julian Gray at Lady Janet's

"Let me do strict justice to every one. The ladies who were present showed the needful respect for their

"I really had no adequate idea of the coarseness and rudeness which have filtered their way through society in

these later times until I saw the reception accorded to my wife. The days of prudery and prejudice are days

gone by. Excessive amiability and excessive liberality are the two favorite assumptions of the modern

generation. To see the women expressing their liberal forgetfulness of my wifely misfortunes, and the men

their amiable anxiety to encourage her husband; to hear the same set phrases repeated in every room'So

charmed to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Gray; so much obliged to dear Lady Janet for giving us this

opportunity!Julian, old man, what a beautiful creature! I envy you; upon my honor, I envy you!'to

receive this sort of welcome, emphasized by obtrusive handshakings, sometimes actually by downright

kissings of my wife, and then to look round and see that not one in thirty of these very people had brought

their unmarried daughters to the ball, was, I honestly believe, to see civilized human nature in its basest

conceivable aspect. The New World may have its disappointments in store for us, but it cannot possibly show

us any spectacle so abject as the spectacle which we witnessed last night at my aunt's ball.

"Lady Janet marked her sense of the proceeding adopted by her guests by leaving them to themselves. Her

guests remained and supped heartily notwithstanding. They all knew by experience that there were no stale

dishes and no cheap wines at Mablethorpe House. They drank to the end of the bottle, and they ate to the last

"Mercy and I had an interview with my aunt upstairs before we left. I felt it necessary to state plainly my

resolution to leave England. The scene that followed was so painful that I cannot prevail on myself to return

to it in these pages. My wife is reconciled to our departure; and Lady Janet accompanies us as far as

Plymouththese are the results. No words can express my sense of relief, now that it is all settled. The one

sorrow I shall carry away with me from the shores of England will be the sorrow of parting with dear,

"So closes my connection with my own country. While I have Mercy by my side I face the unknown future,

certain of carrying my happiness with me, go where I may. We shall find five hundred adventurers like

ourselves when we join the emigrant ship, for whom their native land has no occupation and no home.

Gentlemen of the Statistical Department, add two more to the number of social failures produced by England

in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventyoneJulian Gray and Mercy Merrick.