The New Magdalen

'I can imagine no crueler trial,' he said, 'than the trial that is now before you. The benefactress to whom you owe everything asks nothing from you but your silence. The person whom you have wronged is no longer present to stimulate your resolution to speak. Horace himself (unless I am entirely mistaken) will not hold you to the explanation that you have promised. The temptation to keep your false position in this house is, I do not scruple to say, all but irresistible. Sister and friend! can you still justify my faith in you? Will you still own the truth, without the base fear of discovery to drive you to it?'

She lifted her head, with the steady light of resolution shining again in her grand, gray eyes. Her low, sweet voice answered him, without a faltering note in it,

'I will!'

'You will do justice to the woman whom you have wronged—unworthy as she is; powerless as she is to expose you?'

'I will!'

'You will sacrifice everything you have gained by the fraud to the sacred duty of atonement? You will suffer anything—even though you offend the second mother who has loved you and sinned for you—rather than suffer the degradation of yourself?'

Her hand closed firmly on his. Again, and for the last time, she answered,

'I will!'

His voice had not trembled yet. It failed him now. His next words were spoken in faint whispering tones—to himself; not to her.

'Thank God for this day!' he said. 'I have been of some service to one of the noblest of God's creatures!'

Some subtle influence, as he spoke, passed from his hand to hers. It trembled through her nerves; it entwined itself mysteriously with the finest sensibilities in her nature; it softly opened her heart to a first vague surmising of the devotion that she had inspired in him. A faint glow of color, lovely in its faintness, stole over her face and neck. Her breathing quickened tremblingly. She drew her hand away from him, and sighed when she had released it.

He rose suddenly to his feet and left her, without a word or a look, walking slowly down the length of the room. When he turned and came back to her, his face was composed; he was master of himself again.

Mercy was the first to speak. She turned the conversation from herself by reverting to the proceedings in Lady Janet's room.

'You spoke of Horace just now,' she said, 'in terms which surprised me. You appeared to think that he would not hold me to my explanation. Is that one of the conclusions which you draw from Lady Janet's letter?'

'Most assuredly,' Julian answered. 'You will see the conclusion as I see it if we return for a moment to Grace Roseberry's departure from the house.'

Mercy interrupted him there. 'Can you guess,' she asked, 'how Lady Janet prevailed upon her to go?'

'I hardly like to own it,' said Julian. 'There is an expression in the letter which suggests to me that Lady Janet has offered her money, and that she has taken the bribe.'

'Oh, I can't think that!'

'Let us return to Horace. Miss Roseberry once out of the house, but one serious obstacle is left in Lady Janet's way. That obstacle is Horace Holmcroft.'

'How is Horace an obstacle?'

'He is an obstacle in this sense. He is under an engagement to marry you in a week's time; and Lady Janet is determined to keep him (as she is determined to keep every one else) in ignorance of the truth. She will do that without scruple. But the inbred sense of honor in her is not utterly silenced yet. She cannot, she dare not, let Horace make you his wife under the false impression that you are Colonel Roseberry's daughter. You see the situation? On the one hand, she won't enlighten him. On the other hand, she cannot allow him to marry you blindfold. In this emergency what is she to do? There is but one alternative that I can discover. She must persuade Horace (or she must irritate Horace) into acting for himself, and breaking off the engagement on his own responsibility.'

Mercy stopped him. 'Impossible!' she cried, warmly. 'Impossible!'

'Look again at her letter,' Julian rejoined. 'It tells, you plainly that you need fear no embarrassment when you next meet Horace. If words mean anything, those words mean that he will not claim from you the confidence which you have promised to repose in him. On what condition is it possible for him to abstain from doing that? On the one condition that you have ceased to represent the first and foremost interest of his life.'

Mercy still held firm. 'You are wronging Lady Janet,' she said.

Julian smiled sadly.

'Try to look at it,' he answered, 'from Lady Janet's point of view. Do you suppose she sees anything derogatory to her in attempting to break off the marriage? I will answer for it, she believes she is doing you a kindness. In one sense it would be a kindness to spare you the shame of a humiliating confession, and to save you (possibly) from being rejected to your face by the man you love. In my opinion, the thing is done already. I have reasons of my own for believing that my aunt will succeed far more easily than she could anticipate. Horace's temper will help her.'

Mercy's mind began to yield to him, in spite of herself.

'What do you mean by Horace's temper?' she inquired.

'Must you ask me that?' he said, drawing back a little from her.

'I must.'

'I mean by Horace's temper, Horace's unworthy distrust of the interest that I feel in you.'

She instantly understood him. And more than that, she secretly admired him for the scrupulous delicacy with which he had expressed himself. Another man would not have thought of sparing her in that way. Another man