"There is your answer!" he said."Look!-- and pity her."She had not once interrupted them while they had been speaking: she had changed her position again, and that was all.There was a writing-table at the side of her chair; her outstretched arms rested on it.Her head had dropped on her arms, and her face was hidden.Julian's judgment had not misled him; the utter self-abandonment of her attitude answered Horace as no human language could have answered him.He looked at her.A quick spasm of pain passed across his face.He turned once more to the faithful friend who had forgiven him.His head fell on Julian's shoulder, and he burst into tears.
Mercy started wildly to her feet, and looked at the two men.
"O God" she cried, "what have I done!"
Julian quieted her by a motion of his hand.
"You have helped me to save him," he said."Let his tears have their way.Wait."He put one arm round Horace to support him.The manly tenderness of the action, the complete and noble pardon of past injuries which it implied, touched Mercy to the heart.She went back to her chair.Again shame and sorrow overpowered her, and again she hid her face from view.
Julian led Horace to a seat, and silently waited by him until he had recovered his self-control.He gratefully took the kind hand that had sustained him: he said, simply, almost boyishly, "Thank you, Julian.I am better now.""Are you composed enough to listen to what is said to you?" Julian asked.
"Yes.Do you wish to speak to me?"
Julian left him without immediately replying, and returned to Mercy.
"The time has come," he said."Tell him all--truly, unreservedly, as you would tell it to me."She shuddered as he spoke."Have I not told him enough?" she asked."Do you want me to break his heart? Look at him! Look what I have done already!"Horace shrank from the ordeal as Mercy shrank from it.
"No, no! I can't listen to it! I daren't listen to it!" he cried, and rose to leave the room.
Julian had taken the good work in hand: he never faltered over it for an instant.Horace had loved her--how dearly Julian now knew for the first time.The bare possibility that she might earn her pardon if she was allowed to plead her own cause was a possibility still left.To let her win on Horace to forgive her, was death to the love that still filled his heart in secret.But he never hesitated.With a resolution which the weaker man was powerless to resist, he took him by the arm and led him back to his place.
"For her sake, and for your sake, you shall not condemn her unheard," he said to Horace, firmly."One temptation to deceive you after another has tried her, and she has resisted them all.With no discovery to fear, with a letter from the benefactress who loves her commanding her to be silent, with everything that a woman values in this world to lose, if she owns what she has done-- this woman, for the truth's sake, has spoken the truth.Does she deserve nothing at your hands in return for that? Respect her, Horace--and hear her."Horace yielded.Julian turned to Mercy.
"You have allowed me to guide you so far," he said."Will you allow me to guide you still?"Her eyes sank before his; her bosom rose and fell rapidly.His influence over her maintained its sway.She bowed her head in speechless submission.
"Tell him," Julian proceeded, in accents of entreaty, not of command--"tell him what your life has been.Tell him how you were tried and tempted, with no friend near to speak the words which might have saved you.And then," he added, raising her from the chair, "let him judge you--if he can!"He attempted to lead her across the room to the place which Horace occupied.But her submission had its limits.Half-way to the place she stopped, and refused to go further.Julian offered her a chair.She declined to take it.Standing with one hand on the back of the chair, she waited for the word from Horace which would permit her to speak.She was resigned to the ordeal.Her face was calm; her mind was clear.The hardest of all humiliations to endure--the humiliation of acknowledging her name--she had passed through.Nothing remained but to show her gratitude to Julian by acceding to his wishes, and to ask pardon of Horace before they parted forever.In a little while the Matron would arrive at the house-- and then it would be over.
Unwillingly Horace looked at her.Their eyes met.He broke out suddenly with something of his former violence.
"I can't realize it even now!" he cried." Is it true that you are not Grace Roseberry? Don't look at me! Say in one word--Yes or No!"She answered him, humbly and sadly, "Yes.""You have done what that woman accused you of doing? Am I to believe that?""You are to believe it, sir."
All the weakness of Horace's character disclosed itself when she made that reply.
"Infamous!" he exclaimed."What excuse can you make for the cruel deception you have practiced on me? Too bad! too bad! There can be no excuse for you!"She accepted his reproaches with unshaken resignation."I have deserved it!" was all she said to herself, "I have deserved it!"Julian interposed once more in Mercy's defense.
"Wait till you are sure there is no excuse for her, Horace," he said, quietly."Grant her justice, if you can grant no more.I leave you together."He advanced toward the door of the dining-room.Horace's weakness disclosed itself once more.
"Don't leave me alone with her!" he burst out."The misery of it is more than I can bear!"Julian looked at Mercy.Her face brightened faintly.That momentary expression of relief told him how truly he would be befriending her if he consented to remain in the room.A position of retirement was offered to him by a recess formed by the central bay-window of the library.If he occupied this place, they could see or not see that he was present, as their own inclinations might decide them.
"I will stay with you, Horace, as long as you wish me to be here." Having answered in those terms, he stopped as he passed Mercy, on his way to the window.His quick and kindly insight told him that he might still be of some service to her.A hint from him might show her the shortest and the easiest way of ****** her confession.Delicately and briefly he gave her the hint."The first time I met you," he said, "I saw that your life had had its troubles.Let us hear how those troubles began."He withdrew to his place in the recess.For the first time, since the fatal evening when she and Grace Roseberry had met in the French cottage, Mercy Merrick looked back into the purgatory on earth of her past life, and told her sad story simply and truly in these words.
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