"I don't understand you," she said.
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 fellow-feeling with her on Grace's side expressed itself
unconsciously in the plainest terms.
"You!" she exclaimed, in a tone of blank astonishment.
The nurse rose slowly to her feet. Grace's expression of surprise told
her plainly--almost brutally--that her confession had gone far enough.
"I astonish you?" she said. "Ah, my young lady, you don't know what
rough usage a woman's heart can bear, and still beat truly! Before I saw
Julian Gray 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
now--the one welcome remembrance of my life! I have nothing more to tell
you. You insisted on hearing my story--you have heard it."
"I have not heard how you found employment here," said Grace, continuing
the conversation with uneasy politeness, as she best might.
Mercy crossed the room, and slowly raked together the last living embers
of the fire.
"The matron has friends in France," she answered, "who are connected
with the military 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 over--well! Society will be rid of me on
easy terms."
She stood looking thoughtfully into the wreck of the fire--as if she
saw in it the wreck of her own life. Common humanity made it an act of
necessity to say something to her. Grace considered--advanced a step
toward her--stopped--and took refuge in the most trivial of all the
common phrases which one human being can address to another.
"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 was needless to say more.
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 possible."