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.