The New Magdalen

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 who was strong enough to beat her.

She put the child down again, and turned for a last look at the man

whose happiness she had wrecked--in pity to _him_.

He had never moved. His head was down; his face was hidden. She went

back to hi m a few steps.

"The others have gone from me without one kind word. Can _you_ forgive

me?"

He held out his hand to her without looking up. Sorely as she had

wounded him, his generous nature understood her. True to her from the

first, _he_ was true to her still.

"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 God--outcasts of the government of

Man--passed 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 of their departure. They were gone.

But the orderly routine of the house--inexorable as death--pursued its

appointed course. As the clock struck the hour the dinner-bell rang. An

interval of a minute passed, and marked the limit of delay. The butler

appeared at the dining-room door.

"Dinner is served, sir."

Julian looked up. The empty room met his eyes. Something white lay on

the carpet close by him. It was her handkerchief--wet with her tears. He

took it up and pressed it to his lips. Was that to be the last of her?

Had she left him forever?

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 turned to the servant, reckless of what his face might betray.

"Where is Lady Janet?"

"In the dining-room, sir."

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 her--through the

influence of Lady Janet.