The New Magdalen

After an interval of rest Mercy was aroused by the shutting of a glass

door at the far end of the conservatory. This door, leading into the

garden, was used only by the inmates of the house, or by old friends

privileged to enter the reception-rooms by that way. Assuming that

either Horace or Lady Janet was returning to the dining-room, Mercy

raised herself a little on the' sofa and listened.

The voice of one of the men-servants caught her ear. It was answered by

another voice, which instantly set her trembling in every limb.

She started up, and listened again in speechless terror. Yes! there

was no mistaking it. The voice that was answering the servant was the

unforgotten voice which she had heard at the Refuge. The visitor who had

come in by the glass door was--Julian Gray!

His rapid footsteps advanced nearer and nearer to the dining-room. She

recovered herself sufficiently to hurry to the library door. Her hand

shook so that she failed at first to open it. She had just succeeded

when she heard him again--speaking to her.

"Pray don't run away! I am nothing very formidable. Only Lady Janet's

nephew--Julian Gray."

She turned slowly, spell-bound by his voice, and confronted him in

silence.

He was standing, hat in hand, at the entrance to the conservatory,

dressed in black, and wearing a white cravat, but with a studious

avoidance of anything specially clerical in the make and form of his

clothes. Young as he was, there were marks of care already on his face,

and the hair was prematurely thin and scanty over his forehead. His

slight, active figure was of no more than the middle height. His

complexion was pale. The lower part of his face, without beard or

whiskers, was in no way remarkable. An average observer would have

passed him by without notice but for his eyes. These alone made a marked

man of him. The unusual size of the orbits in which they were set was

enough of itself to attract attention; it gave a grandeur to his head,

which the head, broad and firm as it was, did not possess. As to the

eyes themselves, the soft, lustrous brightness of them defied analysis

No two people could agree about their color; divided opinion declaring

alternately that they were dark gray or black. Painters had tried to

reproduce them, and had given up the effort, in despair of seizing any

one expression in the bewildering variety of expressions which they

presented to view. They were eyes that could charm at one moment and

terrify at another; eyes that could set people laughing or crying almost

at will. In action and in repose they were irresistible alike. When they

first descried Mercy running to the door, they brightened gayly with

the merriment of a child. When she turned and faced him, they changed

instantly, softening and glowing as they mutely owned the interest and

the admiration which the first sight of her had roused in him. His tone

and manner altered at the same time. He addressed her with the deepest

respect when he spoke his next words.