It was useless to deny it. Horace admitted that the servants were right.
Her fingers, suddenly stopped at their restless work among the wools;
her breath quickened perceptibly. What had Julian Gray been doing
abroad? Had he been making inquiries? Did he alone, of all the people
who saw that terrible meeting, suspect her? Yes! His was the finer
intelligence; his was a clergyman's (a London clergyman's) experience of
frauds and deceptions, and of the women who were guilty of them. Not a
doubt of it now! Julian suspected her.
"When does he come back?" she asked, in tones so low that Horace could
barely hear her.
"He has come back already. He returned last night."
A faint shade of color stole slowly over the pallor of her face. She
suddenly put her basket away, and clasped her hands together to quiet
the trembling of them, before she asked her next question.
"Where is--" She paused to steady her voice. "Where is the person," she
resumed, "who came here and frightened me?"
Horace hastened to re-assure her. "The person will not come again," he
said. "Don't talk of her! Don't think of her!"
She shook her head. "There is something I want to know," she persisted.
"How did Mr. Julian Gray become acquainted with her?"
This was easily answered. Horace mentioned the consul at Mannheim, and
the letter of introduction. She listened eagerly, and said her next
words in a louder, firmer tone.
"She was quite a stranger, then, to Mr. Julian Gray--before that?"
"Quite a stranger," Horace replied. "No more questions--not another word
about her, Grace! I forbid the subject. Come, my own love!" he said,
taking her hand and bending over her tenderly, "rally your spirits! We
are young--we love each other--now is our time to be happy!"
Her hand turned suddenly cold, and trembled in his. Her head sank with a
helpless weariness on her breast. Horace rose in alarm.
"You are cold--you are faint," he said. "Let me get you a glass of
wine!--let me mend the fire!"
The decanters were still on the luncheon-table. Horace insisted on
her drinking some port-wine. She barely took half the contents of the
wine-glass. Even that little told on her sensitive organization;
it roused her sinking energies of body and mind. After watching her
anxiously, without attracting her notice, Horace left her again to
attend to the fire at the other end of the room. Her eyes followed
him slowly with a hard and tearless despair. "Rally your spirits," she
repeated to herself in a whisper. "My spirits! O God!" She looked round
her at the luxury and beauty of the room, as those look who take their
leave of familiar scenes. The moment after, her eyes sank, and rested on
the rich dress that she wore a gift from Lady Janet. She thought of the
past; she thought of the future. Was the time near when she would be
back again in the Refuge, or back again in the streets?--she who had
been Lady Janet's adopted daughter, and Horace Holmcroft's betrothed
wife! A sudden frenzy of recklessness seized on her as she thought of
the coming end. Horace was right! Why not rally her spirits? Why not
make the most of her time? The last hours of her life in that house
were at hand. Why not enjoy her stolen position while she could?
"Adventuress!" whispered the mocking spirit within her, "be true to your
character. Away with your remorse! Remorse is the luxury of an honest
woman." She caught up her basket of wools, inspired by a new idea. "Ring
the bell!" she cried out to Horace at the fire-place.