The New Magdalen

His eyes, his voice, his manner, all told her that those words came from

the heart. She contrasted his generous confidence in her (the confidence

of which she was unworthy) with her ungracious distrust of him. Not only

had she wronged Grace Roseberry--she had wronged Julian Gray. Could she

deceive him as she had deceived the others? Could she meanly accept

that implicit trust, that devoted belief? Never had she felt the base

submissions which her own imposture condemned her to undergo with a

loathing of them so overwhelming as the loathing that she felt now. In

horror of herself, she turned her head aside in silence and shrank from

meeting his eye. He noticed the movement, placing his own interpretation

on it. Advancing closer, he asked anxiously if he had offended her.

"You don't know how your confidence touches me," she said, without

looking up. "You little think how keenly I feel your kindness."

She checked herself abruptly. Her fine tact warned her that she was

speaking too warmly--that the expression of her gratitude might strike

him as being strangely exaggerated. She handed him her work-basket

before he could speak again.

"Will you put it away for me?" she asked, in her quieter tones. "I don't

feel able to work just now."

His back was turned on her for a moment, while he placed the basket on a

side-table. In that moment her mind advanced at a bound from present to

future. Accident might one day put the true Grace in possession of the

proofs that she needed, and might reveal the false Grace to him in the

identity that was her own. What would he think of her then? Could she

make him tell her without betraying herself? She determined to try.

"Children are notoriously insatiable if you once answer their questions,

and women are nearly as bad," she said, when Julian returned to her.

"Will your patience hold out if I go back for the third time to the

person whom we have been speaking of?"

"Try me," he answered, with a smile.

"Suppose you had _not_ taken your merciful view of her?"

"Yes?"

"Suppose you believed that she was wickedly bent on deceiving others for

a purpose of her own--would you not shrink from such a woman in horror

and disgust?"

"God forbid that I should shrink from any human creature!" he answered,

earnestly. "Who among us has a right to do that?"

She hardly dared trust herself to believe him. "You would still pity

her?" she persisted, "and still feel for her?"

"With all my heart."

"Oh, how good you are!"

He held up his hand in warning. The tones of his voice deepened, the

luster of his eyes brightened. She had stirred in the depths of that

great heart the faith in which the man lived--the steady principle which

guided his modest and noble life.