THE servant left them together. Mercy spoke first.
“Mr. Gray!” she exclaimed, “why have you delayed my message? If you knew
all, you would know that it is far from being a kindness to me to keep
me in this house.”
He advanced closer to her--surprised by her words, alarmed by her looks.
“Has any one been here in my absence?” he asked.
“Lady Janet has been here in your absence. I can’t speak of it--my heart
feels crushed--I can bear no more. Let me go!”
Briefly as she had replied, she had said enough. Julian’s knowledge
of Lady Janet’s character told him what had happened. His face showed
plainly that he was disappointed as well as distressed.
“I had hoped to have been with you when you and my aunt met, and to have
prevented this,” he said. “Believe me, she will atone for all that she
may have harshly and hastily done when she has had time to think. Try
not to regret it, if she has made your hard sacrifice harder still. She
has only raised you the higher--she has additionally ennobled you and
endeared you in my estimation. Forgive me if I own this in plain words.
I cannot control myself--I feel too strongly.”
At other times Mercy might have heard the coming avowal in his tones,
might have discovered it in his eyes. As it was, her delicate insight
was dulled, her fine perception was blunted. She held out her hand to
him, feeling a vague conviction that he was kinder to her than ever--and
feeling no more.
“I must thank you for the last time,” she said. “As long as life is
left, my gratitude will be a part of my life. Let me go. While I can
still control myself, let me go!”
She tried to leave him, and ring the bell. He held her hand firmly, and
drew her closer to him.
“To the Refuge?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Home again!”
“Don’t say that!” he exclaimed. “I can’t bear to hear it. Don’t call the
Refuge your home!”
“What else is it? Where else can I go?”
“I have come here to tell you. I said, if you remember, I had something
to propose.”
She felt the fervent pressure of his hand; she saw the mounting
enthusiasm flashing in his eyes. Her weary mind roused itself a little.
She began to tremble under the electric influence of his touch.
“Something to propose?” she repeated, “What is there to propose?”
“Let me ask you a question on my side. What have you done to-day?”
“You know what I have done: it is your work,” she answered, humbly. “Why
return to it now?”
“I return to it for the last time; I return to it with a purpose which
you will soon understand. You have abandoned your marriage engagement;
you have forfeited Lady Janet’s love; you have ruined all your worldly
prospects; you are now returning, self-devoted, to a life which you have
yourself described as a life without hope. And all this you have done
of your own free-will--at a time when you are absolutely secure of your
position in the house--for the sake of speaking the truth. Now tell me,
is a woman who can make that sacrifice a woman who will prove unworthy
of the trust if a man places in her keeping his honor and his name?”
She understood him at last. She broke away from him with a cry. She
stood with her hands clasped, trembling and looking at him.
He gave her no time to think. The words poured from his lips without
conscious will or conscious effort of his own.
“Mercy, from the first moment when I saw you I loved you! You are free;
I may own it; I may ask you to be my wife!”
She drew back from him further and further, with a wild imploring
gesture of her hand.
“No! no!” she cried. “Think of what you are saying! think of what you
would sacrifice! It cannot, must not be.”
His face darkened with a sudden dread. His head fell on his breast. His
voice sank so low that she could barely hear it.
“I had forgotten something,” he said. “You’ve reminded me of it.”
She ventured back a little nearer to him. “Have I offended you?”
He smiled sadly. “You have enlightened me. I had forgotten that it
doesn’t follow, because I love you, that you should love me in return.
Say that it is so, Mercy, and I leave you.”
A faint tinge of color rose on her face--then left it again paler than
ever. Her eyes looked downward timidly under the eager gaze that he
fastened on her.
“How _can_ I say so?” she answered, simply. “Where is the woman in my
place whose heart could resist you?”
He eagerly advanced; he held out his arms to her in breathless,
speechless joy. She drew back from him once more with a look that
horrified him--a look of blank despair.
“Am I fit to be your wife?” she asked. “Must I remind you of what you
owe to your high position, your spotless integrity, your famous name?
Think of all that you have done for me, and then think of the
black ingratitude of it if I ruin you for life by consenting to our
marriage--if I selfishly, cruelly, wickedly, drag you down to the level
of a woman like me!”
“I raise you to _my_ level when I make you my wife,” he answered.
“For Heaven’s sake do me justice! Don’t refer me to the world and its
opinions. It rests with you, and you alone, to make the misery or the
happiness of my life. The world! Good God! what can the world give me in
exchange for You?”
She clasped her hands imploringly; the tears flowed fast over her
cheeks.
“Oh, have pity on my weakness!” she cried. “Kindest, best of men, help
me to do my hard duty toward you! It is so hard, after all that I have
suffered--when my heart is yearning for peace and happiness and love!”
She checked herself, shuddering at the words that had escaped her.
“Remember how Mr. Holmcroft has used me! Remember how Lady Janet has
left me! Remember what I have told you of my life! The scorn of every
creature you know would strike at you through me. No! no! no! Not a word
more. Spare me! pity me! leave me!”
Her voice failed her; sobs choked her utterance. He sprang to her and
took her in his arms. She was incapable of resisting him; but there
was no yielding in her. Her head lay on his bosom, passive--horribly
passive, like the head of a corpse.
“Mercy! My darling! We will go away--we will leave England--we will take
refuge among new people in a new world--I will change my name--I will
break with relatives, friends, everybody. Anything, anything, rather
than lose you!”
She lifted her head slowly and looked at him.
He suddenly released her; he reeled back like a man staggered by a
blow, and dropped into a chair. Before she had uttered a word he saw
the terrible resolution in her face--Death, rather than yield to her own
weakness and disgrace him.
She stood with her hands lightly clasped in front of her. Her grand head
was raised; her soft gray eyes shone again undimmed by tears. The storm
of emotion had swept over her and had passed away A sad tranquillity was
in her face; a gentle resignation was in her voice. The calm of a martyr
was the calm that confronted him as she spoke her last words.
“A woman who has lived my life, a woman who has suffered what I have
suffered, may love you--as _I_ love you--but she must not be your wife.
_That_ place is too high above her. Any other place is too far below her
and below you.” She paused, and advancing to the bell, gave the signal
for her departure. That done, she slowly retraced her steps until she
stood at Julian’s side.
Tenderly she lifted his head and laid it for a moment on her bosom.
Silently she stooped and touched his forehead with her lips. All the
gratitude that filled her heart and all the sacrifice that rent it were
in those two actions--so modestly, so tenderly performed! As the last
lingering pressure of her fingers left him, Julian burst into tears.
The servant answered the bell. At the moment he opened the door a
woman’s voice was audible in the hall speaking to him.
“Let the child go in,” the voice said. “I will wait here.”
The child appeared--the same forlorn little creature who had reminded
Mercy of her own early years on the day when she and Horace Holmcroft
had been out for their walk.
There was no beauty in this child; no halo of romance brightened the
commonplace horror of her story. She came cringing into the room,
staring stupidly at the magnificence all round her--the daughter of the
London streets! the pet creation of the laws of political economy! the
savage and terrible product of a worn-out system of government and of a
civilization rotten to its core! Cleaned for the first time in her life,
fed sufficiently for the first time in her life, dressed in clothes
instead of rags for the first time in her life, Mercy’s sister in
adversity crept fearfully over the beautiful carpet, and stopped
wonder-struck before the marbles of an inlaid table--a blot of mud on
the splendor of the room.
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 him 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.
“Her ladyship is waiting, sir.”
Julian entered the dining-room.
EPILOGUE:
CONTAINING SELECTIONS FROM THE CORRESPONDENCE OF MISS GRACE ROSEBERRY
AND MR. HORACE HOLMCROFT; TO WHICH ARE ADDED EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF
THE REVEREND JULIAN GRAY.
I.
From MR. HORACE HOLMCROFT to MISS GRACE ROSEBERRY.
“I HASTEN to thank you, dear Miss Roseberry, for your last kind letter,
received by yesterday’s mail from Canada. Believe me, I appreciate your
generous readiness to pardon and forget what I so rudely said to you at
a time when the arts of an adventuress had blinded me to the truth. In
the grace which has forgiven me I recognize the inbred sense of justice
of a true lady. Birth and breeding can never fail to assert themselves:
I believe in them, thank God, more firmly than ever.
“You ask me to keep you informed of the progress of Julian Gray’s
infatuation, and of the course of conduct pursued toward him by Mercy
Merrick.
“If you had not favored me by explaining your object, I might have felt
some surprise at receiving from a lady in your position such a request
as this. But the motives by which you describe yourself as being
actuated are beyond dispute. The existence of Society, as you truly
say, is threatened by the present lamentable prevalence of Liberal
ideas throughout the length and breadth of the land. We can only hope
to protect ourselves against impostors interested in gaining a position
among persons of our rank by becoming in some sort (unpleasant as it may
be) familiar with the arts by which imposture too frequently succeeds.
If we wish to know to what daring lengths cunning can go, to what
pitiable self-delusion credulity can consent, we must watch the
proceedings--even while we shrink from them--of a Mercy Merrick and a
Julian Gray.
“In taking up my narrative again where my last letter left off, I must
venture to set you right on one point.
“Certain expressions which have escaped your pen suggest to me that you
blame Julian Gray as the cause of Lady Janet’s regrettable visit to the
Refuge the day after Mercy Merrick had left her house. This is not quite
correct. Julian, as you will presently see, has enough to answer for
without being held responsible for errors of judgment in which he has
had no share. Lady Janet (as she herself told me) went to the Refuge of
her own free-will to ask Mercy Merrick’s pardon for the language which
she had used on the previous day. ‘I passed a night of such misery as
no words can describe’--this, I assure you, is what her ladyship really
said to me--‘thinking over what my vile pride and selfishness and
obstinacy had made me say and do. I would have gone down on my knees to
beg her pardon if she would have let me. My first happy moment was when
I won her consent to come and visit me sometimes at Mablethorpe House.’
“You will, I am sure, agree with me that such extravagance as this is to
be pitied rather than blamed. How sad to see the decay of the faculties
with advancing age! It is a matter of grave anxiety to consider how much
longer poor Lady Janet can be trusted to manage her own affairs. I shall
take an opportunity of touching on the matter delicately when I next see
her lawyer.
“I am straying from my subject. And--is it not strange?--I am writing to
you as confidentially as if we were old friends.
“To return to Julian Gray. Innocent of instigating his aunt’s first
visit to the Refuge, he is guilty of having induced her to go there for
the second time the day after I had dispatched my last letter to you.
Lady Janet’s object on this occasion was neither more nor less than to
plead her nephew’s cause as humble suitor for the hand of Mercy Merrick.
Imagine the descent of one of the oldest families in England inviting an
adventuress in a Refuge to honor a clergyman of the Church of England by
becoming his wife! In what times do we live! My dear mother shed tears
of shame when she heard of it. How you would love and admire my mother!
“I dined at Mablethorpe House, by previous appointment, on the day when
Lady Janet returned from her degrading errand.
“‘Well?’ I said, waiting, of course, until the servant was out of the
room.
“‘Well,’ Lady Janet answered, ‘Julian was quite right.’
“‘Quite right in what?’
“‘In saying that the earth holds no nobler woman than Mercy Merrick.’
“‘Has she refused him again?’
“‘She has refused him again.’
“‘Thank God!’ I felt it fervently, and I said it fervently. Lady Janet
laid down her knife and fork, and fixed one of her fierce looks on me.
“‘It may not be your fault, Horace,’ she said, ‘if your nature is
incapable of comprehending what is great and generous in other natures
higher than yours. But the least you can do is to distrust your
own capacity of appreciation. For the future keep your opinions (on
questions which you don’t understand) modestly to yourself. I have a
tenderness for you for your father’s sake; and I take the most favorable
view of your conduct toward Mercy Merrick. I humanely consider it the
conduct of a fool.’ (Her own words, Miss Roseberry. I assure you
once more, her own words.) ‘But don’t trespass too far on my
indulgence--don’t insinuate again that a woman who is good enough (if
she died this night) to go to heaven, is _not_ good enough to be my
nephew’s wife.’
“I expressed to you my conviction a little way back that it was doubtful
whether poor Lady Janet would be much longer competent to manage her own
affairs. Perhaps you thought me hasty then? What do you think now?
“It was, of course, useless to reply seriously to the extraordinary
reprimand that I had received. Besides, I was really shocked by a decay
of principle which proceeded but too plainly from decay of the mental
powers. I made a soothing and respectful reply, and I was favored in
return with some account of what had really happened at the Refuge. My
mother and my sisters were disgusted when I repeated the particulars to
them. You will be disgusted too.
“The interesting penitent (expecting Lady Janet’s visit) was, of course,
discovered in a touching domestic position! She had a foundling baby
asleep on her lap; and she was teaching the alphabet to an ugly little
vagabond girl whose acquaintance she had first made in the street. Just
the sort of artful _tableau vivant_ to impose on an old lady--was it
not?
“You will understand what followed, when Lady Janet opened her
matrimonial negotiation. Having perfected herself in her part, Mercy
Merrick, to do her justice, was not the woman to play it badly. The
most magnanimous sentiments flowed from her lips. She declared that her
future life was devoted to acts of charity, typified, of course, by the
foundling infant and the ugly little girl. However she might personally
suffer, whatever might be the sacrifice of her own feelings--observe how
artfully this was put, to insinuate that she was herself in love with
him!--she could not accept from Mr. Julian Gray an honor of which she
was unworthy. Her gratitude to him and her interest in him alike forbade
her to compromise his brilliant future by consenting to a marriage which
would degrade him in the estimation of all his friends. She thanked him
(with tears); she thanked Lady Janet (with more tears); but she dare
not, in the interests of _his_ honor and _his_ happiness, accept the
hand that he offered to her. God bless and comfort him; and God help her
to bear with her hard lot!
“The object of this contemptible comedy is plain enough to my mind. She
is simply holding off (Julian, as you know, is a poor man) until the
influence of Lady Janet’s persuasion is backed by the opening of Lady
Janet’s purse. In one word--Settlements! But for the profanity of the
woman’s language, and the really lamentable credulity of the poor old
lady, the whole thing would make a fit subject for a burlesque.
“But the saddest part of the story is still to come.
“In due course of time the lady’s decision was communicated to Julian
Gray. He took leave of his senses on the spot. Can you believe it?--he
has resigned his curacy! At a time when the church is thronged every
Sunday to hear him preach, this madman shuts the door and walks out of
the pulpit. Even Lady Janet was not far enough gone in folly to abet
him in this. She remonstrated, like the rest of his friends. Perfectly
useless! He had but one answer to everything they could say: ‘My career
is closed.’ What stuff!
“You will ask, naturally enough, what this perverse man is going to do
next. I don’t scruple to say that he is bent on committing suicide.
Pray do not be alarmed! There is no fear of the pistol, the rope, or the
river. Julian is simply courting death--within the limits of the law.
“This is strong language, I know. You shall hear what the facts are, and
judge for yourself.
“Having resigned his curacy, his next proceeding was to offer his
services, as volunteer, to a new missionary enterprise on the West
Coast of Africa. The persons at the head of the mission proved, most
fortunately, to have a proper sense of their duty. Expressing their
conviction of the value of Julian’s assistance in the most handsome
terms, they made it nevertheless a condition of entertaining his
proposal that he should submit to examination by a competent medical
man. After some hesitation he consented to this. The doctor’s report
was conclusive. In Julian’s present state of health the climate of West
Africa would in all probability kill him in three months’ time.
“Foiled in his first attempt, he addressed himself next to a London
Mission. Here it was impossible to raise the question of climate, and
here, I grieve to say, he has succeeded.
“He is now working--in other words, he is now deliberately risking his
life--in the Mission to Green Anchor Fields. The district known by this
name is situated in a remote part of London, near the Thames. It is
notoriously infested by the most desperate and degraded set of wretches
in the whole metropolitan population, and it is so thickly inhabited
that it is hardly ever completely free from epidemic disease. In
this horrible place, and among these dangerous people, Julian is now
employing himself from morning to night. None of his old friends ever
see him. Since he joined the Mission he has not even called on Lady
Janet Roy.
“My pledge is redeemed--the facts are before you. Am I wrong in taking
my gloomy view of the prospect? I cannot forget that this unhappy man
was once my friend, and I really see no hope for him in the future.
Deliberately self-exposed to the violence of ruffians and the outbreak
of disease, who is to extricate him from his shocking position? The one
person who can do it is the person whose association with him would be
his ruin--Mercy Merrick. Heaven only knows what disasters it may be my
painful duty to communicate to you in my next letter!
“You are so kind as to ask me to tell you something about myself and my
plans.
“I have very little to say on either head. After what I have
suffered--my feelings trampled on, my confidence betrayed--I am as
yet hardly capable of deciding what I shall do. Returning to my old
profession--to the army--is out of the question, in these leveling days,
when any obscure person who can pass an examination may call himself my
brother officer, and may one day, perhaps, command me as my superior in
rank. If I think of any career, it is the career of diplomacy. Birth
and breeding have not quite disappeared as essential qualifications in
_that_ branch of the public service. But I have decided nothing as yet.
“My mother and sisters, in the event of your returning to England,
desire me to say that it will afford them the greatest pleasure to make
your acquaintance. Sympathizing with me, they do not forget what you too
have suffered. A warm welcome awaits you when you pay your first visit
at our house. Most truly yours,
“HORACE HOLMCROFT.”
II.
From MISS GRACE ROSEBERRY to MR. HORACE HOLMCROFT.
“DEAR MR. HOLMCROFT--I snatch a few moments from my other avocations to
thank you for your most interesting and delightful letter. How well you
describe, how accurately you judge! If Literature stood a little higher
as a profession, I should almost advise you--but no! if you entered
Literature, how could _you_ associate with the people whom you would be
likely to meet?
“Between ourselves, I always thought Mr. Julian Gray an overrated man.
I will not say he has justified my opinion. I will only say I pity him.
But, dear Mr. Holmcroft, how can you, with your sound judgment, place
the sad alternatives now before him on the same level? To die in Green
Anchor Fields, or to fall into the clutches of that vile wretch--is
there any comparison between the two? Better a thousand times die at the
post of duty than marry Mercy Merrick.
“As I have written the creature’s name, I may add--so as to have all the
sooner done with the subject--that I shall look with anxiety for your
next letter. Do not suppose that I feel the smallest curiosity about
this degraded and designing woman. My interest in her is purely
religious. To persons of my devout turn of mind she is an awful warning.
When I feel Satan near me--it will be _such_ a means of grace to think
of Mercy Merrick!
“Poor Lady Janet! I noticed those signs of mental decay to which you
so feelingly allude at the last interview I had with her in Mablethorpe
House. If you can find an opportunity, will you say that I wish her
well, here and hereafter? and will you please add that I do not omit to
remember her in my prayers?
“There is just a chance of my visiting England toward the close of
the autumn. My fortunes have changed since I wrote last. I have been
received as reader and companion by a lady who is the wife of one of
our high judicial functionaries in this part of the world. I do not take
much interest in _him_; he is what they call a ‘self-made man.’ His wife
is charming. Besides being a person of highly intellectual tastes, she
is greatly her husband’s superior--as you will understand when I tell
you that she is related to the Gommerys of Pommery; _not_ the Pommerys
of Gommery, who (as your knowledge of our old families will inform you)
only claim kindred with the younger branch of that ancient race.
“In the elegant and improving companionship which I now enjoy I should
feel quite happy but for one drawback. The climate of Canada is not
favorable to my kind patroness, and her medical advisers recommend
her to winter in London. In this event, I am to have the privilege of
accompanying her. Is it necessary to add that my first visit will be
paid at your house? I feel already united by sympathy to your mother and
your sisters. There is a sort of freemasonry among gentlewomen, is
there not? With best thanks and remembrances, and many delightful
anticipations of your next letter, believe me, dear Mr. Holmcroft,
“Truly yours,
“GRACE ROSEBERRY.”
III.
From MR. HORACE HOLMCROFT to MISS GRACE ROSEBERRY.
“MY DEAR MISS ROSEBERRY--Pray excuse my long silence. I have waited for
mail after mail, in the hope of being able to send you some good news
at last. It is useless to wait longer. My worst forebodings have been
realized: my painful duty compels me to write a letter which will
surprise and shock you.
“Let me describe events in their order as they happened. In this way I
may hope to gradually prepare your mind for what is to come.
“About three weeks after I wrote to you last, Julian Gray paid the
penalty of his headlong rashness. I do not mean that he suffered any
actual violence at the hands of the people among whom he had cast his
lot. On the contrary, he succeeded, incredible as it may appear,
in producing a favorable impression on the ruffians about him. As I
understand it, they began by respecting his courage in venturing among
them alone; and they ended in discovering that he was really interested
in promoting their welfare. It is to the other peril, indicated in my
last letter, that he has fallen a victim--the peril of disease. Not long
after he began his labors in the district fever broke out. We only heard
that Julian had been struck down by the epidemic when it was too late to
remove him from the lodging that he occupied in the neighborhood. I
made inquiries personally the moment the news reached us. The doctor in
attendance refused to answer for his life.
“In this alarming state of things poor Lady Janet, impulsive and
unreasonable as usual, insisted on leaving Mablethorpe House and taking
up her residence near her nephew.
“Finding it impossible to persuade her of the folly of removing from
home and its comforts at her age, I felt it my duty to accompany her.
We found accommodation (such as it was) in a river-side inn, used by
ship-captains and commercial travelers. I took it on myself to provide
the best medical assistance, Lady Janet’s insane prejudices against
doctors impelling her to leave this important part of the arrangements
entirely in my hands.
“It is needless to weary you by entering into details on the subject of
Julian’s illness.
“The fever pursued the ordinary course, and was characterized by the
usual intervals of delirium and exhaustion succeeding each other.
Subsequent events, which it is, unfortunately, necessary to relate to
you, leave me no choice but to dwell (as briefly as possible) on the
painful subject of the delirium. In other cases the wanderings of
fever-stricken people present, I am told, a certain variety of range. In
Julian’s case they were limited to one topic. He talked incessantly
of Mercy Merrick. His invariable petition to his medical attendants
entreated them to send for her to nurse him. Day and night that one idea
was in his mind, and that one name on his lips.
“The doctors naturally made inquiries as to this absent person. I was
obliged (in confidence) to state the circumstances to them plainly.
“The eminent physician whom I had called in to superintend the treatment
behaved admirably. Though he has risen from the lower order of the
people, he has, strange to say, the instincts of a gentleman. He
thoroughly understood our trying position, and felt all the importance
of preventing such a person as Mercy Merrick from seizing the
opportunity of intruding herself at the bedside. A soothing prescription
(I have his own authority for saying it) was all that was required to
meet the patient’s case. The local doctor, on the other hand, a young
man (and evidently a red-hot radical), proved to be obstinate, and,
considering his position, insolent as well. ‘I have nothing to do with
the lady’s character, and with your opinion of it,’ he said to me. ‘I
have only, to the best of my judgment, to point out to you the likeliest
means of saving the patient’s life. Our art is at the end of its
resources. Send for Mercy Merrick, no matter who she is or what she is.
There is just a chance--especially if she proves to be a sensible person
and a good nurse--that he may astonish you all by recognizing her. In
that case only, his recovery is probable. If you persist in disregarding
his entreaties, if you let the delirium go on for four-and-twenty hours
more, he is a dead man.’
“Lady Janet was, most unluckily, present when this impudent opinion was
delivered at the bedside.
“Need I tell you the sequel? Called upon to choose between the course
indicated by a physician who is making his five thousand a year, and who
is certain of the next medical baronetcy, and the advice volunteered by
an obscure general practitioner at the East End of London, who is
not making his five hundred a year--need I stop to inform you of her
ladyship’s decision? You know her; and you will only too well understand
that her next proceeding was to pay a third visit to the Refuge.
“Two hours later--I give you my word of honor I am not
exaggerating--Mercy Merrick was established at Julian’s bedside.
“The excuse, of course, was that it was her duty not to let any private
scruples of her own stand in the way, when a medical authority had
declared that she might save the patient’s life. You will not be
surprised to hear that I withdrew from the scene. The physician followed
my example--after having written his soothing prescription, and having
been grossly insulted by the local practitioner’s refusing to make use
of it. I went back in the doctor’s carriage. He spoke most feelingly and
properly. Without giving any positive opinion, I could see that he
had abandoned all hope of Julian’s recovery. ‘We are in the hands of
Providence, Mr. Holmcroft;’ those were his last words as he set me down
at my mother’s door.
“I have hardly the heart to go on. If I studied my own wishes, I should
feel inclined to stop here.
“Let me, at least, hasten to the end. In two or three days’ time I
received my first intelligence of the patient and his nurse. Lady
Janet informed me that he had recognized her. When I heard this I felt
prepared for what was to come. The next report announced that he was
gaining strength, and the next that he was out of danger. Upon this
Lady Janet returned to Mablethorpe House. I called there a week ago--and
heard that he had been removed to the sea-side. I called yesterday--and
received the latest information from her ladyship’s own lips. My pen
almost refuses to write it. Mercy Merrick has consented to marry him!
“An outrage on Society--that is how my mother and my sisters view
it; that is how _you_ will view it too. My mother has herself struck
Julian’s name off her invitation-list. The servants have their orders,
if he presumes to call: ‘Not at home.’
“I am unhappily only too certain that I am correct in writing to you
of this disgraceful marriage as of a settled thing. Lady Janet went the
length of showing me the letters--one from Julian, the other from the
woman herself. Fancy Mercy Merrick in correspondence with Lady Janet
Roy! addressing her as ‘My dear Lady Janet,’ and signing, ‘Yours
affectionately!’
“I had not the patience to read either of the letters through. Julian’s
tone is the tone of a Socialist; in my opinion his bishop ought to be
informed of it. As for _her_ she plays her part just as cleverly with
her pen as she played it with her tongue. ‘I cannot disguise from myself
that I am wrong in yielding.... Sad forebodings fill my mind when I
think of the future.... I feel as if the first contemptuous look that
is cast at my husband will destroy _my_ happiness, though it may not
disturb _him_.... As long as I was parted from him I could control my
own weakness, I could accept my hard lot. But how can I resist him after
having watched for weeks at his bedside; after having seen his first
smile, and heard his first grateful words to me while I was slowly
helping him back to life?’
“There is the tone which she takes through four closely written pages
of nauseous humility and clap-trap sentiment! It is enough to make one
despise women. Thank God, there is the contrast at hand to remind me of
what is due to the better few among the sex. I feel that my mother and
my sisters are doubly precious to me now. May I add, on the side of
consolation, that I prize with hardly inferior gratitude the privilege
of corresponding with _you?_
“Farewell for the present. I am too rudely shaken in my most cherished
convictions, I am too depressed and disheartened, to write more. All
good wishes go with you, dear Miss Roseberry, until we meet.
“Most truly yours,
“HORACE HOLMCROFT.”
IV.
Extracts from the DIARY of THE REVEREND JULIAN GRAY.
FIRST EXTRACT.
....“A month to-day since we were married! I have only one thing to say:
I would cheerfully go through all that I have suffered to live this one
month over again. I never knew what happiness was until now. And better
still, I have persuaded Mercy that it is all her doing. I have scattered
her misgivings to the winds; she is obliged to submit to evidence, and
to own that she can make the happiness of my life.
“We go back to London to-morrow. She regrets leaving the tranquil
retirement of this remote sea-side place--she dreads change. I care
nothing for it. It is all one to me where I go, so long as my wife is
with me.”
SECOND EXTRACT.
“The first cloud has risen. I entered the room unexpectedly just now,
and found her in tears.
“With considerable difficulty I persuaded her to tell me what had
happened. Are there any limits to the mischief that can be done by the
tongue of a foolish woman? The landlady at my lodgings is the woman, in
this case. Having no decided plans for the future as yet, we returned
(most unfortunately, as the event has proved) to the rooms in London
which I inhabited in my bachelor days. They are still mine for six weeks
to come, and Mercy was unwilling to let me incur the expense of taking
her to a hotel. At breakfast this morning I rashly congratulated myself
(in my wife’s hearing) on finding that a much smaller collection than
usual of letters and cards had accumulated in my absence. Breakfast
over, I was obliged to go out. Painfully sensitive, poor thing, to
any change in my experience of the little world around me which it is
possible to connect with the event of my marriage, Mercy questioned the
landlady, in my absence, about the diminished number of my visitors and
my correspondents. The woman seized the opportunity of gossiping
about me and my affairs, and my wife’s quick perception drew the right
conclusion unerringly. My marriage has decided certain wise heads of
families on discontinuing their social relations with me. The facts,
unfortunately, speak for themselves. People who in former years
habitually called upon me and invited me--or who, in the event of my
absence, habitually wrote to me at this season--have abstained with a
remarkable unanimity from calling, inviting, or writing now.
“It would have been sheer waste of time--to say nothing of its also
implying a want of confidence in my wife--if I had attempted to set
things right by disputing Mercy’s conclusion. I could only satisfy her
that not so much as the shadow of disappointment or mortification rested
on my mind. In this way I have, to some extent, succeeded in composing
my poor darling. But the wound has been inflicted, and the wound is
felt. There is no disguising that result. I must face it boldly.
“Trifling as this incident is in my estimation, it has decided me on one
point already. In shaping my future course I am now resolved to act on
my own convictions--in preference to taking the well-meant advice of
such friends as are still left to me.
“All my little success in life has been gained in the pulpit. I am what
is termed a popular preacher--but I have never, in my secret self, felt
any exultation in my own notoriety, or any extraordinary respect for the
means by which it has been won. In the first place, I have a very low
idea of the importance of oratory as an intellectual accomplishment.
There is no other art in which the conditions of success are so easy of
attainment; there is no other art in the practice of which so much that
is purely superficial passes itself off habitually for something that
claims to be profound. Then, again, how poor it is in the results which
it achieves! Take my own case. How often (for example) have I thundered
with all my heart and soul against the wicked extravagance of dress
among women--against their filthy false hair and their nauseous powders
and paints! How often (to take another example) have I denounced the
mercenary and material spirit of the age--the habitual corruptions and
dishonesties of commerce, in high places and in low! What good have I
done? I have delighted the very people whom it was my object to rebuke.
‘What a charming sermon!’ ‘More eloquent than ever!’ ‘I used to dread
the sermon at the other church--do you know, I quite look forward to it
now.’ That is the effect I produce on Sunday. On Monday the women are
off to the milliners to spend more money than ever; the city men are off
to business to make more money than ever--while my grocer, loud in
my praises in his Sunday coat, turns up his week-day sleeves and
adulterates his favorite preacher’s sugar as cheerfully as usual!
“I have often, in past years, felt the objections to pursuing my career
which are here indicated. They were bitterly present to my mind when I
resigned my curacy, and they strongly influence me now.
“I am weary of my cheaply won success in the pulpit. I am weary of
society as I find it in my time. I felt some respect for myself, and
some heart and hope in my works among the miserable wretches in Green
Anchor Fields. But I can not, and must not, return among them: I have no
right, _now_, to trifle with my health and my life. I must go back to my
preaching, or I must leave England. Among a primitive people, away
from the cities--in the far and fertile West of the great American
continent--I might live happily with my wife, and do good among my
neighbors, secure of providing for our wants out of the modest little
income which is almost useless to me here. In the life which I thus
picture to myself I see love, peace, health, and duties and occupations
that are worthy of a Christian man. What prospect is before me if I
take the advice of my friends and stay here? Work of which I am weary,
because I have long since ceased to respect it; petty malice that
strikes at me through my wife, and mortifies and humiliates her, turn
where she may. If I had only myself to think of, I might defy the worst
that malice can do. But I have Mercy to think of--Mercy, whom I love
better than my own life! Women live, poor things, in the opinions of
others. I have had one warning already of what my wife is likely to
suffer at the hands of my ‘friends’--Heaven forgive me for misusing the
word! Shall I deliberately expose her to fresh mortifications?--and this
for the sake of returning to a career the rewards of which I no longer
prize? No! We will both be happy--we will both be free! God is merciful,
Nature is kind, Love is true, in the New World as well as the Old. To
the New World we will go!”
THIRD EXTRACT.
“I hardly know whether I have done right or wrong. I mentioned yesterday
to Lady Janet the cold reception of me on my return to London, and the
painful sense of it felt by my wife.
“My aunt looks at the matter from her own peculiar point of view,
and makes light of it accordingly. ‘You never did, and never will,
understand Society, Julian,’ said her ladyship. ‘These poor stupid
people simply don’t know what to do. They are waiting to be told by a
person of distinction whether they are, or are not, to recognize your
marriage. In plain English, they are waiting to be led by Me. Consider
it done. I will lead them.’
“I thought my aunt was joking. The event of to-day has shown me that she
is terribly in earnest. Lady Janet has issued invitations for one of her
grand balls at Mablethorpe House; and she has caused the report to be
circulated everywhere that the object of the festival is ‘to celebrate
the marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Julian Gray!’
“I at first refused to be present. To my amazement, however, Mercy sides
with my aunt. She reminds me of all that we both owe to Lady Janet; and
she has persuaded me to alter my mind. We are to go to the ball--at my
wife express request!
“The meaning of this, as I interpret it, is that my poor love is still
pursued in secret by the dread that my marriage has injured me in the
general estimation. She will suffer anything, risk anything, believe
anything, to be freed from that one haunting doubt. Lady Janet
predicts a social triumph; and my wife’s despair--not my wife’s
conviction--accepts the prophecy. As for me, I am prepared for the
result. It will end in our going to the New World, and trying Society in
its infancy, among the forests and the plains. I shall quietly prepare
for our departure, and own what I have done at the right time--that is
to say, when the ball is over.”
FOURTH EXTRACT.
“I have met with the man for my purpose--an old college friend of mine,
now partner in a firm of ship-owners, largely concerned in emigration.
“One of their vessels sails for America, from the port of London, in
a fortnight, touching at Plymouth. By a fortunate coincidence, Lady
Janet’s ball takes place in a fortnight. I see my way.
“Helped by the kindness of my friend, I have arranged to have a cabin
kept in reserve, on payment of a small deposit. If the ball ends (as I
believe it will) in new mortifications for Mercy--do what they may, I
defy them to mortify _me_--I have only to say the word by telegraph, and
we shall catch the ship at Plymouth.
“I know the effect it will have when I break the news to her, but I am
prepared with my remedy. The pages of my diary, written in past years,
will show plainly enough that it is not _she_ who is driving me away
from England. She will see the longing in me for other work and other
scenes expressing itself over and over again long before the time when
we first met.”
FIFTH EXTRACT.
“Mercy’s ball dress--a present from kind Lady Janet--is finished. I was
allowed to see the first trial, or preliminary rehearsal, of this work
of art. I don’t in the least understand the merits of silk and lace; but
one thing I know--my wife will be the most beautiful woman at the ball.
“The same day I called on Lady Janet to thank her, and encountered a new
revelation of the wayward and original character of my dear old aunt.
“She was on the point of tearing up a letter when I went into her room.
Seeing me, she suspended her purpose and handed me the letter. It was in
Mercy’s handwriting. Lady Janet pointed to a passage on the last page.
‘Tell your wife, with my love,’ she said, ‘that I am the most obstinate
woman of the two. I positively refuse to read her, as I positively
refuse to listen to her, whenever she attempts to return to that one
subject. Now give me the letter back.’ I gave it back, and saw it torn
up before my face. The ‘one subject’ prohibited to Mercy as sternly as
ever is still the subject of the personation of Grace Roseberry! Nothing
could have been more naturally introduced, or more delicately managed,
than my wife’s brief reference to the subject. No matter. The reading
of the first line was enough. Lady Janet shut her eyes and destroyed the
letter--Lady Janet is determined to live and die absolutely ignorant of
the true story of ‘Mercy Merrick.’ What unanswerable riddles we are! Is
it wonderful if we perpetually fail to understand one another?”
SIXTH EXTRACT.
“The morning after the ball.
“It is done and over. Society has beaten Lady Janet. I have neither
patience nor time to write at length of it. We leave for Plymouth by the
afternoon express.
“We were rather late in arriving at the ball. The magnificent rooms were
filling fast. Walking through them with my wife, she drew my attention
to a circumstance which I had not noticed at the time. ‘Julian,’ she
said, ‘look round among the lades, and tell me if you see anything
strange.’ As I looked round the band began playing a waltz. I observed
that a few people only passed by us to the dancing-room. I noticed next
that of those few fewer still were young. At last it burst upon me. With
certain exceptions (so rare as to prove the rule), there were no
young girls at Lady Janet’s ball. I took Mercy at once back to the
reception-room. Lady Janet’s face showed that she, too, was aware of
what had happened. The guests were still arriving. We received the
men and their wives, the men and their mothers, the men and their
grandmothers--but, in place of their unmarried daughters, elaborate
excuses, offered with a shameless politeness wonderful to see. Yes! This
was how the matrons in high life had got over the difficulty of meeting
Mrs. Julian Gray at Lady Janet’s house.
“Let me do strict justice to every one. The ladies who _were_ present
showed the needful respect for their hostess. They did their duty--no,
overdid it, is perhaps the better phrase.
“I really had no adequate idea of the coarseness and rudeness which have
filtered their way through society in these later times until I saw the
reception accorded to my wife. The days of prudery and prejudice are
days gone by. Excessive amiability and excessive liberality are the
two favorite assumptions of the modern generation. To see the women
expressing their liberal forgetfulness of my wifely misfortunes, and the
men their amiable anxiety to encourage her husband; to hear the same set
phrases repeated in every room--‘So charmed to make your acquaintance,
Mrs. Gray; so _much_ obliged to dear Lady Janet for giving us this
opportunity!--Julian, old man, what a beautiful creature! I envy you;
upon my honor, I envy you!’--to receive this sort of welcome, emphasized
by obtrusive hand-shakings, sometimes actually by downright kissings of
my wife, and then to look round and see that not one in thirty of these
very people had brought their unmarried daughters to the ball, was,
I honestly believe, to see civilized human nature in its basest
conceivable aspect. The New World may have its disappointments in store
for us, but it cannot possibly show us any spectacle so abject as the
spectacle which we witnessed last night at my aunt’s ball.
“Lady Janet marked her sense of the proceeding adopted by her guests
by leaving them to themselves. Her guests remained and supped heartily
notwithstanding. They all knew by experience that there were no stale
dishes and no cheap wines at Mablethorpe House. They drank to the end of
the bottle, and they ate to the last truffle in the dish.
“Mercy and I had an interview with my aunt upstairs before we left. I
felt it necessary to state plainly my resolution to leave England. The
scene that followed was so painful that I cannot prevail on myself to
return to it in these pages. My wife is reconciled to our departure; and
Lady Janet accompanies us as far as Plymouth--these are the results. No
words can express my sense of relief, now that it is all settled. The
one sorrow I shall carry away with me from the shores of England will be
the sorrow of parting with dear, warm-hearted Lady Janet. At her age it
is a parting for life.
“So closes my connection with my own country. While I have Mercy by my
side I face the unknown future, certain of carrying my happiness
with me, go where I may. We shall find five hundred adventurers like
ourselves when we join the emigrant ship, for whom their native land has
no occupation and no home. Gentlemen of the Statistical Department, add
two more to the number of social failures produced by England in the
year of our Lord eighteen hundred and seventy-one--Julian Gray and Mercy
Merrick.”