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 sufficiently5 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 standing6, hat in hand, at the entrance to the conservatory, dressed in black, and wearing a white cravat7, but with a studious avoidance of anything specially8 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 prematurely9 thin and scanty10 over his forehead. His slight, active figure was of no more than the middle height. His complexion11 was pale. The lower part of his face, without beard or whiskers, was in no way remarkable12. 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 grandeur13 to his head, which the head, broad and firm as it was, did not possess. As to the eyes themselves, the soft, lustrous14 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 repose15 they were irresistible16 alike. When they first descried17 Mercy running to the door, they brightened gayly with the merriment of a child. When she turned and faced him, they changed instantly, softening18 and glowing as they mutely owned the interest and the admiration19 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 spoke20 his next words.
“Let me entreat21 you to favor me by resuming your seat,” he said. “And let me ask your pardon if I have thoughtlessly intruded22 on you.”
He paused, waiting for her reply before he advanced into the room. Still spell-bound by his voice, she recovered self-control enough to bow to him and to resume her place on the sofa. It was impossible to leave him now. After looking at her for a moment, he entered the room without speaking to her again. She was beginning to perplex as well as to interest him. “No common sorrow,” he thought, “has set its mark on that woman’s face; no common heart beats in that woman’s breast. Who can she be?”
Mercy rallied her courage, and forced herself to speak to him.
“Lady Janet is in the library, I believe,” she said, timidly. “Shall I tell her you are here?”
“Don’t disturb Lady Janet, and don’t disturb yourself.” With that answer he approached the luncheon23-table, delicately giving her time to feel more at her ease. He took up what Horace had left of the bottle of claret, and poured it into a glass. “My aunt’s claret shall represent my aunt for the present,” he said, smiling, as he turned toward her once more. “I have had a long walk, and I may venture to help myself in this house without invitation. Is it useless to offer you anything?”
Mercy made the necessary reply. She was beginning already, after her remarkable experience of him, to wonder at his easy manners and his light way of talking.
He emptied his glass with the air of a man who thoroughly24 understood and enjoyed good wine. “My aunt’s claret is worthy25 of my aunt,” he said, with comic gravity, as he set down the glass. “Both are the genuine products of Nature.” He seated himself at the table and looked critically at the different dishes left on it. One dish especially attracted his attention. “What is this?” he went on. “A French pie! It seems grossly unfair to taste French wine and to pass over French pie without notice.” He took up a knife and fork, and enjoyed the pie as critically as he had enjoyed the wine. “Worthy of the Great Nation!” he exclaimed, with enthusiasm. “Vive la France!”
Mercy listened and looked, in inexpressible astonishment26. He was utterly27 unlike the picture which her fancy had drawn28 of him in everyday life. Take off his white cravat, and nobody would have discovered that this famous preacher was a clergyman!
He helped himself to another plateful of the pie, and spoke more directly to Mercy, alternately eating and talking as composedly and pleasantly as if they had known each other for years.
“I came here by way of Kensington Gardens,” he said. “For some time past I have been living in a flat, ugly, barren, agricultural district. You can’t think how pleasant I found the picture presented by the Gardens, as a contrast. The ladies in their rich winter dresses, the smart nursery maids, the lovely children, the ever moving crowd skating on the ice of the Round Pond; it was all so exhilarating after what I have been used to, that I actually caught myself whistling as I walked through the brilliant scene! (In my time boys used always to whistle when they were in good spirits, and I have not got over the habit yet.) Who do you think I met when I was in full song?”
As well as her amazement30 would let her, Mercy excused herself from guessing. She had never in all her life before spoken to any living being so confusedly and so unintelligently as she now spoke to Julian Gray!
He went on more gayly than ever, without appearing to notice the effect that he had produced on her.
“Whom did I meet,” he repeated, “when I was in full song? My bishop31! If I had been whistling a sacred melody, his lordship might perhaps have excused my vulgarity out of consideration for my music. Unfortunately, the composition I was executing at the moment (I am one of the loudest of living whistlers) was by Verdi —“La Donna e Mobile”— familiar, no doubt, to his lordship on the street organs. He recognized the tune32, poor man, and when I took off my hat to him he looked the other way. Strange, in a world that is bursting with sin and sorrow, to treat such a trifle seriously as a cheerful clergyman whistling a tune!” He pushed away his plate as he said the last words, and went on simply and earnestly in an altered tone. “I have never been able,” he said, “to see why we should assert ourselves among other men as belonging to a particular caste, and as being forbidden, in any harmless thing, to do as other people do. The disciples33 of old set us no such example; they were wiser and better than we are. I venture to say that one of the worst obstacles in the way of our doing good among our fellow-creatures is raised by the mere34 assumption of the clerical manner and the clerical voice. For my part, I set up no claim to be more sacred and more reverend than any other Christian35 man who does what good he can.” He glanced brightly at Mercy, looking at him in helpless perplexity. The spirit of fun took possession of him again. “Are you a Radical36?” he asked, with a humorous twinkle in his large lustrous eyes. “I am!”
Mercy tried hard to understand him, and tried in vain. Could this be the preacher whose words had charmed, purified, ennobled her? Was this the man whose sermon had drawn tears from women about her whom she knew to be shameless and hardened in crime? Yes! The eyes that now rested on her humorously were the beautiful eyes which had once looked into her soul. The voice that had just addressed a jesting question to her was the deep and mellow37 voice which had once thrilled her to the heart. In the pulpit he was an angel of mercy; out of the pulpit he was a boy let loose from school.
“Don’t let me startle you,” he said, good-naturedly, noticing her confusion. “Public opinion has called me by harder names than the name of ‘Radical.’ I have been spending my time lately — as I told you just now — in an agricultural district. My business there was to perform the duty for the rector of the place, who wanted a holiday. How do you think the experiment has ended? The Squire38 of the parish calls me a Communist; the farmers denounce me as an Incendiary; my friend the rector has been recalled in a hurry, and I have now the honor of speaking to you in the character of a banished39 man who has made a respectable neighborhood too hot to hold him.”
With that frank avowal40 he left the luncheon table, and took a chair near Mercy.
“You will naturally be anxious,” he went on, “to know what my offense41 was. Do you understand Political Economy and the Laws of Supply and Demand?”
Mercy owned that she did not understand them.
“No more do I— in a Christian country,” he said. “That was my offense. You shall hear my confession42 (just as my aunt will hear it) in two words.” He paused for a little while; his variable manner changed again. Mercy, shyly looking at him, saw a new expression in his eyes — an expression which recalled her first remembrance of him as nothing had recalled it yet. “I had no idea,” he resumed, “of what the life of a farm-laborer43 really was, in some parts of England, until I undertook the rector’s duties. Never before had I seen such dire29 wretchedness as I saw in the cottages. Never before had I met with such noble patience under suffering as I found among the people. The martyrs45 of old could endure, and die. I asked myself if they could endure, and live, like the martyrs whom I saw round me? — live, week after week, month after month, year after year, on the brink46 of starvation; live, and see their pining children growing up round them, to work and want in their turn; live, with the poor man’s parish prison to look to as the end, when hunger and labor44 have done their worst! Was God’s beautiful earth made to hold such misery47 as this? I can hardly think of it, I can hardly speak of it, even now, with dry eyes!”
His head sank on his breast. He waited — mastering his emotion before he spoke again. Now, at last, she knew him once more. Now he was the man, indeed, whom she had expected to see. Unconsciously she sat listening, with her eyes fixed48 on his face, with his heart hanging on his words, in the very attitude of the by-gone day when she had heard him for the first time!
“I did all I could to plead for the helpless ones,” he resumed. “I went round among the holders49 of the land to say a word for the tillers of the land. ‘These patient people don’t want much’ (I said); ‘in the name of Christ, give them enough to live on!’ Political Economy shrieked50 at the horrid51 proposal; the Laws of Supply and Demand veiled their majestic52 faces in dismay. Starvation wages were the right wages, I was told. And why? Because the laborer was obliged to accept them! I determined53, so far as one man could do it, that the laborer should not be obliged to accept them. I collected my own resources — I wrote to my friends — and I removed some of the poor fellows to parts of England where their work was better paid. Such was the conduct which made the neighborhood too hot to hold me. So let it be! I mean to go on. I am known in London; I can raise subscriptions55. The vile4 Laws of Supply and Demand shall find labor scarce in that agricultural district; and pitiless Political Economy shall spend a few extra shillings on the poor, as certainly as I am that Radical, Communist, and Incendiary — Julian Gray!”
He rose — making a little gesture of apology for the warmth with which he had spoken — and took a turn in the room. Fired by his enthusiasm, Mercy followed him. Her purse was in her hand, when he turned and faced her.
“Pray let me offer my little tribute — such as it is!” she said, eagerly.
A momentary56 flush spread over his pale cheeks as he looked at the beautiful compassionate57 face pleading with him.
“No! no!” he said, smiling; “though I am a parson, I don’t carry the begging-box everywhere.” Mercy attempted to press the purse on him. The quaint60 humor began to twinkle again in his eyes as he abruptly61 drew back from it. “Don’t tempt59 me!” he said. “The frailest62 of all human creatures is a clergyman tempted58 by a subscription54.” Mercy persisted, and conquered; she made him prove the truth of his own profound observation of clerical human nature by taking a piece of money from the purse. “If I must take it — I must!” he remarked. “Thank you for setting the good example! thank you for giving the timely help! What name shall I put down on my list?”
Mercy’s eyes looked confusedly away from him. “No name,” she said, in a low voice. “My subscription is anonymous63.”
As she replied, the library door opened. To her infinite relief — to Julian’s secret disappointment — Lady Janet Roy and Horace Holmcroft entered the room together.
“Julian!” exclaimed Lady Janet, holding up her hands in astonishment.
He kissed his aunt on the cheek. “Your ladyship is looking charmingly.” He gave his hand to Horace. Horace took it, and passed on to Mercy. They walked away together slowly to the other end of the room. Julian seized on the chance which left him free to speak privately64 to his aunt.
“I came in through the conservatory,” he said. “And I found that young lady in the room. Who is she?”
“Are you very much interested in her?” asked Lady Janet, in her gravely ironical65 way.
Julian answered in one expressive66 word. “Indescribably!”
Lady Janet called to Mercy to join her.
“My dear,” she said, “let me formally present my nephew to you. Julian, this is Miss Grace Roseberry —” She suddenly checked herself. The instant she pronounced the name, Julian started as if it was a surprise to him. “What is it?” she asked, sharply.
“Nothing,” he answered, bowing to Mercy, with a marked absence of his former ease of manner. She returned the courtesy a little restrainedly on her side. She, too, had seen him start when Lady Janet mentioned the name by which she was known. The start meant something. What could it be? Why did he turn aside, after bowing to her, and address himself to Horace, with an absent look in his face, as if his thoughts were far away from his words? A complete change had come over him; and it dated from the moment when his aunt had pronounced the name that was not her name —— the name that she had stolen!
Lady Janet claimed Julian’s attention, and left Horace free to return to Mercy. “Your room is ready for you,” she said. “You will stay here, of course?” Julian accepted the invitation —— still with the air of a man whose mind was preoccupied67. Instead of looking at his aunt when he made his reply, he looked round at Mercy with a troubled curiosity in his face, very strange to see. Lady Janet tapped him impatiently on the shoulder. “I expect people to look at me when people speak to me,” she said. “What are you staring at my adopted daughter for?”
“Your adopted daughter?” Julian repeated — looking at his aunt this time, and looking very earnestly.
“Certainly! As Colonel Roseberry’s daughter, she is connected with me by marriage already. Did you think I had picked up a foundling?”
Julian’s face cleared; he looked relieved. “I had forgotten the Colonel,” he answered. “Of course the young lady is related to us, as you say.”
“Charmed, I am sure, to have satisfied you that Grace is not an impostor,” said Lady Janet, with satirical humility68. She took Julian’s arm and drew him out of hearing of Horace and Mercy. “About that letter of yours?” she proceeded. “There is one line in it that rouses my curiosity. Who is the mysterious ‘lady’ whom you wish to present to me?”
Julian started, and changed color.
“I can’t tell you now,” he said, in a whisper.
“Why not?”
To Lady Janet’s unutterable astonishment, instead of replying, Julian looked round at her adopted daughter once more.
“What has she got to do with it?” asked the old lady, out of all patience with him.
“It is impossible for me to tell you,” he answered, gravely, “while Miss Roseberry is in the room.”
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1
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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descried
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| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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45
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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49
holders
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| 支持物( holder的名词复数 )； 持有者； （支票等）持有人； 支托（或握持）…之物 | |
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50
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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52
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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53
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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56
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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57
compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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58
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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59
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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61
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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62
frailest
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| 脆弱的( frail的最高级 )； 易损的； 易碎的 | |
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63
anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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64
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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65
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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66
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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68
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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