In the cry of alarm which burst from him, as he raised her for a moment in his arms, in the expression of his eyes when he looked at her death-like face, there escaped the plain — too plain — confession2 of the interest which he felt in her, of the admiration3 which she had aroused in him. Horace detected it. There was the quick suspicion of jealousy4 in the movement by which he joined Julian; there was the ready resentment5 of jealousy in the tone in which he pronounced the words, “Leave her to me.” Julian resigned her in silence. A faint flush appeared on his pale face as he drew back while Horace carried her to the sofa. His eyes sunk to the ground; he seemed to be meditating6 self-reproachfully on the tone in which his friend had spoken to him. After having been the first to take an active part in meeting the calamity9 that had happened, he was now, to all appearance, insensible to everything that was passing in the room.
A touch on his shoulder roused him.
He turned and looked round. The woman who had done the mischief10 — the stranger in the poor black garments — was standing behind him. She pointed11 to the prostrate12 figure on the sofa, with a merciless smile.
“You wanted a proof just now,” she said. “There it is!”
Horace heard her. He suddenly left the sofa and joined Julian. His face, naturally ruddy, was pale with suppressed fury.
“Take that wretch13 away!” he said. “Instantly! or I won’t answer for what I may do.”
Those words recalled Julian to himself. He looked round the room. Lady Janet and the housekeeper14 were together, in attendance on the swooning woman. The startled servants were congregated15 in the library doorway16. One of them offered to run to the nearest doctor; another asked if he should fetch the police. Julian silenced them by a gesture, and turned to Horace. “Compose yourself,” he said. “Leave me to remove her quietly from the house.” He took Grace by the hand as he spoke8. She hesitated, and tried to release herself. Julian pointed to the group at the sofa, and to the servants looking on. “You have made an enemy of every one in this room,” he said, “and you have not a friend in London. Do you wish to make an enemy of me? Her head drooped17; she made no reply; she waited, dumbly obedient to the firmer will than her own. Julian ordered the servants crowding together in the doorway to withdraw. He followed them into the library, leading Grace after him by the hand. Before closing the door he paused, and looked back into the dining-room.
“Is she recovering?” he asked, after a moment’s hesitation18.
Lady Janet’s voice answered him. “Not yet.”
“Shall I send for the nearest doctor?”
Horace interposed. He declined to let Julian associate himself, even in that indirect manner, with Mercy’s recovery.
“If the doctor is wanted,” he said, “I will go for him myself.”
Julian closed the library door. He absently released Grace; he mechanically pointed to a chair. She sat down in silent surprise, following him with her eyes as he walked slowly to and fro in the room.
For the moment his mind was far away from her, and from all that had happened since her appearance in the house. It was impossible that a man of his fineness of perception could mistake the meaning of Horace’s conduct toward him. He was questioning his own heart, on the subject of Mercy, sternly and unreservedly as it was his habit to do. “After only once seeing her,” he thought, “has she produced such an impression on me that Horace can discover it, before I have even suspected it myself? Can the time have come already when I owe it to my friend to see her no more?” He stopped irritably19 in his walk. As a man devoted20 to a serious calling in life, there was something that wounded his self-respect in the bare suspicion that he could be guilty of the purely21 sentimental22 extravagance called “love at first sight.”
He had paused exactly opposite to the chair in which Grace was seated. Weary of the silence, she seized the opportunity of speaking to him.
“I have come here with you as you wished,” she said. “Are you going to help me? Am I to count on you as my friend?”
He looked at her vacantly. It cost him an effort before he could give her the attention that she had claimed.
“You have been hard on me,” Grace went on. “But you showed me some kindness at first; you tried to make them give me a fair hearing. I ask you, as a just man, do you doubt now that the woman on the sofa in the next room is an impostor who has taken my place? Can there be any plainer confession that she is Mercy Merrick than the confession she has made? You saw it; they saw it. She fainted at the sight of me.”
Julian crossed the room — still without answering her — and rang the bell. When the servant appeared, he told the man to fetch a cab.
Grace rose from her chair. “What is the cab for?” she asked, sharply.
“For you and for me,” Julian replied. “I am going to take you back to your lodgings23.”
“I refuse to go. My place is in this house. Neither Lady Janet nor you can get over the plain facts. All I asked was to be confronted with her. And what did she do when she came into the room? She fainted at the sight of me.”
Reiterating24 her one triumphant25 assertion, she fixed26 her eyes on Julian with a look which said plainly: Answer that if you can. In mercy to her, Julian answered it on the spot.
“As far as I understand,” he said, “you appear to take it for granted that no innocent woman would have fainted on first seeing you. I have something to tell you which will alter your opinion. On her arrival in England this lady informed my aunt that she had met with you accidentally on the French frontier, and that she had seen you (so far as she knew) struck dead at her side by a shell. Remember that, and recall what happened just now. Without a word to warn her of your restoration to life, she finds herself suddenly face to face with you, a living woman — and this at a time when it is easy for any one who looks at her to see that she is in delicate health. What is there wonderful, what is there unaccountable, in her fainting under such circumstances as these?”
The question was plainly put. Where was the answer to it?
There was no answer to it. Mercy’s wisely candid27 statement of the manner in which she had first met with Grace, and of the accident which had followed had served Mercy’s purpose but too well. It was simply impossible for persons acquainted with that statement to attach a guilty meaning to the swoon. The false Grace Roseberry was still as far beyond the reach of suspicion as ever, and the true Grace was quick enough to see it. She sank into the chair from which she had risen; her hands fell in hopeless despair on her lap.
“Everything is against me,” she said. “The truth itself turns liar28, and takes her side.” She paused, and rallied her sinking courage. “No!” she cried, resolutely30, “I won’t submit to have my name and my place taken from me by a vile31 adventuress! Say what you like, I insist on exposing her; I won’t leave the house!”
The servant entered the room, and announced that the cab was at the door.
Grace turned to Julian with a defiant32 wave of her hand. “Don’t let me detain you,” she said. “I see I have neither advice nor help to expect from Mr. Julian Gray.”
Julian beckoned33 to the servant to follow him into a corner of the room.
“Do you know if the doctor has been sent for?” he asked.
“I believe not, sir. It is said in the servants’ hall that the doctor is not wanted.”
Julian was too anxious to be satisfied with a report from the servants’ hall. He hastily wrote on a slip of paper: “Has she recovered?” and gave the note to the man, with directions to take it to Lady Janet.
“Did you hear what I said?” Grace inquired, while the messenger was absent in the dining room.
“I will answer you directly,” said Julian.
The servant appeared again as he spoke, with some lines in pencil written by Lady Janet on the back of Julian’s note. “Thank God, we have revived her. In a few minutes we hope to be able to take her to her room.”
The nearest way to Mercy’s room was through the library. Grace’s immediate34 removal had now become a necessity which was not to be trifled with. Julian addressed himself to meeting the difficulty the instant he was left alone with Grace.
“Listen to me,” he said. “The cab is waiting, and I have my last words to say to you. You are now (thanks to the consul35’s recommendation) in my care. Decide at once whether you will remain under my charge, or whether you will transfer yourself to the charge of the police.”
Grace started. “What do you mean?” she asked, angrily.
“If you wish to remain under my charge,” Julian proceeded, “you will accompany me at once to the cab. In that case I will undertake to give you an opportunity of telling your story to my own lawyer. He will be a fitter person to advise you than I am. Nothing will induce we to believe that the lady whom you have accused has committed, or is capable of committing, such a fraud as you charge her with. You will hear what the lawyer thinks, if you come with me. If you refuse, I shall have no choice but to send into the next room, and tell them that you are still here. The result will be that you will find yourself in charge of the police. Take which course you like: I will give you a minute to decide in. And remember this — if I appear to express myself harshly, it is your conduct which forces me to speak out. I mean kindly36 toward you; I am advising you honestly for your good.”
He took out his watch to count the minute.
Grace stole one furtive37 glance at his steady, resolute29 face. She was perfectly38 unmoved by the manly39 consideration for her which Julian’s last words had expressed. All she understood was that he was not a man to be trifled with. Future opportunities would offer themselves of returning secretly to the house. She determined40 to yield — and deceive him.
“I am ready to go,” she said, rising with dogged submission41. “Your turn now,” she muttered to herself, as she turned to the looking-glass to arrange her shawl. “My turn will come.”
Julian advanced toward her, as if to offer her his arm, and checked himself. Firmly persuaded as he was that her mind was deranged42 — readily as he admitted that she claimed, in virtue43 of her affliction, every indulgence that he could extend to her — there was something repellent to him at that moment in the bare idea of touching44 her. The image of the beautiful creature who was the object of her monstrous45 accusation46 — the image of Mercy as she lay helpless for a moment in his arms — was vivid in his mind while he opened the door that led into the hall, and drew back to let Grace pass out before him. He left the servant to help her into the cab. The man respectfully addressed him as he took his seat opposite to Grace.
“I am ordered to say that your room is ready, sir, and that her ladyship expects you to dinner.”
Absorbed in the events which had followed his aunt’s invitation, Julian had forgotten his engagement to stay at Mablethorpe House. Could he return, knowing his own heart as he now knew it? Could he honorably remain, perhaps for weeks together, in Mercy’s society, conscious as he now was of the impression which she had produced on him? No. The one honorable course that he could take was to find an excuse for withdrawing from his engagement. “Beg her ladyship not to wait dinner for me,” he said. “I will write and make my apologies.” The cab drove off. The wondering servant waited on the doorstep, looking after it. “I wouldn’t stand in Mr. Julian’s shoes for something,” he thought, with his mind running on the difficulties of the young clergyman’s position. “There she is along with him in the cab. What is he going to do with her after that?”
Julian himself, if it had been put to him at the moment, could not have answered the question.
Lady Janet’s anxiety was far from being relieved when Mercy had been restored to her senses and conducted to her own room.
Mercy’s mind remained in a condition of unreasoning alarm, which it was impossible to remove. Over and over again she was told that the woman who had terrified her had left the house, and would never be permitted to enter it more; over and over again she was assured that the stranger’s frantic47 assertions were regarded by everybody about her as unworthy of a moment’s serious attention. She persisted in doubting whether they were telling her the truth. A shocking distrust of her friends seemed to possess her. She shrunk when Lady Janet approached the bedside. She shuddered48 when Lady Janet kissed her. She flatly refused to let Horace see her. She asked the strangest questions about Julian Gray, and shook her head suspiciously when they told her that he was absent from the house. At intervals49 she hid her face in the bedclothes and murmured to herself piteously, “Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?” At other times her one petition was to be left alone. “I want nobody in my room”— that was her sullen50 cry —“nobody in my room.”
The evening advanced, and brought with it no change for the better. Lady Janet, by the advice of Horace, sent for her own medical adviser51.
The doctor shook his head. The symptoms, he said, indicated a serious shock to the nervous system. He wrote a sedative52 prescription53; and he gave (with a happy choice of language) some sound and safe advice. It amounted briefly54 to this: “Take her away, and try the sea-side.” Lady Janet’s customary energy acted on the advice, without a moment’s needless delay. She gave the necessary directions for packing the trunks overnight, and decided55 on leaving Mablethorpe House with Mercy the next morning.
Shortly after the doctor had taken his departure a letter from Julian, addressed to Lady Janet, was delivered by private messenger.
Beginning with the necessary apologies for the writer’s absence, the letter proceeded in these terms:
“Before I permitted my companion to see the lawyer, I felt the necessity of consulting him as to my present position toward her first.
“I told him — what I think it only right to repeat to you — that I do not feel justified56 in acting57 on my own opinion that her mind is deranged. In the case of this friendless woman I want medical authority, and, more even than that, I want some positive proof, to satisfy my conscience as well as to confirm my view.
“Finding me obstinate58 on this point, the lawyer undertook to consult a physician accustomed to the treatment of the insane, on my behalf.
“After sending a message and receiving the answer, he said, ‘Bring the lady here — in half an hour; she shall tell her story to the doctor instead of telling it to me.’ The proposal rather staggered me; I asked how it was possible to induce her to do that. He laughed, and answered, ‘I shall present the doctor as my senior partner; my senior partner will be the very man to advise her.’ You know that I hate all deception59, even where the end in view appears to justify60 it. On this occasion, however, there was no other alternative than to let the lawyer take his own course, or to run the risk of a delay which might be followed by serious results.
“I waited in a room by myself (feeling very uneasy, I own) until the doctor joined me, after the interview was over.
“His opinion is, briefly, this:
“After careful examination of the unfortunate creature, he thinks that there are unmistakably symptoms of mental aberration61. But how far the mischief has gone, and whether her case is, or is not, sufficiently62 grave to render actual restraint necessary, he cannot positively63 say, in our present state of ignorance as to facts.
“‘Thus far,’ he observed, ‘we know nothing of that part of her delusion64 which relates to Mercy Merrick. The solution of the difficulty, in this case, is to be found there. I entirely65 agree with the lady that the inquiries66 of the consul at Mannheim are far from being conclusive67. Furnish me with satisfactory evidence either that there is, or is not, such a person really in existence as Mercy Merrick, and I will give you a positive opinion on the case whenever you choose to ask for it.’
“Those words have decided me on starting for the Continent and renewing the search for Mercy Merrick.
“My friend the lawyer wonders jocosely68 whether I am in my right senses. His advice is that I should apply to the nearest magistrate69, and relieve you and myself of all further trouble in that way.
“Perhaps you agree with him? My dear aunt (as you have often said), I do nothing like other people. I am interested in this case. I cannot abandon a forlorn woman who has been confided70 to me to the tender mercies of strangers, so long as there is any hope of my making discoveries which may be instrumental in restoring her to herself — perhaps, also, in restoring her to her friends.
“I start by the mail-train of to-night. My plan is to go first to Mannheim and consult with the consul and the hospital doctors; then to find my way to the German surgeon and to question him; and, that done, to make the last and hardest effort of all — the effort to trace the French ambulance and to penetrate71 the mystery of Mercy Merrick.
“Immediately on my return I will wait on you, and tell you what I have accomplished72, or how I have failed.
“In the meanwhile, pray be under no alarm about the reappearance of this unhappy woman at your house. She is fully7 occupied in writing (at my suggestion) to her friends in Canada; and she is under the care of the landlady73 at her lodgings — an experienced and trustworthy person, who has satisfied the doctor as well as myself of her fitness for the charge that she has undertaken.
“Pray mention this to Miss Roseberry (whenever you think it desirable), with the respectful expression of my sympathy, and of my best wishes for her speedy restoration to health. And once more forgive me for failing, under stress of necessity, to enjoy the hospitality of Mablethorpe House.”
Lady Janet closed Julian’s letter, feeling far from satisfied with it. She sat for a while, pondering over what her nephew had written to her.
“One of two things,” thought the quick-witted old lady. “Either the lawyer is right, and Julian is a fit companion for the madwoman whom he has taken under his charge, or he has some second motive74 for this absurd journey of his which he has carefully abstained75 from mentioning in his letter. What can the motive be?”
At intervals during the night that question recurred76 to her ladyship again and again. The utmost exercise of her ingenuity77 failing to answer it, her one resource left was to wait patiently for Julian’s return, and, in her own favorite phrase, to “have it out of him” then.
The next morning Lady Janet and her adopted daughter left Mablethorpe House for Brighton; Horace (who had begged to be allowed to accompany them) being sentenced to remain in London by Mercy’s express desire. Why — nobody could guess; and Mercy refused to say.
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1
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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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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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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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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reiterating
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的现在分词 ) | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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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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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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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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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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48
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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49
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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50
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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51
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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52
sedative
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| adj.使安静的，使镇静的；n. 镇静剂，能使安静的东西 | |
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53
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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54
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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55
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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56
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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58
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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59
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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60
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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aberration
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| n.离开正路，脱离常规，色差 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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63
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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jocosely
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| adv.说玩笑地，诙谐地 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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71
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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75
abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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