第48章

Her fingers, suddenly stopped at their restless work among the wools; her breath quickened perceptibly.What had Julian Gray been doing abroad? Had he been making inquiries? Did he alone, of all the people who saw that terrible meeting, suspect her? Yes! His was the finer intelligence; his was a clergyman's (a London clergyman's) experience of frauds and deceptions, and of the women who were guilty of them.Not a doubt of it now! Julian suspected her.

"When does he come back?" she asked, in tones so low that Horace could barely hear her.

"He has come back already.He returned last night."A faint shade of color stole slowly over the pallor of her face.She suddenly put her basket away, and clasped her hands together to quiet the trembling of them, before she asked her next question.

"Where is--" She paused to steady her voice."Where is the person," she resumed, "who came here and frightened me?"Horace hastened to re-assure her."The per son will not come again," he said."Don't talk of her! Don't think of her!"She shook her head."There is something I want to know," she persisted."How did Mr.Julian Gray become acquainted with her?"This was easily answered.Horace mentioned the consul at Mannheim, and the letter of introduction.She listened eagerly, and said her next words in a louder, firmer tone.

"She was quite a stranger, then, to Mr.Julian Gray--before that?""Quite a stranger," Horace replied."No more questions--not another word about her, Grace! I forbid the subject.Come, my own love!" he said, taking her hand and bending over her tenderly, "rally your spirits! We are young--we love each other--now is our time to be happy!"Her hand turned suddenly cold, and trembled in his.Her head sank with a helpless weariness on her breast.Horace rose in alarm.

"You are cold--you are faint, "he said."Let me get you a glass of wine!--let me mend the fire!"The decanters were still on the luncheon-table.Horace insisted on her drinking some port-wine.She barely took half the contents of the wine-glass.Even that little told on her sensitive organization; it roused her sinking energies of body and mind.After watching her anxiously, without attracting her notice, Horace left her again to attend to the fire at the other end of the room.Her eyes followed him slowly with a hard and tearless despair."Rally your spirits," she repeated to herself in a whisper."My spirits! O God!" She looked round her at the luxury and beauty of the room, as those look who take their leave of familiar scenes.The moment after, her eyes sank, and rested on the rich dress that she wore a gift from Lady Janet.She thought of the past; she thought of the future.Was the time near when she would be back again in the Refuge, or back again in the streets?--she who had been Lady Janet's adopted daughter, and Horace Holmcroft's betrothed wife! A sudden frenzy of recklessness seized on her as she thought of the coming end.Horace was right! Why not rally her spirits? Why not make the most of her time? The last hours of her life in that house were at hand.Why not enjoy her stolen position while she could? "Adventuress!" whispered the mocking spirit within her, "be true to your character.Away with your remorse! Remorse is the luxury of an honest woman." She caught up her basket of wools, inspired by a new idea."Ring the bell!" she cried out to Horace at the fire-place.

He looked round in wonder.The sound of her voice was so completely altered that he almost fancied there must have been another woman in the room.

"Ring the bell!" she repeated."I have left my work upstairs.If you want me to be in good spirits, I must have my work."Still looking at her, Horace put his hand me chanically to the bell and rang.One of the men-servants came in.

"Go upstairs and ask my maid for my work," she said, sharply.Even the man was taken by surprise: it was her habit to speak to the servants with a gentleness and consideration which had long since won all their hearts."Do you hear me?" she asked, impatiently.The servant bowed, and went out on his errand.She turned to Horace with flashing eyes and fevered cheeks.

"What a comfort it is," she said, "to belong to the upper classes! A poor woman has no maid to dress her, and no footman to send upstairs.Is life worth having, Horace, on less than five thousand a year?"The servant returned with a strip of embroidery.She took it with an insolent grace, and told him to bring her a footstool.The man obeyed.She tossed the embroidery away from her on the sofa."On second thoughts, I don't care about my work," she said."Take it upstairs again." The perfectly trained servant, marveling privately, obeyed once more.Horace, in silent astonishment, advanced to the sofa to observe her more nearly."How grave you look!" she exclaimed, with an air of flippant unconcern."You don't approve of my sitting idle, perhaps? Anything to please you! I haven't got to go up and downstairs.Ring the bell again.""My dear Grace," Horace remonstrated, gravely, "you are quite mistaken.I never even thought of your work.""Never mind; it's inconsistent to send for my work, and then send it away again.Ring the bell."Horace looked at her without moving."Grace," he said, "what has come to you?""How should I know?" she retorted, carelessly."Didn't you tell me to rally my spirits? Will you ring the bell, or must I?"Horace submitted.He frowned as he walked back to the bell.He was one of the many people who instinctively resent anything that is new to them.This strange outbreak was quite new to him.For the first time in his life he felt sympathy for a servant, when the much-enduring man appeared once more.