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