THE MAN APPEARS.
After an interval of rest Mercy was aroused by the shutting of a glass door at the far end of the conservatory.This door, leading into the garden, was used only by the inmates of the house, or by old friends privileged to enter the reception-rooms by that way.Assuming that either Horace or Lady Janet was returning to the dining-room, Mercy raised herself a little on the' sofa and listened.
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 sufficiently 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 standing, hat in hand, at the entrance to the conservatory, dressed in black, and wearing a white cravat, but with a studious avoidance of anything specially 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 prematurely thin and scanty over his forehead.His slight, active figure was of no more than the middle height.His complexion was pale.The lower part of his face, without beard or whiskers, was in no way remarkable.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 grandeur to his head, which the head, broad and firm as it was, did not possess.As to the eyes themselves, the soft, lustrous 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 repose they were irresistible alike.When they first descried Mercy running to the door, they brightened gayly with the merriment of a child.When she turned and faced him, they changed instantly, softening and glowing as they mutely owned the interest and the admiration 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 spoke his next words.
"Let me entreat you to favor me by resuming your seat," he said."And let me ask your pardon if I have thoughtlessly intruded 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 luncheon-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 thoroughly understood and enjoyed good wine."My aunt's claret is worthy 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 astonishment.He was utterly unlike the picture which her fancy had drawn 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.
