“She has told you to thank _me_, if her conscience has spoken. Thank the noble nature which answered when I called upon it! Own the priceless value of a woman who can speak the truth. Her heartfelt repentance is a joy in heaven. Shall it not plead for her on earth? Honor her, if you are a Christian! Feel for her, if you are a man!” He waited. Horace never answered him. Mercy’s eyes turned tearfully on Julian. _His_ heart was the heart that felt for her! _His_ words were the words which comforted and pardoned her! When she looked back again at Horace, it was with an effort. His last hold on her was lost. In her inmost mind a thought rose unbidden--a thought which was not to be repressed. “Can I ever have loved this man?” She advanced a step toward him; it was not possible, even yet, to completely forget the past. She held out her hand. He rose on his side--without looking at her. “Before we part forever,” she said to him, “will you take my hand as a token that you forgive me?” He hesitated. He half lifted his hand. The next moment the generous impulse died away in him. In its place came the mean fear of what might happen if he trusted himself to the dangerous fascination of her touch. His hand dropped again at his side; he turned away quickly. “I can’t forgive her!” he said. With that horrible confession--without even a last look at her--he left the room. At the moment when he opened the door Julian’s contempt for him burst its way through all restraints. “Horace,” he said, “I pity you!” As the words escaped him he looked back at Mercy. She had turned aside from both of them--she had retired to a distant part of the library The first bitter foretaste of what was in store for her when she faced the world again had come to her from Horace! The energy which had sustained her thus far quailed before the dreadful prospect--doubly dreadful to a woman--of obloquy and contempt. She sank on her knees before a little couch in the darkest corner of the room. “O Christ, have mercy on me!” That was her prayer--no more. Julian followed her. He waited a little. Then his kind hand touched her; his friendly voice fell consolingly on her ear. “Rise, poor wounded heart! Beautiful, purified soul, God’s angels rejoice over you! Take your place among the noblest of God’s creatures!” He raised her as he spoke. All her heart went out to him. She caught his hand--she pressed it to her bosom; she pressed it to her lips--then dropped it suddenly, and stood before him trembling like a frightened child. “Forgive me!” was all she could say. “I was so lost and lonely--and you are so good to me!”