The New Magdalen

ou ever out with her after nightfa

onfidential interview which Grace Roseberry had forced

native gentleness and sadness returned, as she made that reply. “You read the newspapers like the rest of the world,” she went

hat she had read of such things o

ng fellow-creatures happened to be women — of R

of something painful to come took its place. “These are extr

. “Have you heard of the Refuge

es

d. Her voice, without losing its steadiness, fell to its l

faint cry. She stood petrified

o be my friend? Do you still insist on sitting close by me and taking my hand?” She waited for a reply, and no reply came

elf, and spoke. “I don’t wish to o

ick stoppe

girl fainting at my needle for want of food.” Her voice faltered a little for the first time as it pronounced those words; she waited a moment, and recovered herself. “It’s too late to dwell on these things now,” she said, resignedly. “Society can subscribe to reclaim me; but Society can’t take me back. You see me here in a

other woman’s lips? No! Miss Roseberry was shocked; Miss Roseberry was c

gained. I can’t get back! I can’t get back?” she cried, with a passionate outburst of despair — checked instantly the moment it had

step; Mercy instan

the character that I had honestly earned — the character of a reclaimed woman. I justified the confidence placed in me; I was a faithful servant. One day my mistress sent for me — a kind mistress, if ever there was one yet. ‘Mercy, I am sorry for you; it h

with something like warmth in her tone. She returned to her cha

rse we

e was a young lady among them — my master began to think of another wife. I have the misfortune (in my situation) to be what is called a handsome woman; I rouse the curiosity of strangers. The new people asked questions about me; my master’s answers did not satisfy them. In a

t is

French–Canadians. I learned

return to

me —‘fell in love’ with me, as the phrase is. He would have married me. The nurse, as an honest woman, was bound to tell him the truth. He never appeared again. The old story! I began to be weary of saying

She stopped, following silently the memories and associations roused in her by what she had just said. Had she forgott

she asked. “How d

ven know that such a perso

ly strengthened the anxiety of Grace to h

out his seeing me. His text was from the words, ‘Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance. ‘What happier women might have thought of his sermon I cannot say; there was not a dry eye among us at the Refuge. As for me, he touched my heart as no man has touched it

d you from sp

s afr

id of

ng my hard life

rhaps have guessed what those words meant. Grace was

derstand yo

“I was afraid I might interest him in my sorrows, and might set my heart on him in return.” The utter ab

ed, in a tone of b

ession of surprise told her plainly — almost br

saw Julian Gray I only knew men as objects of horror to me. Let us drop the subject. The preacher at the Refuge is nothing but a remembra

ere,” said Grace, continuing the conversatio

slowly raked together the la

ciety can find a use for me here. My hand is as light, my words of comfort are as welcome, among those suffering wretches” (she pointed to the room in which the wounded

humanity made it an act of necessity to say something to her. Grace considered — advanced a step toward her — st

e, was never finished. Miss Roseberry was just merciful enough toward the lost

t. “What can you do for me?” Mercy asked, stung by the cold courtesy of her companion into a momentary outbreak of contempt. “Can you change my identity? Can you give me the name and the place of an innocent woman? If I only had your chance! If I onl

when she noticed that the pattering sound of the rain against the window was audible no more. Droppi

den the French position from the German scouts was lessening every moment. In a few hours more (if no

ttage from one of the distant posts. It was followed almost instantly by a second report, nearer and louder than