"Wilkie Collins - The New Magdalen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Collins Wilkie)

Grace had said it herself in so many words--she and Lady Janet had never seen
each other. Her friends were in Canada; her relations in England were dead.
Mercy knew the place in which she had lived--the place called Port Logan--as
well as she had known it herself. Mercy had only to read the manuscript journal
to be able to answer any questions relating to the visit to Rome and to Colonel
Roseberry's death. She had no accomplished lady to personate: Grace had spoken
herself--her father's letter spoke also in the plainest terms--of her neglected
education. Everything, literally everything, was in the lost woman's favor. The
people with whom she had been connected in the ambulance had gone, to return no
more. Her own clothes were on Miss Roseberry at that moment--marked with her own
name. Miss Roseberry's clothes, marked with her name, were drying, at Mercy's
disposal, in the next room. The way of escape from the unendurable humiliation
of her present life lay open before her at last. What a prospect it was! A new
identity, which she might own anywhere! a new name, which was beyond reproach! a
new past life, into which all the world might search, and be welcome! Her color
rose, her eyes sparkled; she had never been so irresistibly beautiful as she
looked at the moment when the new future disclosed itself, radiant with new
hope.
She waited a minute, until she could look at her own daring project from another
point of view. Where was the harm of it? what did her conscience say?
As to Grace, in the first place. What injury was she doing to a woman who was
dead? The question answered itself. No injury to the woman. No injury to her
relations. Her relations were dead also.
As to Lady Janet, in the second place. If she served her new mistress
faithfully, if she filled her new sphere honorably, if she was diligent under
instruction and grateful for kindness--if, in one word, she was all that she
might be and would be in the heavenly peace and security of that new life--what
injury was she doing to Lady Janet? Once more the question answered itself. She
might, and would, give Lady Janet cause to bless the day when she first entered
the house.
She snatched up Colonel Roseberry's letter, and put it into the case with the
other papers. The opportunity was before her; the chances were all in her favor;
her conscience said nothing against trying the daring scheme. She decided then
and there--"I'll do it!"
Something jarred on her finer sense, something offended her better nature, as
she put the case into the pocket of her dress. She had decided, and yet she was
not at ease; she was not quite sure of having fairly questioned her conscience
yet. What if she laid the letter-case on the table again, and waited until her
excitement had all cooled down, and then put the contemplated project soberly on
its trial before her own sense of right and wrong?
She thought once--and hesitated. Before she could think twice, the distant tramp
of marching footsteps and the distant clatter of horses' hoofs were wafted to
her on the night air. The Germans were entering the village! In a few minutes
more they would appear in the cottage; they would summon her to give an account
of herself. There was no time for waiting until she was composed again. Which
should it be--the new life, as Grace Roseberry? or the old life, as Mercy
Merrick?
She looked for the last time at the bed. Grace's course was run; Grace's future
was at her disposal. Her resolute nature, forced to a choice on the instant,
held by the daring alternative. She persisted in the determination to take