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 for the
first time in her life, dressed in clothes instead of rags for
the first time in her life, Mercy's sister in adversity crept
fearfully over the beautiful carpet, and stopped wonder-struck
before the marbles of an inlaid table--a blot of mud on the
splendor of the room.
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